by Mason, V. F.
He drops down next to me, the leather scrunching under him, and he rests his head on the back of the couch, his eyes closed. The moonlight always does justice to him, because he’s nothing but the perfect example of male glory.
“Do you ever wonder how our life would have turned out if we’d never… well, been broken up?” I question, because I prefer useless talk than silence that almost suffocates us. Because it’s filled with so much regret and shame one might not survive it. “I think I’d have finished my psychology degree.” I ponder it for a minute, and then add, “I’d probably have come back here eventually, because it’s the only place that ever felt like home.” Not that my life with my parents had been bad. It just never had warmth and the sense of belonging. My nona, though, always gave me those things, but at the same time, she allowed me to be my own person.
And at the end of the day, home is where we can be ourselves, a place where all our bad or good qualities are protected from scrutiny and judgment.
“I thought you asked what would have happened if we never broke up.” I freeze because realization hits. True, I’m talking more as if he never showed up in my life, but I can’t correct myself, because he starts to talk. “I would’ve worked at Dad’s shop. Who knows? Maybe he still would have been alive. Built a house. Had a family with you.” He emphasizes that and quickly turns his head so I can’t escape his stare, which holds so much, but I don’t want to face it.
I have no desire to face it, even if my whole being longs for it.
Instead, I focus on the memory.
“Do you have a dream?” I ask, lying down on the deck as the boat rocks, right in the middle of the ocean, while Brochan fixes something on the fishing net he’s about to use to do his work.
“Yes.”
Curious, I sit up and raise my brow. “What is it?”
He lets go of his net, scoots closer to me, and brings me up to touch his lips to mine so tenderly, as if a feather caressed them. “My own boat. My own house. And you in it cooking for me. Barefoot and pregnant.”
Frowning jokingly, I circle my arms around his neck and press us closer, rising on my tiptoes so our eyes can be on the same level. “Chauvinistic much, baby?”
He shrugs and then winks. “One can only hope, right?” With that, he spins me around while I laugh carelessly.
“Yeah,” he says, and I know he has the same memory flashing through his mind. Our love lasted just a summer, so how can we have so many tender moments?
“It feels like another lifetime, doesn’t it?” I press the hot mug to my cheek, enjoying the sensations it provides. “Young and free. People with different hopes and desires. It’s like there are two of me. Emerald before and after. And they don’t have much in common.” The accident and trauma has placed so many limitations on me, has stripped me of so many chances, not to mention love.
No wonder I never liked any of my dates. Subconsciously, love and relationships terrified me to death, because I got punished for it for years.
And I have scars all over my body to prove it.
“I had to kill Brochan for Micaden to be born.” He hunches forward, resting his elbows on his knees while his hands lock behind his neck. “Life was hell. Brochan was weak and helpless. Micaden though is his opposite.” He opens his mouth, but I stop him, because I know what he wants to say next.
“Don’t apologize. The guilt that’s eating you… just don’t.” Maybe I should be hysterical and angry and demand for him to take me back, but I can’t do it.
I’ve cried so much during my life that at some point a person has no tears left to shed over their sorrows. “We are both victims, Micaden. There’s no persecutor.” And isn’t that ironic? “You know what’s really funny though?” I ask him, placing the mug on the floor and leaning closer to him, my toes touching his legs. “That I fell in love with you both. Twice, I had the chance to fall in love… and both old me and new me chose you,” I whisper, and he buries his head deeper between his knees but stays silent.
I scrunch my eyes, not letting tears spill, because they have no place here now. “So no matter the time, it always would have been you for me.” Humorless laughter spills past my lips. “But you only loved Emerald in the past. And this broken me, you only hate me, don’t you?” I press my hand against my chest, as a numbing sting settles there, and I try to gather myself to say what I feel, but at the same time not sound so dramatic. But then our love story is a never-ending dramatic tragedy. “So in a way, I’m responsible for ruining your life. Because if you hadn’t met me, none of this would have happened.”
“I couldn’t fall in love with you,” he finally speaks hoarsely, breaking my heart all over again, even though I put an end to us. “I could never fall in love with you again.”
“Because you hate me so much?”
He shakes his head as he lifts it to meet my troubled gaze. “No. Because I never stopped loving you. No matter how much I hated you, I never stopped loving you. And in turn, I hated you more for it.”
Is it possible to experience love and hate at the same time for a person?
Yes, yes it is.
Just like beautiful roses. They are gorgeous, red, and blooming, but their sharp thorns have the power to bring so much pain. Something so magnificent surrounded with it.
Reading all the books and seeing all the movies, one might think that love is an amazing emotion that has the power to heal all wounds, to help you get through every hardship as long as there’s light at the end of the tunnel. And in most cases, it’s true, like Tom and Eve’s love.
Over the years, it only grew and grew, and it’s impossible to look at them without being jealous and in awe of how much those two are head over heels for each other.
But sometimes love is a nightmare.
Like in our case.
I don’t even have time to blink when his strong arms grab me, and I’m straddling him, my legs locking behind his back. I have to put my hands on his chest while his stormy blue eyes take my emerald green ones prisoner.
His hand slides to my nape and he keeps it there, bringing my face closer to his so that our breaths mingle. My fingers touch his chin, and finally I rest my forehead against his, and for a moment, nothing else exists.
Not our past, present, or anything we’ve experienced. There’s only us with one emotion fueling us. Love… agonizing, painful love that has settled in the hearts that have bled so much I’m surprised our shirts are not coated in blood.
“We won’t have a happy ending.”
He jerks at my whisper, but I know he agrees with it. “I know.”
“We need to end it once and for all.” In all the years, we’ve never had the chance to bury it all to move on. How could we with so many secrets and wounds?
“I know,” he says again, but doesn’t utter the words that will seal our fate once and for all.
But I do.
“We need to give them a proper goodbye.” Sex is never a solution, but what we are about to have is not that, no.
It’s about giving Brochan and Emerald the chance to give each other a proper goodbye, where they are not torn from one another brutally and life throws all kinds of sorrows at them.
No, after this, they’ll close that chapter once and for all.
I lean back, palm his face, and with a gulp of air, I cover his mouth with mine in a kiss so tender I’m ready to cry.
Kiss so sad.
Kiss so broken.
And he answers it, silently accepting it.
Micaden
For a moment in time, I allow myself to be Brochan again, even though it kills every part of me. Because Brochan bleeds and cries out in pain.
Maybe we need to repeat our lovemaking as the real us in order to forever be cured of it. But even when I succumb to this desire, I know I’m lying to myself, because I can never get rid of her.
Brochan’s or Micaden’s, she’ll always be my madness.
I just wish I wasn’t her punishment.
Chapt
er Twenty-Six
Island, United States
August 2019
Emerald
We continue to kiss all the way to the captain’s cabin, my legs and arms wrapped around him while he holds me so tenderly I forget about our circumstances.
In this moment, all the grief and all the past don't exist anymore, because we will make love the way lovers should. Or so I hope. It’s the only reason that I’m doing it.
What would it have been like… to make love with all the experience we have now?
He stops, his hands tightening on me, and my eyelids flutter open to see us standing in the middle of the room. I let go of him, slowly sliding down his body, and my bare feet touch the floor as we hold each other’s stare.
My choppy breath fills the space, and I grab his shirt, my fingers digging into him while he palms my face, wiping away the tears, as they have no place between us now.
Ironically, all this reminds me of our first time, when I was shaking like a leaf with fear of the unknown, but the desire to be with him trumped everything.
I trusted him so much to take care of me. I didn't even think twice about becoming his. “We don't have to do this,” he whispers, and a sad smile curves my lips, because for the time being, I have Brochan back.
And I really missed him. I want to give us both this reprieve just once; otherwise, we will forever be plagued with what ifs. What would life be anyway?
I pull him closer to me and rise on my toes, so our mouths meet halfway, his groan vibrating through me. His hands shift to my dress, and he hikes it up, separating us to snag it from me, and then he aims for a kiss again, but I stop him, tugging on his shirt and lifting it up. The shirt drops to the floor on top of my dress, and I step back. While he pushes me toward the bed, my fingers lace in his jeans, trying to unbutton them, but he helps me out again, fusing our lips again while he dives in for a hot kiss, eliminating all the doubts from my mind.
The haze of desire and need fills us, and I take off his jeans and hold back a groan at the sight of his cock springing free.
I want to shimmy out of my panties, because the press of the lace against my damp core is unbearable, but he picks me up and settles us on the bed. I straddle him again, chests pressed together, and tongues entwined in a duel as I hug him so close I’m afraid he’ll vanish at any minute.
Threading my fingers in his hair, I move my lips to his chin, nipping at the skin, traveling across his cheek to where I bite on the earlobe. His raspy breathing fills my ear as I slowly move to his neck and shoulder, where hideous scars still cover his skin.
In the past, whenever I wanted to lavish them with attention or asked about them, he either changed the subject or distracted me with sex.
My lips hover over them, and he tenses in my arms, tightening his grip on me, so I place my lips on them, leaving small kisses, while murmuring against them, “How did you get them?” The tension is back, so I continue to trail kisses to his shoulder and push him a little so he gets on the bed and lies on his back, and I have all the freedom in the world to play.
I don’t expect an answer to my question, because he has been in prison. I can imagine what happened to him… and my heart breaks for him. He experienced all this because of me, but—
“Don’t think about it,” he orders, and my eyes raise to his, determination veiling them. “This has no place here.”
No place here? This is exactly why he went on the path of revenge and dragged me back here and…. I shake my head, ignoring all the common sense, which tells me to run away or use this opportunity to free myself from him.
I’m not surrendering and accepting whatever he inflicts on me. I’m giving myself this last moment in time with Brochan.
Brochan always loved me; he never hated me. And during our first night together, he took such good care of me, making my first time special forever.
And doesn't he deserve the same attention from me?
Just once.
Micaden
She’s so fucking gorgeous it’s a wonder I don't come from the sight of her alone.
Her red hair cascades down her back while some fiery locks rest on her breasts, as if licking her pale skin, which is coated in adorable freckles. I remember I used to trail my tongue over them, under the pretense of counting them while Emerald lay under the sun.
I haven't paid them any attention since she came back. I never wanted to repeat anything that reminded me of Brochan or how much he loved her.
Her emerald eyes glisten with desire that holds promises of so many things, but deep down I see something there I try to block out.
Sorrow.
She doesn't let me concentrate on it for long though, because she continues to leave small kisses, barely noticeable, yet they send pleasure through me, awakening even the smallest nerves on my body.
For the first time, I’m going to give her control to do whatever she pleases without monitoring her actions.
After the rape, I couldn't stomach giving anyone control over me. The vulnerability and flashbacks would haunt me for days if I did. Even during fight training, I never stayed on the floor for long, preferring to either call it quits or win the rounds. Just the idea of being smashed under someone, especially a heavily breathing male, sends me in a spiral of rage.
Her legs press against my hips as she slides lower, scraping her teeth against my stomach, licking around each muscle, as her nails drag over my ribs, tearing a hiss from me. Automatically, my hand laces in her hair, but I still, remembering she has all the control.
“You know the first thought that ran through my mind when I saw you on the beach?”
Her unexpected question takes me back to that time on the beach, when I saw her for the first time. She was pale, skinny, and wore the most ridiculous pink shorts that barely covered her ass. I noticed her serving the ball, and since my eyes stayed glued to the mermaid on the beach, I hadn't noticed Tom throwing the boomerang in her direction.
Nothing could have stopped me then from running to her and seeing her mesmerizing eyes for the first time right before she lost consciousness.
“Viking. With all your hair and your physique, I just didn't have any other word in mind,” she says, enclosing her palm around the base of my dick that is begging her to pay some attention to it. “You were so handsome, and you stayed a warrior, didn’t you… Brochan?” Air leaves me when she calls me this name, a name that sometimes I try to forget, because he had nothing but a miserable life where so many people hurt him.
But on her lips, oddly, it brings peace…and contentment I haven't felt in ten years. Her hand slides up and down, jerking me a little while the slapping sound echoes off the walls. My hips lift, but she plants her other hand on it, keeping me in the same position.
“I hated all the girls who’d look at you whenever you guys dove with Tom. They’d squeal and say how much they loved you.” Her voice drops down a few notches, and I tighten my hold on her hair, making her meet my stare, so she can hear me properly.
“I was only yours.” No one else existed for me after my eyes landed on her. She smiles, but then an unrecognizable expression crosses her face. She exhales heavily and leans forward, her breath fanning the head of my cock, but I drag her gaze back at me. “And I stayed only yours.”
Emerald blinks, disbelief written on her face. “Really?” In this moment, she sounds so innocent; there’s hope and wonder in her voice, and only that lets me know how much the other possibility would have hurt her.
“I gave a vow.” I fist her hair harsher. “And when I give a vow?”
“You keep it.” And that is when the tip of her tongue licks around the head, swiping the precum leaking from it.
The light touch instantly shoots fire from my dick to my head, alerting me to my surroundings. Emerald’s thumb brushes the tip while her tongue slides over my dick, leaving flames everywhere she touches. Each glide of her tongue and scrape of her nails tears a hiss and a groan from me, making me pull her head toward m
e, demanding more. Finally, she sucks me in her mouth at the same time as her hand fists my base, shooting desire through me. She moans around my length, the hum breaking sweat on my skin.
She withdraws and goes back to licking, taking all the drops and humming her enjoyment. Her hair makes a veil around her, almost creating a vision of the mermaid who decided to grant the fisherman’s wishes instead of killing him.
Although one might die from all the activities she inflicts on him.
I press on her chin, so she opens wider, and then I guide her back to my cock, and she wraps her hot mouth around it again. I thrust deeper, and for a second, she freezes, getting used to it, but then resumes her movement. Her free hand slips under my balls and she squeezes them in her palm.
Panic enters me, and I close my eyes, ordering the nightmare to retreat… although it’s so fucking hard.
So hard.
Then her voice enters my mind, snapping me back to the present, when she says, “Focus on me, Brochan.” She puts her hand back on my hip while she goes back to running her tongue along my dick, with an occasional suck that drives me deeper and deeper into the land of no return. My skin is so fucking hot. I’m burning from her and from the pressure building inside me.
With each lick, she tells me how much she loves me, how much this means to her, and how important it is to give me this. She locks us in a world where her pleasure has the power to soothe all my scars, all the pain that I’ve experienced, and create something beautiful from it.
She’s everywhere. After a few more jerks and sucks, I know this heaven has to end now. Any more of her hot mouth on my dick, and I’ll spill in her mouth. Fuck no. “Enough,” I say, but she continues to lap at my cock, playing with it and lightly scraping her teeth on the head. Her stubborn stare catches mine, and then she licks it again, and that’s when I have truly had enough.
My arms yank Emerald up and she squeals, but then she moans when I blanket her body, pressing onto her while kneeing apart her thighs, making a space for myself. Her scent fills my lungs, alerting me to how much sucking me off aroused her, and I need to taste her or I’ll go insane. I slide down her body, leaving a wet trail with my mouth over her breasts, stomach, and belly button, and then I slip my tongue inside her pussy.