Water of Souls

by Eli Constant

  “It’s not that I want to keep things from you, Kyle. I don’t.”

  “Then tell me the truth. There’s something going on with you. I know it. I’ve been with you for a while now. I kept telling myself that you had a right to be secretive.” He takes a deep breath and then lets it out slowly. “Is there something going on with you and Terrance? Or someone else? So many times, I’ve heard you talking to someone in a room and I’ve walked in and you act like you’ve been caught red-handed. Why would you hide your phone and act that way if it wasn’t something like that? Are you seeing someone else with me?”

  I’m taken aback. This has nothing to do with finding Maggie’s bones near his bar or me getting distracted in a store because I feel a spirit. This is normal human relationship shit. I nearly laugh, until I see the hurt on Kyle’s face. I can’t find humor in this, not if he’s in pain.

  “God, Kyle, no. I’m absolutely not cheating on you. You’re the first guy I’ve really been with since Adam died. I don’t want to jeopardize this good thing we’ve got. I care about you.”

  “Well, I love you, Tori. I love you.” He points at his chest. He’s a huge man, but in this moment he looks small and vulnerable. Just like Terrance had in the morgue, trying to dig honesty out of me. “And I’m not crazy. Something’s wrong here. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

  As Kyle is talking, he’s still working with the fish, looking down every now and then, keeping his hands busy. Maybe to help him process what he’s saying, what I’m saying. Busy hands are good for that.

  “You’re right, there is something.” Am I really going to do this? Am I really going to tell two people in one day my secret? Shit. This is like living in one of my nightmares.

  “Tell me then. I won’t be in a relationship that’s not built on honesty. I’ve been down that road, over and over again. I don’t want that with you.” Kyle’s large chest is straining the black cotton tee he has on, the arms are a bit too small and his upper arms look like vintage-Schwarzenegger, i.e. Mr. Universe. I want him back in my bed. I want his large body tucked against mine and his arms wrapped around my waist.

  “Okay, here goes.” I stand straighter and get ready to spill the beans.

  “Shit.” Kyle’s expletive cuts me short. “What the hell?”

  “What’s wrong?” I walk quickly over to his side of the table

  “Something jabbed into my finger.” He shows me his right index finger. Sure enough, a little dot of blood is blossoming along the skin. It’s surrounded by bits of fish flesh and spiny bone fragments.

  “Maybe just one of the bones?” I turn around and wet a paper towel at the sink to clean his hand off. I swipe gently against his skin, and take a closer look. “It’s a puncture, but there’s nothing in the wound now I don’t think.”

  Kyle’s staring at the partially-prepped fish. “What’s that?” He pulls the hand I’m cleaning away, which is his right and dominant hand, and he uses his nails to extract something buried in the bass. When he lifts it, my jaw drops. Because I recognize what it is. Rationally, I know it’s an impossibility. There are a million in the world like it, I’m sure.

  But what would the chances be of seeing it in a picture yesterday and seeing it in person today? What would the chances be of a father driving so far from his hometown to find me to do his son’s funeral services?

  “Guess he must have swallowed it at some point. Damn thing hurt.” Kyle goes to throw away the object that jabbed his finger, but I quickly grab it from him.

  “No, let me have it. I’ll clean it up and do something with it. I think it’s pretty sign-from-above to find a heart in a fish you’re fileting while we’re in the middle of our first real disagreement.” My fingers curl around the little red earring and my heart beats furiously in my chest. Leslie had said her son went fishing in Lake Marion. What did that mean?

  Was Timothy’s body in that lake somewhere? Decaying and waiting to be found? I swallowed, bile rising up my throat at the thought of some fish taking a bit out of the lost boy’s ear.

  “I didn’t think about that. It’s pretty serendipitous.” Kyle’s smile warms me to my toes and I love that the twinkle in his eyes is there again.

  “Yes, it is.” I lean over and I kiss him. And he kisses me back, thank goodness.

  As I’m walking away to my bedroom to put the earring somewhere safe, I hear him speak again and the warmth drains away.

  “We still need to talk, Tori. I still need the truth.”

  I turn around. “I know, Kyle. For tonight though, can we just be us?”

  He nods. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

  Chapter Nine

  When I come back from the bedroom, Kyle and I act like nothing’s wrong. We cook and we eat and we laugh and we cuddle on the couch watching some old film on the classic movie station. It’s in black and white. That’s Kyle’s preference anyways. He says modern movies are just missing something and the monochromatic visuals make you focus on the storyline more. It doesn’t have all the exploding, shoot-‘em-up distractions and CGI.

  I don’t watch a lot of television, save for the news and two shows that will be back in season soon. What I’ll never watch is horror movies and anything having to do with the human interpretation of the afterlife and ‘ghosts’. They’ve got it all wrong and the few times I’ve hazarded a watch at a paranormal show or movie, I’ve ended up yelling at the screen pointing out all the mistakes—like an ex-military guy would do while watching a war film.

  The movie ends at some point, but we don’t notice. We’re too busy whispering and laughing and sneaking in kisses. It’s so comfortable that I nearly forget his ultimatum. That was the point of just asking him to let it go for the evening, but it does taint our togetherness—knowing that the questions will be back before I know it, and that I can’t avoid giving answers forever.

  One more day though, maybe that’s all I need. It’s too hard facing spilling my guts twice in one day and not being sure if I’ll survive both the tellings.

  As a new movie begins, this one another black and white with Brando as the titular male lead, Kyle pulls away from me and runs his hands through my now-disheveled hair. “God, you’re beautiful, Tori.”

  “You keep telling me that.” I feel the blush creep into my cheeks, like a wraith twisting and turning, crawling up a set of stairs in the most horrific way possible. It makes me uncomfortable when he compliments me, but then I’ve not had such praise since Adam. A girl gets used to having her own judging voice playing down her attributes day after day. And the mirror is a nasty beast.

  “I wish you’d listen.” He runs his hand down my face and plays his fingers across my clavicles. “I like a little meat on my girls anyways.”

  “It’s not what you like though. It’s what I like and how I feel. I’m only fifteen pounds from my goal and the size tens buried in my closet. Losing this weight means something more than just being thinner though, Kyle.” I try to explain, but men have a harder time conceptualizing a woman’s size and her sense of self-worth. Guys can go around with extra weight and not be socially brutalized for it. I know some men suffer from poor confidence, that they feel the same way as a woman would, but I know for a fact that Kyle—with his toned body and comment some time ago that he’d always been the athletic type—doesn’t have a problem with his image.

  “I just want you to realize that I love you, all of you.” He bends towards me and kisses my neck.

  “And I appreciate that, more than you know. But you’re just going to have to accept that I still feel I have work to do. Okay?”

  “Okay,” he murmurs the word against my skin, his breath caressing and causing little goosebumps to sprout. The heat of blush is no longer contained in my cheeks. It moves downward to warm my belly... and other places.

  “Does it bother you that I haven’t told you that I love you, too? You’ve said it more than once now.” I don’t like that he’s said it first, but I’d like it even less if I’d said it firs
t and then been the one left in the lurch, waiting for my feelings to be returned.

  “You’ll say it when you’re ready. I’m not in a hurry.” His hands are playing with the buttons of my shirt now, one pops open and he gives a little anticipatory sigh as the lace of my violet-colored bra peeks through the newly-made gap. “Not in too much of a hurry,” he admits, snaking his index finger beneath my shirt to tickle the little satin bow that rests on the bra material between my breasts. They’re slightly smaller than they were with all the working out, but not so much that I’ve had to go buy all new undergarments.

  “Maybe in a hurry for other things though?” I tease, now allowing my own hands to begin exploring his body again. We’re quickly moving past the kissing and cuddling and into warmer, wetter things.

  “In more of a hurry than I should be.” His hands have left my blouse and he’s leaned down so that his head rests against my chest, the great mass of his body fits awkwardly on the couch because of the way he’s moved against me. He tilts his head so that his eyes can look at me. And they are bedroom eyes, full of promises.

  “I doubt many girls have made you wait this long. I just need to be sure.” And I did, dammit. Especially since my most recent experience involved a dark fairy and his... God, I can’t even call whatever the hell that was a penis.

  “I understand.” He lowers his head again to nuzzle his face against my shirt; it will smell like vanilla and citrus, like the detergent and fabric softener I always mix in the wash.

  “Do you?” I run my hands through his thick, dark hair. It reaches past his shoulders now. He’s been talking about getting it cut, but I can’t stand the thought of sheering off the glossy, near-black strands.

  “Yes.”

  That singular word hits me in the heart, a veritable cupid’s arrow. I know he does understand. That he will go on, as long as necessary, enjoying my company without the promise of sex. He will let me take him to the very edge of everything and then pull back. We’ll entwine and kiss and get almost to the oneness that is the most close a man and woman can be, and he will not vilify me when I cannot go all the way.

  And, god, that makes me want to go all the way.

  “We should move to the bedroom.” I whisper it in his ear, bending over so that my breasts push into his hair.

  “Hmm?” He’s lost in the scent of me, in the feel of us just sitting on the sofa together.

  Again, his acceptance of so little in response to all he offers—in the response to his declaration of love—makes me hungrier for him. To give him what we both need, what we both want.

  “We should move to the bedroom.” This time, I do not whisper it. I grip his hair in both my hands and I roughly push his head so that he’s looking at me and there’s no chance—absolutely no chance in the ether—that he can misunderstand my meaning.

  He doesn’t say anything, but he stands and somehow he manages to lift me off the couch with him so that I am clinging to his body, legs around his waist and arms around his neck. I don’t know how we don’t bump into every table, lamp, and wall in the place. Because he certainly doesn’t look where he’s going and it’s not possible for me to. I’m turned the other way, lips pressed against his, and we are kissing each other so deeply that I think one of us might eat the other up.

  I’ve never seen Kyle naked. Without a shirt, sure. In his boxers, sure. But I’ve never seen the whole package. He’s thick and long inside his jeans, hard before we’re even into the bedroom. When he sits me down on the edge of the bed, I lift his shirt, exposing his chiseled stomach, and I sigh. I can’t help it. It’s girlish and predictable, but I can’t help it.

  He’s nude before I am. Gloriously freaking nude. His tall and muscular frame nearly blocks out the only light spilling into the room from the opened bedroom door. We don’t turn any more lights on; we’re too involved in each other to care how dim it is. And besides, I can see his perfection just fine.

  I’m nervous when he leans over and undoes the rest of the buttons on my blouse. He does it slowly, one by one, savoring the moment. He’s seen me in my underwear. This isn’t anything new, but it is new in that... for the first time, we’re going all the way. We’re relinquishing whatever secrets about our physical bodies are left. I see the birthmark on his right hip, just above the hard line that’s always peeking out from the waist of his pants. I see a little scar on his upper thigh, a patch of skin that’s always been hidden from me.

  I let him slide my shirt off when it’s laid open to fully expose my bra. He pushes me against the bed and unzips my jeans, the single button holding them closed pops open of its own volition, as if my pants are just as happy to be getting on with this part of our relationship as I am.

  When I’m lying on the bed in nothing save for my lace-trimmed underwear (thank god I’d done laundry this week and wasn’t down to just my granny panties in the closet), Kyle stands over me for a moment, his eyes roving the length of me more than once. And then the calm before the storm ends, and he joins me on the bed.

  We’re spent on foreplay. We’ve been teasing around this for months and months. He unhooks my bra with a one-handed motion and I pull it off my body, tossing it to the floor as he cups my breasts and begins to knead them. His lips meet mine once more and the world goes hazy. It’s a wonderful fog though, nothing like the confusion of pain or being surrounded by a curtain of spirits. This is lovely euphoria. Something I am gladly lost in.

  “God, Tori. I’ve wanted you so bad.” His words are garbled, his mouth moving around my right nipple. His breath is warm, whispering against my skin and sending shivers up my spine.

  “Then take me.” My back arches as he bites down, his teeth sinking softly into the delicate skin of my breast.

  My words and jerk of pleasure are enough for him. He moves lower, licking my waist right above the trail of lace where my panties begin. And then he’s pulling them off and I’m raising my ass into the air to help him along.

  He lifts himself onto his knees, pushing his hair back with one hand. He gazes at me again and I squirm under the stare. “Beautiful.” Is all he says before he grabs me under each knee and pulls me toward him. Perfectly positioned.

  The first time was quick and hard, our sexual appetites finally sated. The second... and third times... were decidedly longer.

  By the time we’re finally content, panting in one another’s arms, the sun is rising outside. A glorious Monday.

  Chapter Ten

  At some point, I fall asleep.

  When I wake up, the sun is fully raised and Kyle isn’t in bed, but I can smell the coffee. I want to race right out and kiss him (just a fast one to say good morning. It’s the only thing that I’d prioritize over coffee), but it’s Monday and I have a funeral starting at two. So, first things first. I need a shower.

  As the water hits me, I feel light as air. Wet of course, but still light as air. I don’t know why we waited so long now. I mean, six months isn’t really that long to hold off from a sexual relationship and I never planned on tying the knot first or anything. Although I’m surprised Kyle didn’t push for that since he was the religious one and I’m not. He seemed fine with waiting, but I could feel his pulse quicken when we let things get a little too far. I could feel the bulge in his pants that said he was happy to see me, too. He’d wanted me more than he’d admitted.

  Regardless, there is just a wonderful weight lifted from my shoulders. I guess I hadn’t realized how hangry my nether-regions were getting.

  More important than satisfying the girl downstairs though, opening myself to Kyle physically has helped me decide to trust him. To give him my honesty as well as my body. That’s how it’s always been with me I guess. Adam and I didn’t wait so long. We were high school sweethearts with high school hormones, but I trusted him. I trusted him with every bit of me, even the ugly parts.

  I smile the whole time I’m washing my hair, scrubbing my stomach, shaving my legs. I smile as I’m getting dressed in the pin stripe pants suit and
pink silk top with the little tie at the neck. I’m smiling as I slip into my dress socks and push little onyx studs into my ears. I’m smiling as I nearly skip down the hall, expecting to see Kyle sitting at the table drinking his coffee and looking delicious.

  He’s not at the table though.

  He’s not drinking coffee.

  And I find that it’s totally unfair that he can still be looking delicious as he sits in the chair next to the sofa—with all of its cushions tilted up to expose the fabric over the frame work—reading my notebooks. He’s got one in his hand and one in his lap.

  What kind of idiot forgets to re-hide proof that she’s a zombie-raising freak of nature?

  Oh, right. I’m that kind of idiot.

  “Kyle, I...”

  He looks up at me, but I’m lost for words.

  “This is what you’ve been hiding?” He stares at me, his face blank. I find that blankness more disturbing than any fear or rage.

  I don’t even nod. I just stand there, silent and afraid. Jim said I could trust him. Had he been wrong?

  “All the times you were talking in a room and you’d go quiet as I entered. All the times you’ve done things that were a bit unusual, but I just passed it off as a quirky personality. How you found the girls last year and the body in the lot next to the bar.” He ticks things off, proof upon proof to add to the books he’s been devouring. “This is a hell of a secret, Tori.”

  Why can’t I say anything? Why am I just standing like a mute moron? I want to yell at myself, yell at him for reading my private things, yell at life in general for dealing me this hand. But I do nothing. I say nothing. I do not even feel myself blinking.

  Kyle stands from the chair, letting the notebook on his lap fall to the floor. It hits with a clunk and he looks down at it absentmindedly. “Did you see my dad after he died?”