Space For Breathing

by I. K. Velasco

  I heard some shuffling and saw her silhouette move beneath the screen. I drew back the curtain and stepped outside, the brighter light causing me to squint and refocus.

  She stood in front of me, swiping at fresh tear tracks on her face. She was trembling again. I turned my arms out slowly, palms up in a welcoming gesture. She didn't hesitate this time. She stepped into my arms, and I enfolded her inside. It felt so good just to hold her close.

  I tilted her chin up to me. Her face had softened, the tears drying on her cheeks. I kissed her lips, and she leaned in, her soft, comforting weight against my chest, melting into each other.

  After a few minutes, she pulled away, but immediately reached for my hand as if she needed to hold on to some lifeline. She led me to the alcove in the back of the church. A wrought iron stand held hundreds of red wax candles, some lit, some smoking through tiny embers, some stumped and melted, quiet and cold.

  The candlelight danced on Maeva's face, flickering over her eyes, glistening with unshed tears. She carefully lit three candles, her lips moving in silent prayer and her eyelids half-mast in concentration.

  "Do you know how this works?" she asked, softly, never taking her eyes away from the flickering flames.

  I shook my head.

  "We light a candle and say a prayer for each of our loved ones, so that the angels will watch over them," she said, reverently.

  I reached over and took one thin wooden timber from the container and lit two candles. As each wick caught the blue-orange glow of the flame, I thought about my small family, my heart wrenching tightly in my chest. Riley, willful and determined to a fault, a passion equaled only by his talent and creativity. Despite our fighting, I still loved him and missed him. My mother, her kind smile and gentle voice, her unwavering strength and support even as she gave up her sons because they wanted to pursue a dream.

  The candlelight turned into a hazy orange blur as my eyes pooled with moisture. I felt her hand on my wrist. One hot tear tracked down my cheek, as I turned my head, seeing the comforting smile on Maeva's lips.

  "Is that your family?" she asked.

  "Yes," I replied. "Is that yours?" I nodded towards her lit candles.

  "Tito, Rosalita and Mr. Owen. Yes, that's my family," she said. She took a deep breath, as if pushing back some unwanted memory. "Let's go," she said, suddenly, turning on her heel and heading towards the doors of the cathedral.

  Before following, I turned back to the candles and lit two more—one for Maeva and one for me.

  * * *

  Pangasinan, Philippines—Owen Estate, 1:52 am

  I lay awake that night waiting for her. I knew that she would come to me.

  The quiet squeak of the bedroom door opening announced her arrival. I had been waiting for that sound all night, and my heart hammered in my chest when it finally came. I leaned up on my elbows and watched Maeva's tiny form enter the room. She turned to close the door, the knob softly clicking against the doorframe.

  Thin streams of moonlight poured into the window. It striped across her pixie face, just enough so I could clearly see her, standing at the foot of my bed. She was wearing a black kimono, too long for her petite body. She moved to untie the cinched knot around her waist, and the silk material glided off creamy shoulders and fell in a pool at her feet. She placed one knee on the end of the bed and slithered up to me, the quiet of her expression reminding me of a panther leering at its prey.

  She tugged on the sheet and pulled it away from my body. I shivered, despite the warm tropical wind wafting into the room. She moved to drape herself on top of me, the crush of her weight pushing her breasts against my chest. I could feel her the hard pebbles of her nipples pressing there.

  Maeva tucked her nose into the curve of my jaw, kissing me on the chin. I listened to our mingling breaths, running my hands along the camber of her lower back. Her velvet skin was a sharp contrast to the calloused pads of my fingertips. She lay still, and I could revel in the feeling of her—her breath tickling my neck, her legs tangled between mine, her chest pounding the same beat against my beating heart, her sex pressed to my sex.

  She seemed to sense my growing urgency. She lifted herself, and I whimpered when she moved away, traveling the length of my body immediately to where I needed her most.

  Her small hands pressed on my thighs, breath hot against me. She licked me from root to head, running her tongue languidly along its length. Her full lips tickled the sensitive curve under the head, and the tip of her tongue darted out to lap at the bead of moisture lining the slit.

  Her lips enclosed around the hardness, the heat of her mouth fusing with the heat of my cock. I gasped at the sensation as she increased pressure, her cheeks hollowed in from sucking. I involuntarily bucked against her mouth, and she pulled her head away, placing her hand on my hip. I gazed down at her, my chest heaving.

  The corners of her lips turned up into a full-fledged grin and soon she was laughing, her long black veil of hair quivering around her face. I didn't know how to react, but I laughed nervously and soon the nervousness disappeared as I listened to the tinkling giggles springing for her sweet mouth. She wrapped her arms around my neck as we laughed together, shaking with joy and just completely taken aback that the intensity of our moment had been broken. It felt so good to laugh with her.

  When our giggles finally ceased, I took her face in my hands, looking into the depths of her eyes, the black pools glistening in the dim moonlight.

  "I'm sorry," she said, quietly. Her tone was serious, but her eyes still sparkled with traces of mirth.

  "What do you have to be sorry about?"

  "For…laughing," she replied, a little giggle escaping her lips.

  "Did it feel good to laugh?"

  "Yes. It did."

  "Then, you don't have to be sorry." I kissed her mouth. Her lips moved under mine, softly nibbling my lower lip. She allowed me entrance into her mouth by opening hers slightly, and I ran my tongue over her teeth, her lips. My cock, that had lost some of its hardness during our fit of giggles, was reacting intensely to this bout of sensuous kissing.

  I reached for Maeva's waist and tugged her onto her back, my lips never leaving contact with hers. She sunk into the pillows, her arms still wrapped around my neck. I could feel her palms gently massaging my back, in rhythm with the darting of her tongue in my mouth.

  I didn't want to wait any longer. I wanted to be inside her. I found a condom where I had stashed them in the bedside drawer and rolled it on, Maeva watching intently. I wrapped my fist around my cock and guided it to her opening. She spread her legs as an invitation, arching her back in anticipation of the contact. I teased her wet pussy with the head, running it along the length of her slit. I lingered at her clit, enjoying the muffled moans escaping her lips.

  She reached around and placed her hands on my ass, urging me closer. I moved forward, slowly sinking into her depth. I pulsed my hips, the velvety wet walls of her pussy contracting to meet every stroke.

  "Oh, Jacob," she whispered. The sultry sound of her voice was enough to bring me close. I sat up, anchoring her legs around my waist, so I could bury myself deeper into her. I reached between us and touched the engorged nub between her quivering pink lips, flicking at it with two fingers. Maeva's back arched as she threw her head back against the pillow, shuddering.

  My hips stopped momentarily as I watched her toss her head from side to side. Maeva's eyes were shut tight, her face scrunched in ecstasy as she writhed deep in the throes of pleasure. She was close and with one last flick of my finger, she fell over the edge, the muscles of her sex contracting around me, urging me to follow. I released the dam I had been holding and came inside her, pulsing and shaking uncontrollably.

  We lay still for a long time, my body still draped over hers. My head was spinning, dizzy from too much emotion and stimulation. I wanted to cry and laugh all at once. I clung to Maeva's tiny body, listening to her panting, mingled with the pounding in my ears.

  I thought it
was different. I thought she would stay, but it was wishful thinking. She wriggled from underneath me, and I wanted so badly to clutch her and never let go. She got up and found her kimono on the floor. As I watched her place the silken robe around her shoulders, I hoped that my silent pleading would will her to stay. On her way out the door, she turned to look at me once. Did I imagine the silent apology moving on her lips?

  She apologized for laughing, but she couldn't apologize for leaving me. I squeezed my eyes shut, lying against the pillows. My body still buzzed from her, my lips tingling with the feel of her lips, her taste lingering on my tongue. I was hurt. I couldn't deny that. I felt like I was cut in half. One side was angry, confused, used and broken. The other side didn't care. It just wanted to ride whatever wave she was churning and drown in her ocean. Both feelings were completely foreign. And both feelings scared the hell out of me.

  Eight

  Maeva

  Pangasinan, Philippines—Owen Estate, 9:25 am

  Light filtering through stained glass. White, red, blue, violet, yellow. Blinding light. Dove fluttering across the domed cathedral. Noiseless flutter of wings. Quiet. Too quiet. Silence is almost deafening. And then the voice. Slicing through the silence. The deep baritone voice singing from the heavens. A hand reaches out to touch. Take the hand. Feel it engulf my own and swallow all hesitation.

  I awoke with a start. I sucked in large gulps of air, willing the pounding in my chest to halt. The dream stayed with me, the vision still so vivid and unwavering. I jumped out of bed and quickly sat at my easel. The need to capture the image of my dreams was almost frantic, a steady pulsing in my belly that

  I knew would not cease until I could witness the image on canvas.

  I struggled to mix the appropriate palette, spilling paint across on the floor. I couldn't paint fast enough, the strokes of my sable brush quick and fluttering. The harsh colors blurred on the canvas in a rainbow of light and dark, melancholy and joy.

  I wondered if this is how Van Gogh or Dali felt--so panicked and so full of emotion, that the process of expression becomes almost painful.

  Afterwards, I stared at my work, an eerie sense of anticipation tickled my brain. They say that dreams are often the seeds from which our deepest fears and desires grow. What did this dream and these images say about mine?

  * * *

  "Rosa, have you seen Jacob?"

  Rosa swiped at the dusty air in front of her, passing the back of her hand across her sweat-drenched forehead. She leaned on the large wooden paddle that she had been using to beat the dust out of the carpets hanging on the line.

  She smiled, slyly. "Looking for Mr. Jacob, eh?" she mimicked.

  "Yes, I am," I replied. She giggled. "What?"

  "Nothing," she said. "I haven't seen him yet this morning. Perhaps you tired him out last night?" she continued, winking suggestively.

  "Rosa!" I said, shocked at her tone. I narrowed my eyes at her. "What exactly are you saying?"

  "Oh, don't play with me, Maeva," Rosa said, laughing. "I know exactly what's going on between you and Mr. Jacob. I'm not blind." Her words may have seemed biting, but I knew that she was teasing.

  "And what exactly do you think is 'going on'?" I replied, indignantly. I turned my nose up into the air.

  "Don't even try to deny it," she said, matter-of-factly. "He's smitten with you."

  I stared pointedly at Rosa, taken aback by her words. I had expected some lewd comment, not an expression of what I most feared or maybe hoped for. And maybe that is the reason for the fear. I had no idea what this thing was between Jacob and I, and Rosa explained it so obviously.

  Rosa's next words cut through my thoughts, "But the question is, how do you feel about him?"

  "I.." I didn't know how to answer her.

  Rosa's face tilted to the side. "You don't have to be afraid of him, Maeva. He's a good man."

  "I know, Rosa. I can't help it. I feel so," I struggled to explain to her something even I couldn't understand. "…out of control."

  "Speaking of which…" We both looked up to see Jacob strolling towards us. He raised an arm to wave and even from that distance, I could see the wide grin on his face. Rosa shot me a knowing glance as I turned to approach him. I scowled and stuck my tongue out at her in response.

  Jacob

  I should have been angry with her. I should have remembered the longing that had kept me awake all night, wondering why she didn't want to stay, berating myself for wondering. Maybe I should have just avoided her today, figured out exactly what this was I was feeling. But seeing her there, glowing and beautiful underneath the soft rays of the morning sun, I couldn't help but smile at her—as if Maeva's own fingers were tugging at the corners of my mouth into a grin.

  She approached me, meeting me halfway between the path and where Rosa was dusting the carpets.

  "Hi."

  "Hi," she said, reaching up to tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear. She placed a hand on my arm, and then leaned up to press her lips near my mouth. When she pulled away, our eyes met, and she must have seen surprise in mine. I didn't know what I was seeing in hers.

  "Can I join you?" she asked. Her eyes smiled at me.

  "Sh..Sure," I replied. We continued to walk down the path. After a couple hundred yards, Maeva paused to take off her sandals, swinging them in one hand as we strolled.

  "I like the way the grass feels under my feet," she said.

  I thought about her statement, and took my shoes off as well.

  We veered off and walked in the middle of a large field. It hadn't occurred to me until that moment how expansive the Estate really was.

  "I used to play here when I was little," Maeva said.

  "And you don't play anymore?" I asked, grinning at her.

  "No," she replied, frowning a little. "I guess not."

  "Hmm…I think we're going to have to change that," I announced, grabbing her around the waist.

  Maeva shrieked, pulling away from my grasp. She began to run, ebony tresses trailing behind. I gave chase, but I let her have a head start to make the game more interesting. I jogged lightly, swiping every now and then, and thoroughly enjoying her joyous giggling.

  When I finally caught her, I wrapped my arms snugly around her waist, pressing my fingertips into her middle. She laughed breathlessly, squirming and writhing under my arms. I lightly tackled her to the ground, careful to catch her weight when she tumbled onto the cool grass. Her laughter turned to shrieking as I tickled her mercilessly.

  I loved seeing her this way—so completely warm and open, almost childlike, so different than her regularly cool exterior.

  "Okay, Jacob. Stop!" she gasped between bouts of laughter. I eased up, but didn't take my weight off her tiny body.

  Her laughter fading, she looked up at me, her eyes clouding with affection. Suddenly, my throat clenched, and I couldn't speak, too overwhelmed by this beautiful woman beneath me. I touched a lock of hair that had fallen over her forehead and moved it aside, my fingertips brushing against the soft skin on her cheek.

  Her eyelids, delicate and translucent as dragonfly's wings, lowered at half-mast. Her gaze moved to my mouth, and for once I knew exactly what she wanted. I leaned in to press a soft kiss on her lips, capturing her breath. It was a chaste kiss, but long and tender.

  "That was nice," she whispered.

  I suddenly couldn't hold myself up any longer. My arms were wobbly and tired, the dizziness in my head moving to the rest of my body. I collapsed beside her and for a while we lay on the dewy grass, looking up at a perfectly cloudless, azure sky.

  Maeva broke the silent reverie. "So, what do you want to do today?"

  I thought for a second. "Let's not do anything touristy anymore. I think that four days of that is enough."

  She laughed. "You don't know how happy I am to hear you say that."

  "I want to do something that you like to do. Like what do you do every weekend?"

  She shifted her weight around until she was f
acing me, her chin on my chest. "Hmmm…" Her gaze turned inward, contemplating an answer. "Well, I love dancing."

  I reached over to cradle her against one arm, my hand finding its way to the curve of her back. "What kind of dancing? Like ballroom dancing?" I asked.

  "No, silly! Like night club dancing."

  "Do you?" Visions of Maeva, sheathed in a sleek black dress, dancing in a smoky nightclub filled my mind's eye. It didn't seem to compute that this sweet, delicate flower of a woman would be found in that environment.

  "Um-hmm," she murmured, her answer purring softly under her throat.

  "I sort of figured you to be so high-class. Going to ritzy cocktail parties or community fund-raisers or something. Not going to some seedy night club to go dancing all night."