by Fiona Keane
I had to stop myself. I could have suffocated the both of us, allowing that uncomfortable chair to consume and devour us while I did just that to Soph. My entire being, every particle that wove to create and hold me together, had become infused with Soph. Every particle wanted her, needed her, craved her. Every. Particle.
“Soph,” I groaned against her mouth, hardly able to catch the gasping breath that broke my lungs while she bit my bottom lip. “Wait, Soph…wait.”
I lifted from her, holding my weight with my hands pressed into the arm of the chair above her head. I couldn’t comprehend how the two of us fit inside the small space of that chair, but questions like that shouldn’t even have crossed my mind. All I should have focused on was the amazingly beautiful, soft, loving girl beneath me. Soph was watching me, anticipating whatever move I would next make, trusting me unconditionally. She trusts me. I knew that; I didn’t need a reminder, but in that moment I realized, through the slow blink of her eyelashes, Soph might not feel I trust her, especially not with this.
“You said you are afraid,” I repeated between the small space of kissing her throat and taking a breath.
Who was I kidding? I didn’t need to breathe. Sophia was my air, my life, my existence, my sustenance. I didn’t need anything but her. I only needed to consume her to exist. I was in love with her. Hopelessly, unapologetically, unwavering love.
“I didn’t want to overstep or intrude on this part of your life, but I wanted you to have this. I wanted to give you a piece of you since you’ve given me all of me. You’ve given me life.”
And she gave me my past, while being my future.
“It’s new to me. All of this, Jameson. I didn’t change my identity when I went to Florida. I was Sophia Reid, orphan living with her hippie aunt, with memories I could think about and talk about with anyone I felt comfortable around. But you…you couldn’t even think of Gabriel.”
“I did. I do.” I shrugged, pulling up from her entirely and reaching my hands out to guide her up with me.
I tugged on her hands as she rested against the arm, bringing her to stand with me at the window. My hands fell to my side, unsure of where to put them while I futilely resisted the temptation to touch her.
“But you couldn’t act on it. I can come here, to Oregon, and be Sophia.”
“Not anymore,” I mumbled, guilt and resentment filling my heart while I watched Soph process.
I’d stolen that from her. I’d stolen her memories, boxed them away with Gabriel’s, and taken a piece of her future simply by falling for her.
“Wow.” Her intake of breath was sharp, almost painful. “You’re right.”
“It’s unbelievable, isn’t it?” My palms cupped her face, quick to comfort her as she came to my level of existence, understanding the implications and finality of this new life. “It’s like everything is there, still waiting for you. Your memories are there, reminding you of your perfect life, even if it wasn’t always ideal. You’re blinded by the good. It’s all so close, you can practically reach out for it, but you’ll be chasing smoke forever.”
“Because that’s all they are. It’s gone.” Her head shook. “We’re really dead.”
“Corpses.”
“Zombies. We’re like the undead. This is so messed up.”
I smiled at her, relief tickling back into my heart. “Isn’t it? Welcome to my world.”
“It’s nice here.” She glanced at me, her lips twitching into a smile. I inched closer to Soph, tentatively pressing my lips against her forehead, breaking another barrier between us.
“You can stay as long as you’d like…” I whispered against her skin, “…which I hope is forever.”
“Is this what it really feels like? This weird weight against my heart? This perplexing feeling, like you’re just watching it all sift through your fingertips like sand?”
“I hate the beach.” I pulled away, laughing.
“Then why’d you kidnap me and make me go there?”
“Soph! I didn’t kidnap you!”
She giggled, the sweet sound filling our air. “You did. And you protected me there too. From the beginning.”
“Ugh,” I groaned, remembering Mark’s attempt to hold Soph hostage like the pervert he was. “I’m so sorry about that, Soph. True point, though. I had protected you. I think I just knew I had to. I knew I wanted to…that I needed to protect you.”
My hands pulled along my face, consumed with the frustration of that memory.
“You were so different then,” Soph whispered, climbing from the chair while still clutching the envelope, her eyes wide with reflection. “Jameson Burke.”
“That’s not my name.”
She giggled, her grin widening as she stepped away from me with her back approaching the window. “Jameson Burke.”
“Stop.”
My name on Sophia’s lips was torture. An utterly sensual sound that boiled my blood, beckoning my burning soul. She stepped further away from me, still smiling.
“Jame—”
Our bodies collided, mine pushing Soph against the window while I held her wrists in my left hand, raising them above her head as it fell back during a delicious laugh. The open panel next to us brought in the damp breeze, but it was Soph’s tongue against mine that consumed my body with a shiver.
“Jameson,” she whispered against my lips, still giggling.
“What did you do to me, Ophelia Black?” My eyes scanned every detail of her grinning face—the blissful lines around her squinting eyelids, the soft glow on her blushing cheeks, the way her eyelashes fanned along her skin when she blinked, every last detail.
“The same thing I’ve always done,” she sighed. “And the same thing you’ve done to me.”
“I meant what I said back in Florida. I had been waiting for you. We’re meant to be here together, with each other.” My forehead pressed against hers. “There is no other story for us.”
“I love you.” Her eyes moved up toward mine, slowly blinking me into oblivion. Sweet, seductive, Sophia oblivion.
I let her hands fall from mine, guiding them from the wall while I reluctantly stepped away from her ever so slightly.
Pinching her envelope between my right thumb and index finger, I asked, “May I?”
Soph’s eyes flashed between my hand, the envelope, and my eyes. I would have given anything to know the precise thought in the prolonged moment it took for her to release her protective hold against the envelope, against my past.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sophia
I was caught somewhere between about-to-throw-up and about-to-cry. Both dangerous zones, both rippled with intense emotions. Jameson’s hands moved with hesitation, but his hold on the envelope was confident and strong. I couldn’t imagine the strength it would take to endure the agony that threatened to flood his heart.
My fingertips lightly touched my swollen lips, trying to distract myself from the pain I worried he would feel. The crinkling sound of the envelope as Jameson opened it, gently pouring the contents onto the coffee table, filled the quiet room with a deafening sound, clamorous and blindingly ominous. His long fingers trembled, quivering like a timid child while reaching for a photograph.
“She told me the police officers took them from your house.” My voice was barely a whisper, wanting to support him and entirely afraid of speaking. “Elizabeth kept them, locked away and safe. I think she was saving them to give to you. They both were, they both kept them for you. They weren’t supposed to have them, Jameson, but they had them hiding in the safest part of your house.”
I felt the waves pouring off Jameson, drowning me with his sadness, taking me into his pain. I’d gladly go if I were at his side. I slowly slipped from the chair, gliding down to his side with the coffee table before us. Swallowing the nervous tickle in my chest, I continued to whisper to him.
“She wanted to give them to you. She just didn’t know the right time.”
I watched as his trembling fingers meth
odically sorted through the photographs, meticulously observing each detail. From the individual strands of his mother’s chestnut hair to the prism of color in their hazel eyes, Jameson studied it all. And then his eyes fell on the picture capturing the moment he helped his little sister hold a baseball bat. His shaking right hand tried to lift it, but it simply moved across the table. He struggled to pinch the corner, trying to pick it up gently but he was completely unable to.
“Do you want me to—”
“Just stop, Soph.”
Jameson’s hands flew in the air, a defensive warning that perhaps I had stepped too deeply into the past. Don’t cry. This is his moment, his time to grieve and process and…remember. Why did I do this? This isn’t the time.
As slowly as I could, my body began its treacherous journey to inch away from Jameson, but his right hand clamped down on my thigh, preventing my movement. Okay. I’ll just sit right here. He was staring at the photographs. I watched him. I observed him. I ached for him. Jameson’s left hand came up to his head, slowly rubbing back through his messy hair.
“You know,” his voice cracked through hidden tears, “…I remember that day. We had gone to a Cubs game. I waited with Sam to try for an autograph after the game. We waited for, God, I don’t know…maybe an hour? We couldn’t get one and she was just heartbroken. This little toddler, you know? I asked my mom if we could take her to the park so I could make her feel happy again. I wanted to take away all of the sad.”
“You wanted to protect her.” I nodded, whispering the realization that what drove Jameson’s existence was entirely love, unquestionable, protective love. His head slowly bobbed in agreement, still focused on the image.
“We went to a park near Wrigley with her bat.” He paused to rub his right eye, the thoughts beginning to transition into tears. “My mom took this.”
I looked away, forcefully biting my lip so only his emotions would consume the moment. I tried to focus on the pattern along the duvet, the stucco on the ceiling, but when his hand left my leg and began pulling hair from my neck, all thoughts returned to Jameson. His breath was quick and wet as it fanned the sensitive skin along my neck.
“Thank you, Sophia,” he whispered in a sigh, a lonely, heartbroken sigh that had me questioning whether I made the right choice. I did. He needed these pictures. As much as he hid Gabriel, that is who he is.
Our pasts are part of us. They define us, good and bad, forming us into the people we are meant to be. Names can change, but hearts are heavy and souls embrace what cannot be forgotten. My head turned ever so, limiting his access to my skin, watching while his hands still sorted through the scattered images.
“I forgot the one from under your mattress,” I muttered, guilt plaguing my mind. “I’m so sorry.”
His head left my shoulder while he reached for a picture of Gabriel and his mom, snuggled on a park bench; waves of brown, sparkling hazel, glowing with radiant love and adoration.
“May I ask you something?”
“Hmm?”
My hands fidgeted restlessly. “How did you get the picture you showed me in your room? If these were all meant to be burned when Gabriel hid.”
Hazel returned to me, damp with nostalgia, but alive with wit. “I guess we’re both thieves now.”
“I guess so. Do…should we…um…”
His eyes refused to falter, continuing to burn into mine. “Pass.”
I nodded, blushing with relief as a smile tickled against his mouth. I was at his side, watching the furrowed brow, the lip biting, fading hazel, for a silent thirty minutes. Watching. His fingers caressed the emblems of his past, longing and grieving. I knelt, slowly lifting myself from beneath the coffee table and stepped back to the window.
“Don’t leave,” his whisper distracted me. “You don’t need to leave me, Soph.”
“I just wanted to give you space. I don’t…I’m not sure how to handle this…I’m not sure what you need. It’s so much.”
“Not sure what I need?”
I turned around at his words, seeing the blinding grin spreading along his face, his teeth biting into the corner of his bottom lip. Jameson used the knuckles of his index fingers to wipe the grief from beneath his eyes, kneeling with a heavy sigh before standing above the coffee table. My face turned back to the window, my existence calming with a simple glance at the dreary delight of misty skies and overcast light. My core shivered, feeling Jameson’s hands wrap around my waist from behind, his chin resting on top of my head. I didn’t know what to expect from him. Sobbing tears? Isolation? Anger toward me?
I waited, worried, nervously hoping the trembling of my heart would stop, but his was pounding against my back as a slow and steady reminder of his solace. I could give that to him.
“You’re all I need, Soph.” His raspy whisper invaded my senses, filling my ears with a delirious hum. “All. I. Ever need. Thank you.” His voice dripped with sadness. “For protecting my memory. For being you. For loving me. Thank you. Thank you for staying.”
“You’re not mad at me?”
“How can I be mad at you for loving someone so much that you tried to protect something of theirs while you were coping with your own trauma? You tried to protect me, my happiness, my memory, my heart, Soph. I can’t cope with it right now, but that is simply shock. All of this flooding back to me…”
“Do you want some space? It’s so much. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Stop.” I felt his chuckle against my hair. “I want you. I want you right here, in my arms. Gabriel would’ve wanted that too.”
I giggled, sure it wasn’t appropriate, but to imagine who Gabriel was, or might have been, seemed so peculiar. Knowing Jameson as anyone other than Jameson Burke was impossible, but the boy whose arms wove around my body, holding me against his warm chest, wasn’t Jameson Burke anymore.
“Hmm,” a hum escaped his throat with a light giggle. “Do you hear that?”
I spun around within his hold, confusion apparent in my expression while his face beamed at me. His eyes were raw, swollen, and red, but continued to radiate their sparkling hue directly into my soul.
“Do I hear what?”
I tentatively lifted the cuff of my sleeve to wipe remaining the tears from beneath his left eye and listened, hoping to pick up on cues in our environment. It was raining, but that sound was familiar and comforting. There was some traffic along the street as the morning was beginning. I could faintly hear masts clinking in the marina across the way.
“Listen…” Jameson was beginning to grin, his smile widening with sparkling nostalgia. “Do you hear that music?”
Jameson’s right hand lifted from my stomach, opening the curtain panel behind me while I gazed up at him. His eyes were squinting through the haze, echoing the lines of his smile. My hands crawled up his shirt, cupping his face before his eyes returned to mine.
“That song…” he whispered, “…I think it’s coming from the marina.”
Jameson spun me from his hold, grasping my hands with his left and pulling me closer to the window.
“That?” I laughed, barely able to make out the melody of the vintage tune creeping through the fog to our ears.
He looked down at me, his crooked grin lifting the corner of his mouth. Jameson’s face turned, glancing at me from the side while his eyes twinkled with delight. His eyebrows raised, the radiance of his hazel eyes beginning to burn, smoldering a heavy gold, while his bottom lip playfully found its way between his teeth. My left hand met the air while he slowly began spinning me in a circle beneath his hand, gently following the melody. We are dancing.
“Jameson…” I giggled, entirely embarrassed that his attention was so focused on me in that moment. He spun me twice more before his left hand fell to my waist, walking itself to my lower back and forcing our hips to meet. His right fingers intertwined with my left, holding them bondage in the air while we danced. Dancing. He is dancing with me. Nobody has danced with me like this before. Nobody.
Jame
son hummed the melody against my lips while he consumed mine, lingering against my mouth as his gentle song broke through the mist.
“Didn’t your mom listen to Otis Redding?” He laughed quietly, observing my confused smile. I didn’t hear him. Did he ask me something? All I experienced was Jameson Burke, Jeremy Black, whatever, singing to me while dancing with me. My elated heart was rapidly pounding, breaking its way through the cage of my chest, feverishly eager to meet his.
“N-No…”
“Mine did. All the time. She would dance with me to this song.” He chuckled. “How horribly ironic is that, Soph? Some person is out there in the rain at four in the morning, listening to Otis Redding while you showed me those pictures…Jesus.”
“Jameson?”
“My mom…” His hold on me faltered, releasing me in a quick, chilling moment before Jameson stumbled against the open window, dragging the curtain onto the balcony with him.
I still struggled to discern the melody trickling in from the marina, but it felt as though the same notes were repeating like a broken record, pausing a painful memory while Jameson sank against the cold, damp balcony floor.
“Dammit,” he growled, his knees bending and meeting his chin, “…dammit.”
He had moved beyond all of that pain, but I brought it back. I rubbed in his face the life he had twice now removed himself from, like a gloating idiot. Shit, shit, shit. I stood in the doorway, my hands trembling as they whitened against the chilly doorframe. Jameson had curled into himself, the last bit of his strength used to bind himself within the panic.
“Jameson,” I whispered from the doorway, watching the muscles in his shoulders move like waves beneath his wet shirt. He’s crying.