by Rene Folsom
Standing over by the window was Jonah. The glow of the moon silhouetted his strong, muscular frame. His hands were braced along both sides of the window as he leaned heavily against the casing.
He didn’t turn or acknowledge I was there and I didn’t blame him. Retreating as soon as he got real with me was the cowards way out and I’m not the least bit surprised he is choosing to ignore I’ve reentered his space.
Steadily and without wavering, I walked across the room toward him, my boots making a definite clopping noise against his hardwood floor. Without a doubt in my mind, I wanted to hold him. I needed to show him everything was all right. It was absolutely necessary to comfort him in some way.
Slowly, tenderly, I trailed my fingertips along his midsection and wrapped my arms around his waist, burying my face into his strong back. The solid muscles of his abdomen flexed as I held onto him like a life raft at sea. He smelled so wonderful and I took that moment to shamelessly breathe him in.
A light whimper left his throat as he shook slightly. His trembling was only noticeable to me because I was clutching onto him for dear life. I hated to see him so tormented, especially when I knew I was the cause of his pain.
“God, Jonah. I’m so confused,” I admitted as I held on even tighter, pinching my eyes shut and burying my face even deeper into his spine. He didn’t say anything. He just brought one of his hands down to grasp my arm, as if to tell me he didn’t want me to let go of him.
Without warning, he brought both his hands up behind his neck and began pulling his shirt over his head in a single sweep of his hand. Why it was so sexy when men took their shirt off like that, I’ll never know. Nor will I argue.
To give him some space, I let go of my death grip on his waist and began to back away when he caught my wrist and brought me back to his bare skin. I followed his command and glued myself around him once more.
Bringing his shirt up to his face, I could tell he was wiping away his sorrow. I don’t think he was crying necessarily, because he lacked the sniffles most of us girls get after a good weep. But, regardless, I had no idea a man could be so emotional just because of me.
“I’m sorry,” I said in an attempt to get some sort of reaction from him.
“Why did you come back?” he asked. His voice sounded hoarse as if still flooded with distress.
“I never left. I just needed some fresh air. I was worried I would do something to embarrass myself, which seems to be impossible to avoid. I didn’t mean for you to think I left. I’m so sorry.”
He turned to me, never allowing me to let go of his waist as he looked down into my gaze. His brilliant green eyes were even brighter with his heightened emotional state. Such breathtaking emerald eyes. I could never get enough of them.
“Don’t be sorry. I shouldn’t have overwhelmed you with my thoughts. I just… I never want to do anything to scare you away ever again. I’ve spent so many years waking up to the feeling of loss. I can’t survive the reality of truly losing you,” he admitted.
“Do you withdraw every time you think I’m about to go away?” I asked, curious as to why I could no longer read him.
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t read you anymore. It’s as if you’re putting up that protective block again and I can’t get a grasp on your thoughts. Is it because of me?”
“I don’t know. Possibly. Yesterday when I started having this issue, I had just survived one of the most intense of all my dreams. It’s very likely I have a defense mechanism I don’t even know how to control yet. Which, ironically, makes me feel so damn defenseless,” he said, putting emphases on the less and inserting a bit of humor in his tone, obviously to hide his discomfort.
“Why is it that it’s okay for girls to get emotional but when a guy does, he’s gotta crack a joke to hide his feelings?” I said jokingly.
“Because, it’s you girls that make us so damn weak,” he admitted, his tone void of the humor he previously used as a mask.
Breaking our stares, and without backing away, I looked over the shirtless man I was still clutching onto without reserve. Christ, he was gorgeous. Since his arms were wrapped deliciously around my waist, I brought my hands up and gripped his biceps. His hard, delectable biceps. Suddenly, my eye caught something on his left arm just beneath my fingers.
He had a tattoo. It was just a simple tribal armband that wrapped around his muscle. And boy, did it look nice. Such a sexy, powerful look on a man with muscle and definition in his arms. I just stared as I trailed my finger around the intricate markings on his skin, imagining my tongue doing the same.
“Jonah?”
“Yes, love?”
“Will you tell me about your dreams?”
“I have a better idea. How about I show you?” he asked. I just looked up at him, perplexed as to what he meant. “I have sketchbooks full of my dreams, Ella.”
“Oh,” was all that I could manage to say. Brain to mouth malfunction and all… I couldn’t seem to form any words.
Wrapping his arms around my back, he picked me up as if I weighed no more than a feather, and pressed me against his hard chest. I quickly swallowed my squeal and wrapped my arms around his neck. My feet were dangling off the floor as he pressed his forehead to mine and stared into my eyes.
Without breaking eye contact, he slowly walked over to his bed and stopped at the edge. I thought at first he was going to gently lay me down so we could pick up where we left off at my house in my dreams so many weeks ago.
Suddenly, his hold on me released and I was tossed to the fluffy mattress below me, giggling like a fool in the process as I bounced a few times before finally settling down.
A playful grin spread across his face as he said, “Stay there for a moment. I’ll be right back.”
I decided to take my boots off and get comfortable as I watched Jonah walk over to the corner of the room. He had two separate closets, one of which had the doors open, showing nothing but clothes and shoes—the normal stuff you would find in a closet. The second closet was the one he headed toward. When he opened the doors and switched on a light, I noticed several bookshelves with nothing but sketchbooks and art supplies. Digging around for a moment, he emerged with several tattered sketchbooks.
I sat up at the anticipation of seeing more of his drawings. Backing up a little toward the head of the bed, I crossed my legs in front of me and sensed the odd feeling of excitement bubbling up beneath my skin. He quickly chose the same position, facing me, as he laid several of the spiral-bound books between us.
The one he placed on top was handled with such tenderness that I immediately knew it had to be his favorite.
I bit my lip with impatience as I waited for him to explain. Looking up, I noticed him watching me hungrily.
Without warning, he leaned forward and gently tugged at my chin, forcing me to release my lip from my teeth. He then proceeded to lean further and grazed a small, gentle kiss against the sensitive tissue of my bitten lip.
Against my desires, he pulled back and resumed his position in front of me.
“These are just some of my many vision books. Well, that’s what I’ve been calling them. Actually, my parents are the only ones who know I have so many. And that’s only because they ran across them one day while I still lived at home. I kept them separate from my school sketchbooks because very few people actually know about my…” he trailed off, as if he needed to choose his words wisely. I touched his hand, imploring him to continue on, hoping he could be unashamed of his words when he was around me. “Few people know about my obsession. Only a select few know of my dreams.”
“This is way more than a simple obsession, Jonah,” I said in an attempt to clarify my involvement with this connection we had.
“I know that now, but at almost eighteen, I had no clue what was causing you to visit me in my dreams,” he said as he pointed to the top book in the pile. “Honestly, I still don’t know why. I’m just glad I’m not completely crazy now that I know you are act
ually real.”
I touched his face and basked in the feeling of him leaning toward my hand. The fact that he enjoyed my hand against his skin was such a simple, yet pleasurable, feeling.
“Anyway, this top one here is my first sketchbook. The first night I dreamed of you, I got up and drew the eyes that delved into my soul that night. As the nights progressed and I continued to dream of you, I continued to draw. I used to label each one with the date, but soon, I just began to label the cover of each sketchbook with the months spanned.”
I looked down at the book he had opened to the first sketch. A perfect rendering of my eyes, drawn so carefully with colored pencil, stared back at me and I couldn’t help but gasp, covering my mouth with my hands in astonishment at how lifelike it was and the date that was listed at the bottom. Tentatively, I reached out and touched the drawing with my fingertips.
Chapter Two
“How did you know?” was the only question I could manage.
He shrugged as he looked at me and said, “I have no idea. I’ve been in complete confusion over why I dreamed of you every night since.”
“Jonah, this was the day of my accident,” I breathlessly muttered as I pointed to the date on the sketch. It didn’t take me long to find the oxygen I needed for my shrill to become louder as I spoke. “This was the first night I was unconscious. This was the date my entire life changed!”
Tears began to trickle down my face again and I cursed myself for being such a sniveling idiot. I couldn’t help it though. So many emotions were ravaging my heart and my mind. My body had no idea how to deal with these emotions and just decided to act like a sissy girl about it all.
One of my tears splashed bitterly onto the once-flawless drawing, causing some of the tender strokes to bleed and spread through the paper.
“Shit, now I’ve messed it up!” I sniffled as I reached out to try and wipe away the moisture from his illustration. Of course, that just made it worse.
“Shhh. Ella, don’t worry about that. I don’t need my drawings anymore now that I have the real you,” he soothed. Realizing I was worse for the wear and not calming down any time this century, he picked me up and dragged me into his lap. He sat there and held me against his chest as he wrapped his fingers through my hair and grazed his thumb over my cheek to catch the errant tears slipping from my eyes.
“I know this is all very confusing. I wasn’t sure how to even tell you about my dreams. I was so worried you would think I was some sort of freak stalker or something.” Jonah paused as he continued to hold me close. He sighed heavily before saying, “Even though I would do anything to make sure you’re never in pain, I can’t help but wonder what our chance of meeting would have been like if it weren’t for that godforsaken accident.”
With that thought to chew on, I had to agree.
I sat for several long moments cradled against my Jonah. I could feel my pulse thrumming through my body with each beat of my heart. The whooshing sounds became louder and louder against my eardrums with each thrust of liquid, like the ultrasound rhythm of a baby’s heart beating through the mother’s uterine walls. It was then that I noticed I could also feel Jonah’s blood pulsating through his veins. I can’t explain how I could feel it, but I could, as if his pulse was under my own skin. Then I detected the distinct feeling that his heartbeat was in sync with mine. Every beat of his heart drummed with the same rhythm. It had to have been just a coincidence, but the thought that our hearts beat together as one wasn’t totally far-fetched, considering…
The idea that we had a deeper connection than just our dreams made my heartbeat increase with nervousness. Newfound pressure built up within the tiny tracks under my skin and I could feel the pulsating drum of my core through my entire body. Curious as to what his reaction would be, I closed my eyes and laid my hand on his chest. I wanted to feel his beating heart. I needed any reason to force myself a little closer to him.
Without fail, his pulse picked up the pace, matching mine in perfect synchronization.
“Jonah…” I whispered.
“Yeah, I feel it. Christ, Ella. I feel it, too,” he confirmed, squeezing me tighter. Our bodies felt like the constant rhythm of a train barreling down the tracks, thudding in a seamless tempo with one another, as if we were one being instead of two.
“What do you think it means?” I asked, worried I was getting ahead of myself with this feeling of succinct emotions playing out in our bodies.
“I’m not sure, but I love it. I love the feeling that we’re so perfectly in tune with each other,” he sighed as he pressed me tighter against his chest. I buried my nose into the crook of his neck and inhaled, smelling his scent and feeling the pace of his blood pumping in cadence with mine.
At this point in time, we were somewhat facing the headboard of his bed and I took that moment to look up at the drawing of me riding Cora. Astonishing. Not just the fact that he dreamed of me, but he also dreamed of my mom’s horse and the exact image of what I thought to be the personal memories of my coma-vision. He managed to capture every minor detail of that night, even down to the clothes I was wearing. I then noticed the name down in the bottom left corner.
Lavendine. The name of his studio.
“Jonah, why do you have the name of your studio at the bottom of my drawing?”
“Because, I named the studio after you. Or, what I called you at the time,” he deadpanned. His admission caught me off guard and caused me to sit up slightly so I could look into his eyes.
“Lavendine is what you called me?” I asked, wondering where the name came from and why he would call me that instead of my real name. “Isn’t that like, a type of lavender plant or something?”
“Well, not the way I intended it. Remember, I didn’t know your name until today. To me, you were the girl with amethyst-colored eyes. When it came time to name my studio, I wanted something that made me think of you. Lavendine is a synonym for amethyst quartz and it seemed to fit perfectly. Not enough people knew what the word meant to suspect I had an ulterior motive for the name.”
I looked up at him and smiled. “That’s so cool.” My heart expanded at the thoughtfulness of the name. I was a definite sucker for wistful and personal conclusions.
It didn’t take long for him to realize I wanted him to kiss me. Within moments, he pressed his lips to mine, this time much harder and more passionately than before. Tongue against delicious tongue and beat against metrical beat, Jonah overwhelmed my senses and consumed every coherent thought in my brain.
Supporting my head, he leaned me back so I was now flat against the bed and positioned himself alongside my body.
The feeling of our blood pumping in rhythm with each other was even more pronounced now that we were permanently lip-locked. Our winded panting was definitely not synchronized like our hearts, but that didn’t stop me from enjoying the feel of his breath against my skin.
Trailing my fingernails up his bare back caused a grunt to emanate from his chest and his teeth to dig into the skin just above my collarbone. As Jonah nibbled at me with his scruff, a trickle of my laughter lifted through the air and was quickly swallowed up by his kisses.
I can’t believe you’re really here with me, I heard Jonah think as we continued our passionate assault on each other.
Loving the fact I could read him again, I grabbed his face, pulled his lips from mine, and looked directly into his eyes as I whispered, “I’m here.”
In response to my affirmation, he devoured me once again, completely consuming me and leaving me downright breathless. As he trailed his lips and tongue down my neck towards my chest, I realized I wasn’t quite ready for this to continue. His lips tracing the line of my top were like a bolt of electricity straight to my core, yet I knew I wasn’t quite ready for this step of reality.
I immediately jumped for the nearest out I could think of.
“Jonah, don’t you have to work tonight?” I spat out quickly as his tantalizing scruff tickled my neck and made me giggle like a c
hild once more.
“I don’t care,” he mumbled against my skin, making me laugh louder, pushing at his chest lightly to make the tickling stop.
Jonah, please. I’m not quite ready for this, I projected and began to mutter apologies in my mind, knowing full well making him stop was unfair and would probably make him feel very uncomfortable. I should know better than to get a man all worked up, just to turn him down when he’s only following my lead.
He pulled away, cupped my cheek, and said, “You have nothing to be sorry for. I don’t want to push you. Even though I can’t seem to get enough of you, I completely understand and respect that you’re not ready for anything this serious, Ella.”
“This serious? I don’t mind serious. If anything, I welcome it. But, the sex? Well, let’s just say a coma patient doesn’t experience a hell of a lot of sex,” I said with a shy smile.
“Shit. I didn’t even think of that,” he whispered as he pressed his forehead to mine. “How old were you during the accident?”
“Fourteen. Well, it was a few days before my fourteenth birthday.”
“So, that means this is all new to you?” he asked with a little hint of shyness. “I almost feel like I’m some horrible villain trying to steal your virtue.”
I don’t want him to think of me as a little kid, because I’m not. I may have not had any physical experiences, but I was well educated about sex. And why did everyone get all embarrassed when talking about sex? I know I don’t get embarrassed about this sort of thing very easily. A little confused, yes. Because in my comatose state, I experienced sex, which is very befuddling considering my body never had the experiences my brain seemed to process.
“Yes, I’m a virgin. As a matter of fact, you’re my first kiss,” I said confidently, hoping the detail of him being my first would make him feel more at ease and he would draw comfort from the fact that I had never been with another man.