Free Fall
Just before dawn, Spike slips out of Buffy’s bed. He
wanders about the house cleaning up from the night’s trauma, carefully scrubbing
away the trails and splashes of blood she’d shed throughout the house. He
doesn’t think she wants to wake up and face the evidence that last night she’d
almost died.
He cleans up most of the blood, except for a large, dark stain on the carpet at
the foot of the stairs. He finishes wiping the bathroom floor and then reaches
across the sink to wring out the rag. Watching the blood-stained water flow down
the drain, he’s overcome with sadness at the vivid memory it invokes. He almost
lost her. Again.
She'd said they shouldn’t waste another moment not loving each other. She was
right. He curses himself for his pride and insecurity, for pushing her away when
she’d asked him to come to her. What had he said? He cringes at his words now.
Something about ‘stepping off a cliff’ and ‘I don’t know if we’re going to fly
or fall’. So why the bloody hell can’t they do both?
Is he that afraid of what her love might mean to him? Hasn’t he been pursuing
her forever? Isn’t that what he wants? Her love. And just when she offers
herself to him, offers herself with love, he suddenly goes all noble and
philosophical on her. What is wrong with him? Afraid of being hurt? Well, today,
he’s going to show her. Today he is ready to fly or fall, to take that final,
irrevocable step with her.
He senses that this time, once they cross this line, knowingly and with love,
there will be no turning back. She’s given him the words; now it’s his turn. But
it will be different. This time there’ll be love and gentleness and looking each
other in the eye and no running away afterwards. There’ll be waking up in each
other’s arms and soft, sweet conversations about nothing. There’ll be just as
much talking as touching, and they will finally unburden their hearts to each
other. Not be triggered or forced into it by some crisis but …
He grips the edge of the sink as a searing pain shoots through his head. Another
jolt of pain brings him to his knees. Dragging himself to his feet, he stumbles
into her bedroom. She is still asleep. He hesitates for a moment, gazing at her
face, and then he decides that he shouldn’t wake her up. Let her sleep. Can't
lose her again.. Something wet is pouring over his lips. With horror, he
realizes that it is his own blood. Another sharp pain courses through him, and
he almost faints.
“Oh God, not now, not today,” he moans. He staggers out of her room and makes it
down into the basement, curling up in a fetal position on his cot. The pains are
now coming in knife-like waves.
She’ll be lonely when she wakes up without me.
The last coherent thought he has is that he’s broken his promise to her.
You’re not going to leave?
Not a chance.
He tumbles into a swirling delirium of pain and fear. Where is he? So dark here.
Back in the cave? Did she never come for me? Was it all a dream? And her words
to me? Just a pathetic fantasy? He stuffs the damp rag into his mouth to silence
the moans and cries he can’t control. The rag tastes of her blood, and it throws
him into a wild panic. Had he hurt her? Had he killed her? Did he hurt the girl?
I promised. He shudders. I promised her.
Got to find the chains. Got to put them on before everyone’s real
sorry they believed in me. He struggles to clamp the shackles on his wrists
and gives a sigh of relief at the metallic clink of the lock. Safe now.
Everyone is safe now.
She finds him in the basement. Her face is pale in the dim light. She starts
accusing him of something. You promised. When he doesn’t respond, she
leans next to his face and is startled to see that it is streaked with blood.
“What happened?” she demands.
Muttering something about God punishing him for hurting her and everyone,
everyone, he holds the blood-stained rag out to her as proof that he’s been bad.
And now he’s pleading, begging her to please, please, just stake him to
put him out of his pain.
Falling to her knees beside him, she tries to touch his face, but he twists away
from her. He won’t let her touch him. His voice is full of resignation when he
finally speaks.
“Maybe I wasn’t meant to last this long. One more thing you and I have in
common, eh pet? Not meant to live forever,” he whispers.
She struggles to keep her voice calm. “Don’t say that. Listen to me,
you…you…You’re not going to leave me. You didn’t hurt me. You saved me. Don’t
you remember? It’s the stupid chip. It’s gone all wonky.”
She starts to unchain him, but he pushes her away.
“You can’t. Please, you mustn’t. Please, just keep the chains on,” he begs.
“You’re not making sense, Spike. It’s just the chip. I can handle this. Take you
to a doctor… or something. No problem.” She looks worried.
“I’ll be right back, okay?” she says.
* * * * *
When it came down to it, there was never really a choice. There was only one
thing she wanted. Only one thing she wanted for him. Only one thing that she
could give to him, for everything that he’d done for her, for everything he had
given to her.
It all made terrible sense in the end, and she was sorry for what he had to
endure, but that was really his power, wasn’t it, she thought. Endurance.
Persistence in the face of overwhelming odds. Odds against overcoming the demon
inside him to find his way back to her. Odds against her ever understanding the
depth and quality of his love.
Steadfast and faithful. He’d reached for the glowing, for the spark inside her.
Known it was there and never swayed from his goal. And so she set him free. The
look on the face of the Initiative’s doctor was priceless.
“Take it out and make sure he lives, because if you hurt him, if you let him
die, I’ll kill you all,” she said. She swept the men in the small operating room
with a fierce glance. “And I mean all of you.”
After it was all over, and she was helping Spike off the gurney and out of the
room, she glanced back at the somber group of doctors and soldiers. “Oh, and
give Riley a message for me. Tell him thanks, and tell him, if the Initiative
ever comes within a hundred miles of Spike again, they’re gonna wish they died
along with those little demon eggs they planted last year”.
* * * * *
Spike is lying on the bed gazing up at her. There’s a soft light in his eye as
he reaches for her hand and pulls her down beside him.
“How are you feeling?” she asks.
“You shouldn’t have, you know…”
“Shut up, Spike. There never was a choice. I love you. ”
He smiles up at her, a look of wonderment on his face. “Yeah, I guess you do.”
“And don’t you ever forget it. Ever.”
“But what’re you gonna tell ‘em? You’ve unchained the beast...and…”
“If you ever refer to yourself as a beast again, I will stake you,” she
interrupts, “Besides, there’s no way I was gonna let you die on Valentine’s Day.
And there’s that little promise you made to me last night…about a date.”
“Don’t feel much like going out and dancing tonight, love.”
“Who said anything about going out? You just rest for a while. I’ve made plans.
Special plans.”
“Plans? Should I be scared?” he smiles.
She runs her hand over his cheek and presses her finger tips against his lips.
“Hush, now. Don’t be scared. Trust me. This is one night you’ll never forget.”
* * * * *
She closes the door quietly behind her as she leaves the room. He stares up at
the ceiling and relaxes back into the soft bed.
She loves me. Set me free. Unimaginable. I’m my own man again.
Never in his wildest fantasies had he envisioned that she’d do such a thing. He
turns over on his side and sees the box of chocolates he gave her last night.
Such a small gesture, but it had touched something deep inside her. She probably
hadn’t been given many gifts just for love in her short, hard life. Angel, he
thinks. Angel must have given her tokens of his affection.
He feels a brief pang of jealousy. But he pushes the feeling away, because he
knows that she is a different woman now. Older, been through so much, and what
they have now between them is different. They know things about each other that
no one else will ever begin to understand.
They know each other. See each other. Stripped and vulnerable down to the very
core. Done things to one another. Unthinkable, terrible things. Beautiful,
ecstatic things. All of them leading to this day, to this moment. They’ve
survived. They can bear anything, as long as they are together.
She loves me. She set me free.
He tries to reach the box of chocolates, but his attention is diverted by the
sight of a scrap of yellow paper on top the nightstand. He picks it up. It’s her
little drawing of a vampire and slayer. With his finger, he traces the outline
of the big heart she’s drawn around the two of them.
“Yeah, that’s me,” he smiles to himself, “And aren’t I a cute, little vamp,
wearing my name on my chest? And there she is, leaning against me with a big
smile.”
Underneath the drawing she’s written a poem.
Blood is red
Demons are blue
The best thing in life
Is loving you
As far as verse goes, he thinks, well, she’s quite the bloody awful poet. But he
is touched beyond measure. Carefully folding the paper, he tucks it under his
shirt, next to his heart. Fool for love, he thinks sleepily, but what the hell.
That’s what being loved will do to you. Makes you do mad, wild, crazy,
foolish…tender things.
Wonder what she’s got planned?
He falls asleep and dreams about kissing her and lying with her in a sun
drenched field at the end of summer. Her kisses are delicious and ripe and taste
like sugar. And it’s possibly the best dream he’s ever had.
* * * * *
When he wakes up, it’s dark outside. He can hear her moving around downstairs;
she’s singing to herself. He can’t catch the words, but it’s her voice all
right, slightly off-key, but very happy. She’s happy. He sits up and feels his
head. Not a spot of pain, and he feels wonderful. As he goes into the bathroom
and turns on the shower, he hears her call up to him.
“Don’t you dare come downstairs!” she shouts.
She’s got plans. He laughs, calling down to assure her he wouldn’t dream
of it. After his shower, he goes back into the bedroom and finds a dark blue
robe folded neatly on the bed. There’s a little note placed on top of the robe
which reads, “For my beautiful man.”
Her beautiful man. Her man.
“I guess we’re not going out tonight,” he thinks, smiling with anticipation as
he slips on the robe and runs his hands roughly through his hair.
“What are you doing down there?” he calls from the top of the stairs.
She comes out of the kitchen and walks slowly toward the foot of the stairs. He
catches his breath at the sight of her. She’s wearing a long, translucent robe
of pale pink silk. The living room is filled with candlelight, and there’s a
fire in the fireplace. Light glimmers in the soft folds of her robe as she moves
towards him. Delicious. He walks down the stairs, drawn to her lushness
like a starving man.
She waits for him at the bottom of the stairs. He watches her chest rise and
fall with quick, deep breaths. Beneath the flimsy silk, the soft contours of her
breasts and her rose-colored nipples, taut and erect are begging to be tasted.
He runs his tongue slowly over his lips, nervous, expectant and overcome with
hunger for her.
Her feet are bare, and he can see the long, firm length of her legs and the dark
curls between her thighs. Was anything in this world more beautiful? She holds
out her hands to him and guides him down the last few steps. All he wants to do
is touch her.
Beneath the smooth, satiny material of his robe, he stiffens and swells. He
wants to stroke her, caress her, slip across that soft pink silk and bury
himself inside her. Wants to devour her. But she has other ideas. As he grabs
for her waist to pull her close, she laughs awkwardly and slips away.
She stands a few feet away from him and twists a lock of hair around her finger,
lowering her eyes shyly. Her hand flutters nervously across her forehead,
covering the brutal scar. He steps next to her and clasps her wrist, pulling her
hand away from her face.
“You’ve nothing to hide from me, Buffy. You’re beautiful, every inch of you,
every hair on your head,” he says, brushing her hair away from her face. “Every
scar, nick and bruise,” he says, kissing her forehead. “Every soft, delicious
curve of your breasts.” He slides his hands over the silky fabric and cups her
breasts with his gentle hands. “Seeing you like this, all beautiful and glowing
for me. All beautiful and pink and golden…”
A deep flush rises in her cheeks as he traces a finger up the curve of her neck
and rests it lightly against her lower lip.
“I do love you,” he says in a soft voice.
Her mood shifts, and she breaks into a wide smile. It breaks his heart that he
can make her so happy with a few tender words. She gives him a mischievous look.
“How do you like my plan so far?” She stretches up on her toes and takes a
little, swirling step away from him.
“Loving the plan.” He growls and reaches for her hand as she dances away from
him. He pulls her against him and buries his face in the curve of her neck. “Oh,
God. I want you,” he cries.
“Not yet, beautiful,” she gazes downward and teasingly runs her hand over the
soft material covering his now very obvious erection. As she leads him into the
living room, it’s all he can do to keep himself from grabbing onto those two
luscious globes of flesh which she’s swaying seductively before him. Yeah,
this woman’s got plans.
* * * * *
The table is set with her mother’s good china. She pulls out a chair at the head
of the table and gestures for him to sit. He tries to kiss her again, but she
laughs and pushes him down in the chair.
“Just wait, okay? Dinner first.”
She goes out to the kitchen, and when she comes back, she’s carrying a large
platter heaped with spicy buffalo wings. She places it in front of him and hands
him a large napkin.
“Don’t spill.”
“What’s all this?”
“Date, phase one.”
She pours him a cup of blood from a large glass container next to his plate and
hands him a plastic bag.
“I think I’m gonna cry,” he smiles. “Burba weed for my blood. And wings!” He
grabs her by the wrist, pulls her down onto the chair next to him and gives her
a hug. “Aren’t you the most amazing woman in the world?”
They munch away contentedly. Buffy finishes first and watches him as he slowly
savors each bite.
“How long is this gonna take?” she says, shifting impatiently in her seat.
“Well, if you wouldn’t jiggle around so much.” He gazes longingly at her
breasts. “It’s quite the distraction.”
She grabs his napkin and drapes it around her neck.
“There. Is that better?”
“Not really, but…” He eyes the last wing on the plate. She reaches over and
picks it up, dangling it before him.
“Share?” he asks, lunging toward the wing with his teeth bared.
Fending him off with her elbow, she takes a bite and moans, “Oh, Spike, it’s
so…yummy.”
“Give it here,” he frowns as she strips off another morsel of flesh and places
it in her mouth.
She gives him a smug smile, but her superior attitude is undermined by a splash
of spicy wing sauce dripping down her chin.
“Com’ere,” he growls. He leans over and licks her chin, and then takes advantage
of his proximity to her lips to lick them, too. The lick turns into a kiss.
Closing her eyes, she drifts into the kiss, but when he slips his hand over her
shoulder, she pulls away.
“Dishes.”
“I thought this was a date,” he complains.
They clear the table and stack the dishes in the sink.
He sits on the counter next to the sink and watches as she carefully washes the
fragile plates and glasses.
“This is fun,” he says.
She shoves a towel in his hand.
“Dry.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And be careful,” she says. “My mom loved these. We never used them much. Just
special occasions. Not too many dinner guests beating a path to the Summers’
house.”
He slips off the counter and comes to stand behind her, placing a comforting
hand on her back.
Looking over her shoulder, she says, “I think she was lonely.”
He gently wraps his arms around her, and she leans back against him.
“Ah, Buffy, your mum was great. And she had you.”
“Yeah, slayers don’t exactly make the best daughters.”
“You mustn’t say that. She loved you. She was proud of you.”
“And you know this because...?” she asks. Her voice is trembling now.
“Told me herself, she did. What you think we were yammering on about over those
endless cups of cocoa? Couldn’t shut the woman up. She’d go on and on, ‘till I’d
think I’d bloody well have to stake myself. Miss Buffy Summers. The best girl in
the world.”
“You’re lying. Don’t tease me about this.” She turns to face him, rubbing a damp
hand across her face.
He brushes his fingers over her cheek and tucks an unruly lock of her hair
behind her ear. The look on his face is serious and subdued.
“I swear to you, Buffy. Believe me. This is something I’d never lie about. She
loved you and just wanted you to be happy.”
He places a quick kiss on her nose and showers her face with kisses, “So, come
on, love. Let me see that smile.”
She gives him a little grin.
“That’s my girl.” He smiles. “Are we done here? ‘Cause I’m wondering what’s next
on this date. A spot of laundry? Want me to vacuum?”
“Why didn’t I think of that?” she laughs.
* * * * *
He leads her out of the kitchen, and she stands indecisively in the middle of
the room, glancing about her with a little frown.
“Now where did Clem put that ‘Best of National Geographic’ video?”
He groans, “I have a better idea. Let’s go outside.”
She looks down at her robe which barely hides her nakedness and says, “I don’t
think so.”
“No, come on.” He tugs her hand, and they go through the kitchen towards the
back door.
“Wait! I forgot these,” she says. She picks up two wine glasses and a bottle
sitting on the side counter. She holds them aloft. “Phase three.”
“You’re gonna get me drunk?”
She pushes him down onto the top porch stair, and standing before him, she bends
over and kisses his lips. She’s beautiful in the moonlight, a nymph, he thinks.
Luscious. Succulent. He tries to pull her down onto his lap, but she
pulls away again.
“Not yet,” she whispers. She hands him one of the glasses, fills it with the
dark red wine, and then fills her own. “Let’s have a little toast first, shall
we?”
He nods mutely. He’s all hers. In her hands. “When is she going to put her hands
on me,” he groans, shifting uncomfortably on the hard wood porch. He’s burning
for her.
She raises her glass. “To freedom. And flying. And falling in love.”
“To love,” he whispers hoarsely and downs his drink in a long gulp. He puts his
glass down, takes the glass from her hand and places it next to his own.
“To love,” she whispers, as she crawls upon his lap and straddles him, gently
nuzzling his neck.
She runs her tongue across his nipple and slips her hand beneath his robe,
stroking the firm muscles of his shoulders. They sway together as hands caress
and touch and soothe flesh. So tender. Slowly the fire builds between
them. His hands roam over her body, gently fondling her breasts, sweeping down
the curve of her back, squeezing the soft flesh of her hips.
Tilting her head back, she parts her lips and entices him with the tip of her
tongue. He leans in and catches her bottom lip with his teeth, pulling it
between his lips. She gives a little cry as he deepens the kiss, tasting her
with his tongue, insistent and strong. He fumbles with the belt of his robe.
Can’t seem to get it off. Gotta feel her skin against me. She tugs
open his robe, and sliding it over his hips, she slips her hand down between his
legs and strokes his cock. He’s groaning loudly now.
Her hands on me. Unbearable sweetness.
She slides across the bare skin of his thighs until he feels something soft and
wet and warm rub against his groin.
“Uh, Buffy?” He pulls away from her with a groan and holds her by the shoulders.
“I think we better take this inside before you end up with a thousand little
splinters in that lovely backside of yours.”
* * * * *
They’re holding hands, standing at the foot of the stairs. He’s looking down at
the floor, and she follows his gaze to see the dark blood stain on the carpet.
She looks up at him, and their eyes lock in mutual understanding.
Fear. Death. Darkness. Don’t want to waste another moment not loving you.
They fall into each other’s arms, and their passionate dance begins. She tears
off his robe, and he stands naked before her, his cock jutting out thick and
throbbing with need. He falls to his knees and presses his face against her
belly. His hands slide between her legs to spread them slightly apart. Slowly
licking up the inside of one slick and silken thigh, he reaches the soft, plump
mound.
He nestles his face, now soaked with her fragrant juices, into the dark curls.
His tongue finds the tender, swollen flesh hidden there, and he licks it
hungrily. He slips the tip of his finger between her swollen lips and into her
wet cleft, caressing the delicate bundle of nerves deep within her.
Love you, love you.
She moans as her hand weaves through his hair. He runs his finger tips lightly
back and forth over her swollen clit and thrusts his tongue inside her, fucking
her with long, firm strokes.
She’s dissolving inside, melting into the slow fire of his tongue. A warm flush
swirls slowly up her body from her toes up her legs, to her sex, rippling and
burning over her breasts, her nipples, her neck, her face until she’s overcome
with the intense, cascading waves.
Her knees buckle with pleasure, and he grasps her buttocks with his strong
hands, keeping her from falling as she rocks lasciviously against his face. As
he licks her slowly into another long orgasm, she starts crying. Trembling,
pleading, weeping.
"Come for me, come to me," he begs. He's starving for her, and she feeds
him with her sweet essence.
She falls to the floor, pulling him down with her. Kneeling between his legs,
she pushes him gently back against the carpet. His face is damp and glistening.
His eyes half closed, gaze with unrestrained lust as she brushes her nipples
across his face, offering him her breasts. He suckles greedily, fondling,
kneading the voluptuous flesh.
Stroking her hands up his calves, she spreads his legs and caresses the long,
pale hardness of his shaft. She grasps his thighs and presses them back against
his chest. Lowering his eyes, he surrenders to her. He’s fully exposed to her
now, the thick cock, rampant and eager above the dark hair, the firm curves of
flesh, and the pale cleft beneath.
Groaning with pleasure, he watches helplessly as she bends forward to trail her
tongue across the tip of his cock, slowly down the shaft, circling and sucking
first one firm globe and then the next into her mouth. Her wanton tongue slides
lower and laps delicately at the soft skin beneath, circling slowly. Moaning
softly, he gasps as she plunges her tongue inside him. He cries out and comes in
short, fierce bursts, streaming his cum over her body.
Inflamed, she falls against him, hungrily licking his cock, his stomach, his
chest, her lips becoming swollen and plump as she pleasures him. She tastes and
touches and strokes and loves every inch of his body. She feasts on him. All the
need inside her, all the lonely desire inside him; she bathes these away with
her tongue.
Her tongue is a bloody wonder, he gasps.
She invokes another language; she’s telling him a love story with her body as
she flows across his skin. Every touch has meaning, has depth. Every touch pulls
at his heart, calling to him.
Love you. Love you.
With every delicate or fierce pressure of her lips, trailing across his face,
his neck, she speaks to him. She brushes her lips softly down his stomach and
takes his cock in her mouth with such tenderness it makes him weep. She suckles
on him, stroking her hands up his chest, caressing his nipples with the tips of
her fingers. Swirling her tongue under the swollen tip of his cock and down the
long, hard shaft, she guides him slowly, deeply into her throat.
He hears a voice. It must be his, but it’s unrecognizable. Moaning,
whimpering, roaring, crying out her name. And where is he? He knows that he has
never been loved before. Nothing has ever been as nakedly passionate and tender
as this, this tumultuous flight into ecstasy. And he’s flying, soaring beneath
her hands and lips and just before he comes, when she’s gently pushed him into
total abandon, she surges up his body and falls downward, sheathing his cock
into a liquid paradise of fire.
With soft murmurs, she urges him on. With each thrust, she arches and falls, and
he rises up to meet her, plunging deeper, deeper inside her. Find me.
Their eyes are locked together with such yearning. See me. Love me.
They’re falling into each other’s eyes, falling into the love in each other’s
eyes. Soothed and comforted and embraced in the dark pools of blue and green.
Flashing, tender, innocent, and naked.
Don’t hold anything back.
Their bodies’ voluptuous embrace pales before the intimacy of their gaze.
Falling so freely here. So far inside each other’s heart. Spiraling.
Aloft into a glimmering joy.
Split open and revealed, seen, known and loved.
* * * * *
He doesn’t remember carrying her up to her bedroom, but she assures him that’s
exactly what he did. She’s cuddled up next to him, her arm flung protectively
across his chest.
“At least we made it to the bed, this time,” he says.
“What was the best part?” she asks.
“Best part of what? Or of whom, should I ask?”
“Of our date.” She gives him a little pinch on his stomach.
“Ow!”
He nods toward her nightstand. “I have to say it was the poem. Gotta love a girl
who rhymes.”
“What poem?” she asks, following his look. “Oh, my God. You didn’t!”
She reaches for the yellow paper, but he grabs it first and holds it above her,
just out of reach. She tries to take it from him, and they end up in a wild
wrestling match, which ends with her sitting on his chest. He’s choking with
laughter as she pins his arms against the bed.
“Give it.”
“No way, love.”
“Give it.” She tickles him under his arms, and he twists under her, begging her
to stop.
“Give it.”
“Never.” He stops laughing and squirming out of her grasp, he pulls her down
against his chest.
“It’s the sweetest thing anyone ever gave me.” He sighs, kissing her forehead.
“It’s kind of silly,” she says in a low voice.
“Well, I particularly liked the line about the blue demons. Did you have someone
in mind?”
Their conversation is interrupted by the loud rumbling of a large garbage truck
pulling up outside the house.
“Oh, no!” She jumps out of the bed, throws on her old, tattered robe and rushes
downstairs. Next thing he hears is a loud banging and clanking sound, followed
by some swearing and shuffling. Something’s being dragged across the living room
floor. The front door opens, there’s a long, silent pause, the door slams, and
she comes running back into the bedroom out of breath.
She’s thrown the chains into the trash, she announces, her chest heaving.
“Do you think that’s a good idea? Terrible waste of good metal.”
“No more chains,” she says emphatically, tossing her bathrobe on the
floor.
“But you might need ‘em later, on Andrew, for instance. Now there’s a young man
that could use a good chaining up.”
“No more chains,” she jumps into the bed, smiling. “Never again”.
“I just knew you were ticklish,” she murmurs, running her fingers down his
thighs to the sensitive spots she’s discovered behind his knees.
“Feels better when you use your tongue, ah…just there will do nicely.”
* * * * *
“Just how long is this little date gonna last, love?” he sighs contentedly and
stretches against her, once again, sated and soothed by their lovemaking.
“Um…Not sure. A few more hours? Forever?”
She’s lying next to him, slightly out of breath from a long, deep kiss. “It’s
not really fair that you don’t have to breathe, you know.”
“You’re the amazing one, Buffy. Didn’t think a girl could get into such an
interesting position. Could we do that again?”
He tries to catch her lips, but she pulls away.
“Wait! I almost forgot.” She reaches her hand under the bed, searching for
something. “Here.” She hands him a small, red box.
“For me?” he asks, giving her a wistful look. He opens the box and withdraws a
small, silver locket. Inside the locket, tucked beneath a thin cover of crystal,
a few strands of her hair are woven into a heart. On the outside, are engraved
the words, ‘I love you’.
She watches his face carefully as he examines her gift. He looks shocked. He
sighs and brushes a hand over his eyes.
“Don’t you like it?” she whispers.
He tries to speak, but he can’t. Now he’s the one at a loss for words. Clasping
the locket tightly in his fist, he turns to her.
His look tells her everything. She watches as the years of waiting, through
rejection and humiliation, through unrequited longing and foolish hope, fall and
fade from his beautiful face. And in his eyes, she sees that the long desperate
nights, the relentless suffering is finally over for him. Ended now, in this
final destination of the heart.
~fin~