After Forever (11 page)

“No, we shouldn’t,” I agreed.
 

“I slept
really
well.” Eden stretched against me, and I hated myself for liking, more than a little, the way her breasts crushed into my chest. I hated myself for almost needing the physical contact, for not wanting to let go, to get out of bed.

“Me, too.”

“You have anywhere to be?”

“Work at five. You?”
 

She shook her head. “Nah.”

My eyes were still heavy, and I felt myself drowsing again. “Should get up,” I mumbled.

She moaned, stretching again, and now her thigh slid over mine, hot and heavy and soft. “Why?”

“’Cause this…it’s—”

“I know,” she interrupted. “It is. But…not yet. I like not feeling alone.”

“Me, too.”

We slept again.

When I woke up, I was on my side, facing the middle of the bed. My head was partially on the pillow, and mostly on Eden’s shoulder. My hand was touching flesh. Her shirt was hiked up, baring her stomach, the blankets shoved down around her hips. She was wearing blue underwear, not a thong this time, but the kind that were cut high up around her legs, a long, deep “V” of fabric. My hand was on her hipbone, my leg across hers.
 

Not good.
 

I glanced at the clock: 4:55 p.m. Shit. Shitshitshit. I rolled over and grabbed my phone from where I had, at some point last night, plugged it in. I called work, explained that I was running late, started apologizing.

Rick interrupted me. “Actually, I was gonna send you back home when you got here. It’s dead today. Shitty weather, slow pickups. I’m gonna run a skeleton crew. So just stay home, bud. And thanks for calling in.”

I had never, not in my entire life, slept so much. The only time I’d ever been in bed at five o’clock in the afternoon was sex. And as that thought ran through my head, I felt my body waking up. It wasn’t morning, but I had morning wood, and Eden was pressed against me, her leg just beneath my groin, her hand on my stomach, low, dangerously low. She’d rolled with me when I moved to grab my phone, and now she was waking up and stretching. She was very…feline when she stretched. She groaned in satisfaction, arching her back, muscles shivering, and then her hand fell back down across me. Right on top of my accidental erection.

I felt her freeze. I glanced down at her, shifting away from her, going red with embarrassment. “Sorry. God, sorry—”

She colored, too, shrugged. “It’s fine. It’s natural. I didn’t mean to—to…” She was talking, explaining, but she hadn’t moved her hand.

I grabbed her wrist and pushed her hand away. I was painfully hard, her touch having catalyzed something inside me. I’d been fairly successful at forgetting that aspect of life. I’d focused on work, on school, on art, on anything except the ache inside me, the occasional throb of my body and the need, on some molecular level, for release that I’d never get.
 

And now, after one accidental touch, all that was reawakened, and I was pulsating, aching with need.

I slid out of bed, turning away to hide the fact that my shorts were tented. “I’m gonna…um. Make some coffee.”

Eden watched me; I felt her eyes on me. “Sounds…” Her voice cracked. “Sounds good.”

I had to pee, but that was impossible at the moment. Eden stayed in bed while I went into the kitchen, and I spent the next few minutes trying to put any thought into my head that I could, anything that would ease the throbbing hardness. It wasn’t working. I kept seeing Eden’s face, feeling her body as we slept, and then, fucking hell, I saw her as she’d been that night a few months ago, right over there. Sitting cross-legged on my living room floor, flushed, topless, eyes on me. That was
not
helping. I ran cold water and scrubbed my face, but then I just had a clean face and was still painfully erect.
 

I had one recourse, I decided. I poked my head around the doorpost, caught a glance of Eden in my bed, scrolling through her phone. “I made coffee. Yours is on the counter. I’m gonna take a shower.”

She didn’t look up, just nodded. “’Kay.”

I made my way to the en suite bathroom, shut the door behind me, ran the water hot as I could stand it. I tried to bring up an image of Ever. I thought of her sitting on our bed, naked, rubbing lotion on her body. I visualized her, saw her clearly, imagined her eyes on mine, imagined her beckoning me to her, kissing my chest as I stood between her thighs. I imagined it was her hand on my cock as I touched myself. I hadn’t done this in years, not since I was a horny teenager with Internet access and no adult supervision. I’d not needed to, not after I met Luisa, and then Ever.
 

I closed my eyes and pictured Ever’s hand around my cock, stroking me. But…as I furthered the fantasy, imagined her fair skin and swaying tits, somehow Ever’s black hair was blonde, and her eyes a slightly lighter shade of green, and her body as I pictured it was a little curvier, her breasts bigger and the areolae wider and darker, and suddenly it was Eden I was seeing in my head, and then I came, all over the wall of the shower, stream after stream, and I felt dirty, felt horrible, felt confused and guiltier than ever.

I finished my shower, but even though my body was clean, I felt dirty inside. I wrapped a towel around my waist and wished I’d thought to bring clean clothes in with me. Eden had left the bedroom, thank god. I didn’t think I could meet her eyes, not after what had just happened.
 

I dropped my towel and stood in the doorway to the bathroom scrubbing my hair dry. Only, when I tossed the towel aside and stepped into the bedroom to get my clothes, Eden was standing in the doorway with a mug of coffee in each hand and a surprised expression on her face.
 

“I—I—” Her gaze flicked up to my face, and then back down. She was still in her T-shirt and underwear.
 

I was in the middle of the bedroom, no towel, all my clothes on the other side of the room. She was staring at me, stunned into paralysis, and so was I. Her gaze had me twitching down below, and I had to do something. I had to get away from her gaze, from the obvious desire I saw in her eyes.
 

I turned around, forcing myself to move, and then I heard her close the door. I dressed quickly, and when I emerged, Eden was dressed as well and putting on her coat.
 

“I’m—I should go.” Her coffee was untouched on the counter.

“Eden, listen, it was an accident.” Why was I protesting her departure? She absolutely should go. We’d slept in the same bed. We’d now seen each other naked.
 

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, I—” She shrugged, clearly at a loss for words.

What I couldn’t seem to ignore, couldn’t seem to dispute the significance of, was that she hadn’t looked away immediately. Hadn’t turned around. She’d kept looking.
 

“Just…finish your coffee.” I couldn’t seem to stop the words from tumbling out. “We’re both adults. It was an accident.”

“Now we’re even,” she said, trying to lessen the awkwardness with a joke.
 

She shed her coat and sat down at the table, wrapped her hands around the mug. I had a flash of the fantasy I’d had in the shower, of hands wrapping around me, Eden’s hands. I blinked hard, wondering what the hell was wrong with me.

Eden was watching me, and I couldn’t help but wonder if my thoughts were obvious. If somehow she could see what I’d been thinking, what had happened in the shower.
 

“Are you okay?” she asked.
 

 
I shrugged. “Yeah. Fine.”

“Why don’t I believe you?”
 

I went for broke. “We keep…crossing the line. Pushing the line further and further.”

Eden closed her eyes briefly, and then opened them and met my own with a frank, conflicted expression. “Is there a line, though? And what is it? Where is it?”

“I don’t know. But last night—”

“We slept in the same bed. That was it.” She traced the rim of her mug with her index finger.

“It was more than that, though. Wasn’t it?”

She shrugged. “Maybe. Sure. But…we didn’t do anything wrong.” She seemed like she was trying to convince herself more than me. “We’re both…going through a lot, and we were drunk.”

“Anytime alcohol is involved, one of us ends up seeing the other naked,” I pointed out.
 

“Both times were accidents.”

“And both times, we were both…slow to look away.”

“We’re lonely. And you’ve got to be…frustrated.”

“That’s no reason for—”

Eden stood up, a quick, angry movement that sent her chair skidding across the floor. “Quit tearing yourself up, Cade! We slept in the same bed. We held each other. It was mutual comfort. It’s fine. We’re fine. You’re fine.” She sighed. “Look, I’m confused, too, okay? But both of us feeling guilty all the time, about this, about whatever…this…is between you and me…I can’t live that way. And neither can you.”

She finished her coffee, set the mug in the sink, and put on her coat. “I’m going. And I’ll be honest. I had a good time last night. I slept better than I have in months, and I don’t think that’s any accident.”
 

On impulse, halfway out the door, she turned back, crossed the space between us, and wrapped her arms around my neck, hugging me. I stood in shock for a moment, and then my arms went around her, embraced her in return.
 

“You’re…you’re all I’ve got, Eden,” I whispered into her hair, “and I don’t want to mess that up. And I can’t betray Ever.”

She breathed deeply. “I know. You’re all I have, too, and you haven’t betrayed anyone.”

Not yet
, I thought as she finally, actually left.

Not yet.

song of mourning

Eden

Snow arrived around mid-December, and I found myself constantly wondering how Cade was doing. If he was having trouble driving in the snow. If he was going to have a breakdown on the one-year anniversary of the accident, which was in less than two weeks.
 

We’d been chaste and careful ever since Thanksgiving. No physical contact, no movie nights, no alcohol. I was so conflicted about that. Part of me had relished it. Had felt nearly whole while he held me. Had slept like a baby in his arms. And the next day, when he got out of the shower…I’d wanted him. I’d been able to admit that much to myself.
 

I shouldn’t, because he wasn’t mine, but I did, and there was no point denying it.
 

And…there was something deep in the darkest corner of my soul, whispering to me. Musing, wondering. Asking
what if
. I denied those thoughts. Kept visiting Ever at the Home, talking to her, playing for her. Hoping she’d wake up. But I wondered, deep down, late at night alone, what would happen if she never did. What that would mean for Cade. For…me.

And then I berated myself and hated myself. Exorcised the guilt with hours of penance at the cello. Composing. One good thing that had come from all this turmoil and conflict surrounding my bizarre relationship with Cade was that it was all being changed and turned into music, catalyzing inspiration. My cello solo composition was flowing, movement after movement flying out of me whole cloth.
 

The day before the one-year anniversary, I texted Cade.
What are you doing tomorrow?

He responded after a few minutes.
IDK
.
Visiting Ever?
 

Together?

Sure.

We met in the parking lot. It was snowing hard, the way it had that day. Cade looked haunted, staring up at the falling snow as he waited for me to park. He seemed…lost. The way he’d been immediately after the accident. He nodded at me, not even trying to smile. We went together into Ever’s room. I’d decorated it for Christmas. Sprigs of fake holly on the walls, strands of white lights around the perimeter of the ceiling. A tiny tree, multicolored LED lights, standing on the table beside her bed.
 

Cade sat in one chair, I in the other beside him. Neither of us spoke for a long time. Finally, Cade glanced at me, and then dug an envelope out of his coat pocket. His hands were red with cold, and trembling. I recognized the letter for what it was and started to stand up. He shook his head, put his hand on my arm.

“Stay. I can’t…I can’t do this alone. Not today.” I didn’t even think. I threaded my fingers through his and squeezed. He blinked hard, smiled small and sad at me in thanks. He unfolded the letter. “Ever, my love. Today is one year. You’ve been in a coma for an entire year. Three hundred and sixty-five days unconscious. Gone from me. I don’t even know how to hope anymore. How to believe that you’re coming back. That you’ll wake up. I’ll…” His voice cracked, gave out, and he had to pause, try again. “I’ll never give up, Ever. I’ll visit you every day. No matter what. Until I’m old. Until you’re—you’re old. I love you, Ever.

“I can’t believe it’s been a year. One whole year without you. I still…” His voice wavered, but he went on. “I still don’t know what I’m doing. Just…going through the motions is all, really. It’s all I can do. I miss you so much. I tried to draw you yesterday. I wanted to bring you a sketch, as a Christmas present. But…unless I’m here, it’s almost like I don’t know what you look like. This you, the you in the bed, it’s not you. It doesn’t look like you. And I wanted to draw you as you were, before the accident. Before I let this happen. And I couldn’t.
 

“I couldn’t.” He dropped the letter, sagged forward against the bed, taking her small, thin, lifeless hand in his, sobbing.
 

I put my hand on his back, held his hand in mine, leaned forward shoulder to shoulder with him, and cried with him. His heartbreak was…ruinous.

When I could take his tears no longer, I unpacked Apollo, brought him into perfect tune, closed my eyes, and summoned the piece I’d written for her.
 

He quieted as I began to play, a soft stroke across the strings, a high note. Her song was all high, mellow notes. Slow and sorrowful, quick and joyful, lovely, complex and changing. I played it for her. For him. For all three of us. I cried as I played it, for it was a song of mourning. I mourned for her, with my cello. Apollo sang her song, deep-throated notes of sorrow, long, twisted melodies of loss.