Charcoal

A quiet room in the corner was where I wanted to be. I ran from it all. A small space in my mind, away from the thoughts and actions and worries my brained honed. I sat in silence. The shadows and lights on the wall told my story, a story I couldn’t bring to tell myself. I lay there in the intricacies and demons my mind was fighting, amidst the darkness a hand reached out.

I was sitting on the steps of my house, where my father, my mother, my sister and I lived. The fingers burned black from the charcoal. My sketch pad smudged with my sins from last night and my desperate attempt to block them out. How could I have done this? My desires had been satisfied, my heart emotionless. And then he was there, I looked up to the clouds but he bought my back to where we were.

I pushed away his hand, for I didn’t want to be anywhere else. His opus had been entwined and I didn’t want his music to stop, I watched the color drain.

I dropped the charcoal as I moved into the security of his arms, his lips, and his tongue. My hair pulled strong against his fingers and he savored every word we had ever spoken. In a trance that had a deadline, he consumed my soul, the depth in my eyes and my emotions. I didn’t love him, I didn’t need to.

The sound got louder and I was afraid that they were coming for me, that they knew what I had done, that they would tell the world. I fought my heart and thought of everybody I ever knew. I put all my heart and soul into this last piece of work before they would take me away, from here, from him.

I was a map he explored, his fingers sailing my skin. His mouth creasing my neck and my body consuming his. His eyes held his secrets as he closed them to kiss me while I kept mine open to stop him from falling, I may have been late. Because I didn’t stop him, I didn’t want to.

We lay there, he kissed my forehead, and I knew everything was going to be all right. The sounds grew louder in the darkness of my being. I knew they had found us. I retreated to the very end of my soul gasping for him, holding on to him. They found me, it was too late. Too late for them, my wrists had drained my soul, my heart, my mind, my blood. They found me. Alone.

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