The air felt different. Clearer. Sun soaked. Almost free … with that tint of lavender in the breeze. You inhale it, memorize it and feel it burn the walls of your lungs. It’s been years since you have been here.
Welcome to TonDC.
The newly constructed placard blares in your eyes.
11 years is a long time, isn’t it?
It’s different. You are now sure of it. TonDC used to be a small town, same old white bricks standing with an adjoining white fence. There used to a mall with all the bare minimum necessities, a multiplex of sorts … grocery shops and parks almost at every turn. And there was also the infamous TonDC High School.
You brisk your Chevrolet on the evened out roads and slow down near your once upon a time school. It’s the same but somehow have gotten only more lavish. Well, so has the entire neighbourhood and town. You want to enter the premises, touch the walls inch by inch, they are all laden with yellow memories… bunking of classes …. Setting labs on fire … kisses on the bleachers … make out sessions under the solitude of that tall backyard tree. Above all, this walls also hold the story of her. Her. So you don’t enter. Because you left her behind, you left all those memories behind. You know your steps will flatter in your high heels, you know you will fall apart even before you have entered the gates.
Wiping out that strand of stream loosening from your eyes, your roar your engine in search of your childhood home.
It’s stands standstill in its old age. Your house. Your mother, Abby, she stopped coming here 5 years ago. Her words, it doesn’t feel like home anymore, the memories are no longer gentle.
But you don’t feel that at all. It’s terrifying how familiar it seems, it’s also soothing how familiar and easy it is to breathe for once without other people constantly piling down on your throat.
You flick your phone screen and stare emptily at the wallpaper. Finn and you. Smiling. Almost. Before he cheated on you and you thrusted the divorce papers in his face and kicked his ass to the curb. He obviously blamed it on you, said you were married to your job at Ark General Hospital, said he had been patient for 2 years, said he wanted a child to solidify themselves. Clarke didn’t agree. You once had already promised that family with a child to her, to grow old with her. And enough for enough, anyway.
Yes, enough for enough. He was right about every fact.
And you couldn’t care less about him, or your mother’s benignly tragic and disappointing face. He was good, but he just wasn’t the one. He wasn’t her.
You move the dusty curtains and peek at your neighbour’s house. Luna’s. It bears the same look as yours. Deprived. You remember, every now and then you used to always wake up at the sound of her dog’s early morning howls, asleep and furious. You loved her dog Apple to bits but you always wanted to smother it. You loved sleep too much. Those were days, indeed.
You half-mindedly open the fridge. You are hungry and it’s empty. Of course it would be empty. But instead pulling up your keys, you decide to walk to the store, which should be around the corner. Except, it’s not. Not anymore.
There’s some fancy food parlour instead. People are stuffing hungrily. You can’t blame them. The fragrance is mouth-watering. You want to head for the grocery store that’s right next to it, but instead when you catch a glimpse of chestnut braided hair, your leap forward sneaking glances at the turned back face. That’s what she makes you do. She makes your leap. That leap of faith. That kinda leap.
That face turns and you see her, but it’s not her. The stranger doesn’t hold a candle to her.
You pick up the ramen, pizza bread, flour, salt, a six pack beer ….near about everything and you are about to wheel your cart to the check out point when a shriek stops your midway.
A messy bunned brunette with zealous doe eyes rushes towards you, straddling a toddler on her hips and a cart of her own.
“What are you doing here? How are you, Griffin? Oh my god, how long has it been? 10 years?”
You silently correct. “11 years, but who’s counting, O.”
She eyes you intricately and you wonder what she’s going to ask or how you are going to reply. The pause stretches. You watch her narrowly as she puts her child on the cart and crashes into you. You shudder momentarily, shivering in her warmth.
“I missed you, O.” You exhale.
You feel a slight wetness on the shoulder of your shirt, and you thank god that you aren’t the only one crying hysterically.
“You left, Clarke.”
The quiver in her voice renews the guilt in yourself, but you still hold onto her until her little one cries out for her mama.
She cooes her child and you wonder, is this what you would have been if you had a child of your own?
Two more, amicably, senior children pop from behind her, the brunette girl carefully brushing off Octavia’s eyes.
You suddenly envy that selfless, oceanic love.
“So much has changed.” You smile weakly indicating at her triplets.
You watch O smile like the city lights at her children. “It has, but then again it hasn’t.” She pauses. “Tris, Atom and Nyko meet Clarke Griffin. One of mama’s best friend’s.”
Atom lay still on her hips while the other two scamper away to their doings, you suppose. You finally ask Octavia the question that had been burning your throat since you met her.
“I thought you wanted to move to the big city, and I don’t know, live your life there instead of here.”
You feel her stiffen, you are sure she’s going to snap and she does.
“Yes. I dreamt that every single day but dreams change Clarke, unlike you. Arkadia was a lifetime experience but it made me realize that it could never be my home. I already have a home here, with Lincoln. And my kids.”
You breathe in. And breathe out.
11 years and you are still searching for your home.
“How’s Raven?”
She raises her hand, signalling to stop your question but you are undeterred and so is she.
“Alive. You can ask her yourself if that is you don’t run away. Again.”
The deliberately added innuendo doesn’t go unnoticed. If anything it makes you clench your palms, grit your teeth and unknowingly well up your empty orbs.
“You think you are the only one with broken pieces. You are not. I don’t know why you are here, but don’t go around asking more sympathy. You are a decade too late for that.”
You hear her parting ways, you hear the squeak in the doors as they open and close and within a blink you find yourself in that over turned SUV, 29st July of 2005, somewhere amidst the highway in the middle of nowhere.
You are claustrophobic in open air, you discard your cart and run for your life.
The cemetery is as it should be. Dead. Silent. Shadowy and lost. And you are crying, tearing out your eyes out, kneeling in front of their tombstones.
Jake Griffin
Loving husband and father
RIP
1961 – 2005
Anya Woods
Beautiful Daughter, a good sister and an even better friend
RIP
1984 – 2005
You are stuck in a limbo, and you can’t find a way out. You ask for forgiveness over and over again and you cry, you cry, you cry. Not for them, but also for you.
You are lost, and now you are hoping someone finds you.
You clasp onto the empty bottle, and chug in the remaining liquid and hope that it will burn you into oblivion but it doesn’t. You are still sober. Still breathing.
You close your eyes for a minute and Aden’s cold numb face greets you. Lifeless. Without that dopey smile of his. He was 9 years old, and despite his golden heart, you couldn’t fix that damn hole that gaped in his heart.
You push and push and push but the beeping sound of the ECG rang like tyrant bells in your ears.
Time of death: 18:32, 11t July, 2016
You are one of the best cardio surgeon, the youngest to head your department, still you couldn’t save him.
It seems like you can only bestow death on loved ones, not save them from it.
Forgive me.
You trembling fingers dwindle on her name on contacts list.
You press dial.
And you wait.
It the same monotonous reply from the last 6 years. From the last 1000 calls you made, but was never sent.
Can’t pick up the phone now, leave your words and I’ll come back to you soon. Ciao.
You have lost count how many times you have called her, but hearing that voice. It was a balm to her distressed soul. The last thing you remember is seeing a once upon a time picture of you and her, you are kissing her cheekily and she’s blushing so heavily.
Even through the black and white colour, you can still see that love for each other. Or maybe you are seeing things because maybe you are still in love with her, maybe because you were never exactly fallen out of love with her.
You see her smiling face one last time before you close your eyes.
May the echoes of past, present and the future be always gentle on you.
Those were her last words to you. Even in whispers of farewell, she has given you forgiveness. She had always been like that.
She’s that impenetrable armour but if you look closely you could almost see cracks on them.
You were those cracks.
You were the destruction in your lyrics and she was symphonic beauty to your rhythm.
You pretended that on that night it was only you who had lost. You pretended that you didn’t see her falling apart when you couldn’t save her only family. Anya. You pretended you didn’t see Raven, Lexa and Lincoln in arms crying, one for their lover and the others, for her sister. You pretended you didn’t see Octavia and Lexa kneeling in front of your father’s corpse. You pretended you didn’t see Lexa begging to instill in life to the dormant bod of her father, who was like a father figure to foster children Lexa and Anya.
You pretended so that you didn’t have to hear your own voice mudding your mind.
You were the only one who was unscathed by the accident, yet you couldn’t save them.
You pretended and ran away. And Lexa ran after you. To save you from yourself.
You shut your eyes to her cowering pain, you shut your ears to her endless pleas, you shut her and somewhere midway you shut yourself out.
You couldn’t paint anymore because every stroke you set on white canvas, every paint you smashed on empty charts, they all resounded and reflected the face and name of her.
If you are looking for forgiveness, I’m giving it to you.
She had begged you.
She was the hopeless romantic who loved squid documentaries and kick boxing.
She was left somehow on the footpath, abandoned by her own parents, and was taught to travel alone life’s lengthy journey, against all odd, she had gone down on her knees and swore fealty to you. She swore to serve your needs as her own.
And instead of healing her scars, you added another to it.
The dead are gone. The living are hungry.
You shove your hands in your back pockets, before checking yourself in the rear mirror.
The dark circles swelling underneath your eyes were almost hidden.
The chiming of the bell resonated the Trikru residence, you bit your lips rehearsing words in your mind to answer correctly this time and not to stammer half way each sentence.
But all air was punched out of your lungs when the unmistaken face of Raven Reyes stood behind the wooden door. There was already an scowl on her face, the tight ponytail somehow enhancing the tiredness of her demeanour. You see a paleness slip in her when dark eyes stopped on you and involuntarily your eyes trailed down to her limping right leg, embroidered with a metal brace, alongside a long walking stick balancing out her weight.
The lump in your throat stuck.
You think you are the only one with broken pieces? You are not.
Octavia’s words erupted havoc in your ears and you clutch them to shut out her wails. Raven breaking out of her reverie, opens the door ajar and you are bewildered. You were determined to be shut faced.
You back step your tumbling steps instead and you watch a few feet afar as she tightens her jaw and walks faster towards you. You could definitely beat someone with a damaged leg but your steps are frozen, and they slacken.
You have always admired Raven’s ability to give away everything for the sake of love. She was too intelligent for own good and she was always the lazy athlete out of the three of them.
So you should have known she could throw a good right hook.
The sheer force of her punch grazed harshly against your chapped lips. You can feel the metallic taste rupturing your buds.
“That’s for not visiting Anya’s and Jake’s funeral” she all but spits on your face. Your vision becomes blurry behind the harsh truth of her words. You didn’t even say goodbye to them.
You try to steady your steps and in your periphery you can see O rushing over but Lincoln’s stops her. In the next instant, you feel another punch on her left cheek. Not as hard as the first but the impact irks heftily.
“That’s for not visiting me when I was cramming and sulking at the hospital. Griffin, don’t be a pussy. Fight back.”
She sneers and snarls at you. But you dare not look at her. Her eyes will window you her years long pain and angst and you can’t handle it anymore. You drop your hands on both sides, surrendering. You had surrendered a long time ago, just not so openly.
The final jab had that momentum that hit you on your nose and tossed you on the ground. You fell harshly on the solid ground, the creeping pain melted all over your face and you felt warm bold ooze out in vigour.
Raven shrieked at you over you muffed cries.
“And that’s for leaving behind Lexa, bitch.”
This pain was physical. Fibrinogen and collagen fibres untangling out of their designated place, the capillaries cut off to liberate the blood. It was all biology and you knew it would heal within a week’s time. But what off the scars you left in you and around you? How long will they need time to fix?
Tears and sweats mixed with blood fell tenuously on ground.
“I’m sorry.” Two words you finally croaked out. You should have said them a long time ago but somehow along the way you just lost them.
“I’m so sorry, Raven.” You pulled yourself from the dirt and blurted out.
You next string of apologies get muffed in the shoulders of Lincoln and Octavia whose tight embrace breaks your ribs but you would rather have them break in waves of love than drown them in the havoc of your sorrows.
You stand fidgeting with the clay on your boots as your eye the weary girl who looks herself drenched in half lidded tears. You can see her biting her cheeks, swaying from one foot to another and without much ado, you engulf her in yourself.
“I’m missed you so much, Rae.”
“Yeah, life kinda sucked without you, too.”
The glass of whiskey goes untouched by you. You twirl it around your glass, eyes stuck on the phantoms darkness of the starry skies.
You vaguely notice a shadow on the porch, and a lull of a blanket on your shoulders. It should keep you warm. Except it doesn’t, nothing can unfreeze you from the frostiness of your own heart. Nothing except the tangent secluded warmth of her arms.
“She’s not here. Not anymore.”
“I know.” You barely hear yourself whisper. “Unless you are hiding her in your basement. Are you?” You smile a tad bit, jabbing Lincoln, the town sheriff, incredulously on his muscled arms.
“You have been here for more than a week and all this time your eyes still search for her. What I don’t understand is why haven’t you asked anyone of us about her?”
Your eyes don’t peel themselves from the sky. You are searching for that green in them. The green that embodies the blue, culminating themselves so much in those cerulean hues that neither can stay apart.
“Maybe because I don’t want to hear that she has found her happily ever after with someone who isn’t me. That’s fucking selfish, I know, but when have I not been selfish about her.”
Lincoln leaves your statement unanswered, which panics you even more. Saddens you down to depths you know you can never arise yourself from again. Maybe she was indeed lost to you now.
She was the only one you ever loved but you were the fool to let her go.
You stare numbly against the twilight sky and smile at it sadly.
You raise your glass against the infinite borderline, you raise you glass in her name.
May you have all the happiness in the world. May you find that someone who isn’t a fool like me to let you go if you haven’t already. May the last days of my life be spent in your name. May we meet again, because in the next lifetime and in the next, you’ll be mine and I’ll be yours again.
It’s 29th July, 2016.
Change is the only constant.
Survival of the fittest.
Adapt or die.
Life never stops. No matter how much you want to pacify it within your palms, it flows and flows.
Three words to sum up life : It goes on.
Time may be your biggest enemy but the reins of spending life is in your hands.
Live or survive.
Either way, life will go on. Bitch.
You want closure.
This is your second visit to the cemetery. The first one with Lincoln, Octavia and Raven was …. Fulfilling, you should say but it didn’t bring you that closure that you can have in the silence of the late morning.
You tug at your navy blue skirt and plate your crisped white shirt before heaving a breath and re-entering the sacred premises. There are two bouquet of flowers in your hands.
Gardenias for her father.
Calla lilies for Anya.
Anya distasted flowers very much, or so she told every. Except calla lilies were her guilty pleasure, a sore sight that made her nostalgic and this secret was only known to you and her. Well, in all fairness, it was she who had told you to piss Anya, who as payback rattled the headlights out of her by throwing a plastic lizard on her plate. Way back in early years of high school.
By the time you reach your destination, you halt when you see two bouquets of each flowers already discreetly ribboned up and placed on respective tombstones.
You almost didn’t notice the throbbing piercing gaze of that dark silhouette standing at the edge of the edge, leaning against the overshadowing tree.
You almost didn’t, except you did.
Even in a pandemonium, behind closed lips you could recognize those burning emerald, so what’s a few feet?
Blue meets green and there you are. Stuck in static. You watch her look at you, you watch her turn her back on you and step away from your view point.
You let the flowers fall into gravity as you open up your heels and sprint after the disappearing figure.
Not again, not again.
Two words hammer in your head.
You feel the burn in your legs and the discomfort at the skinny clothing. You run but stop abruptly until you are just a few steps away from her.
She had halted her footing as well. But you can see the stiffness tensing in those broad shoulders. You can see chestnut hair, held loosely and not in some confinements of tight braids, languidly falling on her shoulders. Your eyes begrudgingly trail against her overcoat and those sinful long legs hidden in knee deep boots.
You can see her clutch harder on her slung backpack, her pale knuckles colouring up in off white.
“Lexa, please.” You beg.
She doesn’t heed your plea with a reply. She just stands statuesque and you stand your shaking ground, not able to cross the last few steps towards her.
“Why are you here, Clarke? Why are you here after all this years? Don’t dishonour Jake and Anya like that Clarke. they don’t deserve it.”
I know. You want to say but you don’t say them out loud. Lexa still hasn’t turned to look at you and you wonder, maybe she hates you. She should. She had every right to be. You gulp down your disappointment, racing your mind for answers.
Answers. You have them, but how to convey them in words. How can you assemblage your nightmares, your quietened feelings in words when you, yourself have travelled so far from them. When you have locked them up in the tightest corner of your muscle and have lost the key in the blood stream.
“Aden was 9 years old. He had a big hole in his heart. I wanted to have a heart transplant only to have it rejected. Then I thought if I operated in him, maybe I can give him a fighting chance. But I couldn’t. He died on my table, his blood is in my hands. I can’t get it off. My father’s and Anya’s blood are in my hands and I have been trying to brush them off for 11 years but they are still there. I can’t get off, Lexa.”
You clog in your own breathe and heave for air. You hearing the shutting down off your lungs, your tears are muffling your eyes and soon you are balancing out. You are so disoriented, your chest jumping up and down and you wait to hit the ground hard. You wait and wait but it never comes. You don’t fall.
Warm hands snake around your waist and steadily hold you up.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
You remember you therapist’s mantra. Except, it’s not her voice that roaming your mind. It’s Lexa.
“Breathe in, breathe out, Clarke. Slowly. Slowly. Count me me … 1. 2. 3…….
…. 9. 10.”
Your breaths even out and you snuggle further into the brunette. In moisture eyes, you open them and fall instantly on the summer greens.
“I should never have answered my phone. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have missed the trunk that wrecked us from Dad’s and An’s side. If I had been faster, if I had been stronger I could have stopped Anya’s bleeding, but I let her bleed out. In my arms. If I had done better, I could have pulled dad out of the car, before it … before caught fire.”
In wobbly legs, weighing wholly on Lexa, she finally settles you down at one off those croaked benches, screeching as any muscle movement and then moves away to the far end of the bench.
Her actions bite you harder than any words ever can.
“You can’t live your life in what if’s, Clarke. It’s torturous. To yourself and others.”
Her words her stiff and stoic but you can still hear the choke in her own words.
“You didn’t know you would be t-boned by some drunkard but you saved Raven, didn’t you?”
You bitterly laugh. Dried stains renewing.
“You weren’t there. I was. You didn’t see life slipping away behind hurried breaths. I did. You didn’t pull that rod out of Raven’s leg, I did. And it fucking hurts, like I’m drowning and I’m screaming and no one’s hearing a thing.”
You snap at her with your words but all she does in close the distance and draw long stretching circles on your hand.
“I couldn’t face you. I couldn’t let you see me fall. I just couldn’t. I thought I was the only one who lost, so I pushed you away. I’m sorry I left you alone. I’m sorry for everything.”
“I know.”
And all you can do is look at her.
Those same old plump lips that scarred your skin with mellow pillow kisses. Those eyes that had always trailed you back home in distant hollows or in eminent dreams. Those sharp jawline and perfect cheekbones that you always loved lazily brushing your palms against. Those lithe dexterous fingers that had sinfully marked you as hers and hers alone, in moans and sighs. Those cascading hair that you have always trended your hand into as you inhale in that lavender smell that would never fail to engorge you whole being.
In a trance of your own you trespass your fingers against the rough edges of her lips, slowly towards the edge of her lips. And then with your thumb you graze the soft skin.
With the edge of your fingertips your roam her long face in measured steps, finally stopping at her swelling eyes.
Time has indeed left her untouched.
“I called you so many times, left you voicemails to tell you I’m sorry. For everything I have done.”
“You were sorry but you never came back. 11 years is a long time, Clarke.”
“I know.”
Lexa stayed for a week longer and in those 7 days you wrote another chapter of your life.
You wrote more and painted freely in those 7 days than you did in 11 years.
Such was her beauty. She could defrost years to days and slow down days lasting them to infinity,
She talked and you listened. She was presently acting as a Professor of PolSci at Polis University. One of the most acclaimed universities of the country. She has a decent apartment in Polis, she writes often in the college journals of shortening breathes in tangent love poems, and she has even adopted a dog named Gustus who smiles at her even when she scowls at him. She loves him. By default, you already love him. Turns out, even though she’s a body freak, she’s a caffeine addict who still loves squid documentaries and pepperoni on pizza. Her breathe still hitches when she sees a scary movie and cries in short tears at a romantic endings.
You could watch her every single day, without missing a beat. You admire her even more or so your hundreds of portraits of Lexa, say. And you fall even more in love with her, if that’s even possible.
It’s been 10 days since you met Lexa again. She’s due to return to Polis soon, mid-terms are coming which meant more work for professors than students. She huffs indignantly and you laugh boundlessly.
It’s raining sporadically in TonDC and you can’t help but stare at the water droplets that steer down the glass. You giggle aimlessly at the puddles that will be forming. Rainy day memories of yours has always been your favourite. It was in this rainy season of TonDC you had your first encounter with Alexandria Woods after all.
You are so lost in dreaming in grey memories, that you don’t notice the steaming hot coffee until Lexa calls you but you do notice the way the barista eyes Lexa. She barely looks at you, her hazel eyes preying up and down Lexa who seems unperturbed at the exchange.
“I was waiting for you to call me, you know. I enjoyed out last time together.”
Lexa coughs abruptly and you watch that dandy woman, Costia …. As her name tag suggests, atrociously pat her on her back and you clench your hot beverage tightly, the burn almost flaming up your skin.
“I was busy.” You hear her say. When she looks at you, you turn away, the window pane is certainly more attractive that the brunette girl herself.
You curse Costia under your breathe and sip the hot liquid forgetting it was just out of the machine. You hiss at your burnt tongue and reluctantly disregard any concern of Lexa’s.
You see Costia close her distance and whisper something into her ears and you sure it is something of that ... that kind because you can see the way the tip of Lexa's ears colour up in red.
Mine. Mine. Mine. Your heart and mind roared in synchrony except she wasn’t.
They have been nothing but friends during their reconciliation period but honestly when has Clarke Griffin and Lexa Woods ever been just friends?
You hear a clearing of throat and you watch Lexa get up from her seat to pay the bill, following Costia’s swaying hips. Out of your periphery you almost see that bitch give Lexa something kind of a card before planting a not so subtle cheeky kiss on her … lips. On your Lexa’s lips.
And what hurts the most is that Lexa lets her touch her.
11 years and counting. She couldn't have possibly waited for you. Yet you are still hers.
There’s a loud thunder outside crackling up your bones but it pales in comparison to the bolts that breaking your heart now. You hurriedly place your coat over your sundress and grabbing your bag, you run out of the café.
You are not a good two minutes out running against the heavy rainy when you hear you own name being called out against the thunder and roars.
You know its Lexa. But don’t answer her. You keep walking, the wet clothes grinding on you like second skin.
You keep walking until you feel a strong tug on you forearm and you are forced to watch her. Strong eyelashes are barely keeping up against the water splashed but their intensity makes hypnotises you then and there.
“What are the fuck are you doing, Clarke?”
You are crying and you thank the heavens for letting it rain. At least Lexa won’t see how she was slowly murdering you inside.
“I’m walking home, since you are going with that girl, right? You shouldn’t be out here chasing after me, she’ll think otherwise.”
She drops your hand as if you had slapped her.
“You are right. It’s been 11 years and I’m still chasing after something that won’t stay. I’ll go.”
You seeing her walking away, like you had, in the abyss of your nightmares.
May we meet again, you say, but ironically you never meet in the end.
You feel the rush.
You remember your father’s words:
“Why do you always run away from her?”
“It doesn’t matter where I run, dad, every road I take leads me home to her anyway.”
That day when the accident, back in 2006, you had been coming home to Lexa. With dad, Anya and Raven, you wanted to surprise her.
You had been driving and wondering whether you should scribble on your text that you love her, except you never could. You never had the chance. By that time, the trunk had already collided with yours.
You see her retreating back. You know, this time if she leaves she leaves forever. But you want forever with her.
“I love you.” You shout at the top of your lungs, hoping Lexa has heard it.
You fall no your crumbling knees on an empty street. In front of her.
“I know you can do so much better than me but I love you so much. I love you. I’m tired of running when every road leads me to you. So choose me. Stay with me. Be mine. Please.”
You distinctly aware of the grip on your waist, as she pulls you up to level you with her. She still hasn’t answered your question. You can feel the thudding of your heart beat in your mouth. She’s looking at you and you feel yourself transparent, very naked in her gaze.
That’s when you feel the squeeze in your waist as she pushed you into herself, her mouth ghosting only inches above yours.
You hear her speak in velvet voice. Two words.
“Only you.”
One hand snaking around your waist and the other tugging at your neck as she hungrily lashes her lips over yours. As soon as it registers in your mind, what’s happening, you meet her half way in synchronised matching steps. There was no need for dominance, no hurry to ravish each other in minimum timescale.
It was a tango between lovers, tantalising slow, earth shatteringly delicate. She bits your bottom lips, her tongue languidly dancing over yours begging your entrance. She sweeps her tongue and soaks your mouth and swallows your moans and sighs.
There’s no space between you and her. Chests pressed against one another and you are aware of the hardening of those pebbled nipples, which was somehow colliding with your dauntingly aroused ones.
Shortage of breathe breaks you apart. Foreheads are rest one against the other.
“Take me home, Alexandria.”
In the silence of the night, she asks for nothing, still you give Lexa Woods your everything.
It’s 4am when you hear her cries. You try to get up fighting the weight of your heavy eyelids when a hand stops you. She kisses your forehead and makes for the source of the cries.
Minutes later you hear music from the living room. Pulling the robe on yourself you make way only to stop and see Lexa Woods smiling amicably, swaying to the beats of Yellow while their daughter Anya Griffin-Woods rests in her arms.
You see your wife dancing out to the sleeping city of Polis playing with the blonde curls of their 1 year old daughter.
You sneak your hands up, underneath her shirt, rubbing against her tattooed back.
You put a chaste kiss on Anya.
And you place a long lingering one on Lexa.
You whisper, “I swear I couldn’t love you more than I do right now and yet I know, I will tomorrow.”
You know she knows it.
You tell her everyday.