The Shattered Genesis (Eternity) (99 page)

             
We bonded ove
r the most trivial things. We laughed so often that outsiders and passerby more than likely believed us to be consistently high on the Peace Fruit. I had not laughed with such frequency in so many years. The muscles in my face protested the constant assaul
t of smiles and giggles at first but then, they adjusted to the lighthearted nature of mine and Jame's time together. My heart followed a similar path: I was beginning to drop my need to disdainfully tear down others as I wallowed in the misery and woe of
the world. I was beginning to see things through a lens of beauty and idealism, however foolishly. James aided me in accepting that new outlook just as he came to grip it firmly himself.

             
In short, I felt so blissfully alive, for perhaps the first time in
my life.

             
“What about this one?” I asked him one night. I was pressing one finger lightly against the tattoo over his heart. “That's very...”

             
“I know.” He sighed heavily and shook his head in overly dramatic shame. “I like to say it's simple.”
             
I laughed
and swooped my hair back so that I could observe the tattoo more closely. I was perched on his middle, straddling him and adjusting my glasses so that I could see the details of his embarrassingly ridiculous tattoo.

             
“That is a nice way of saying, 'It is v
ery old and poorly designed.'”
             
“Excuse me, madam, I designed this tattoo myself.”
             
“Oh my God...” I covered my mouth to hide my slightly chagrined smile. “Are you serious?”

             
His face broke into a grin and he chuckled softly.

             
“No. Of course not. I walked
into the shop, flipped through one of the books for five minutes and chose this one.”

             
“So you must have been young, then?” I asked, “Like eighteen?”

             
“Forty one, actually.”

             
The boisterous giggles that took hold of me almost erased the look of consternati
on that he was trying so valiantly to keep plastered on his face. As I covered my mouth and struggled to stay upright, his hands grasped my hips, holding me firmly so that I did not fall off of him.

             
“This right here,” He touched the tattoo, “is most certa
inly not a laughing matter. This is a cautionary tale to warn young people like you against drinking heavily with your friends and wandering into a tattoo shop at midnight. Seriously, that story is like the new-age Hansel and Gretel. You should be terrifie
d right now.”

             
“Stop!” I exclaimed, grasping my stomach as I only laughed harder. “You are right, though! It is the worst tattoo I have ever had the displeasure of viewing!”

             
“I don't need to translate that into regular people-speak but I might anyway.”
             
The tattoo in question was a tawny owl wearing dark-rimmed glasses. The location was curious, considering that a design placed over one's heart would generally denote some overly emotional sentiment. If James had tattooed one of his many girlfriend's names
there, though that surely would have been very stupid, I might have understood. But a brash caricature of an animal seemed out of place over his heart that I knew to be so very large.

             
“I was looking at it earlier when we were...” I trailed off, spinning
my hand by my head as though that somehow signified “having sex.” James mimicked the awkward hand gesture and then we were both laughing again.

             
“You were looking at it? While we were doing
that?
Am I off my game today or something?”

             
“Just because I was l
ooking at it doesn't mean that I was not paying attention to what you and I were doing. It just caught my eye and I found myself unable to tear my gaze away.”

             
“And you thought, 'My boyfriend has the greatest taste in ink...'”

             
“No. I thought, 'That is a s
trange place for a tattoo whose existence was clearly born from whimsy.'”

             
“You like that one. 'Born from whimsy...'”

             
“I do, indeed.”

             
“What do you think I should have gotten there? My wife's name or something?”

             
“That would be both obscene and doltish, s
o no.” I replied, shaking my head rapidly. My choice of words seemed to amuse him because he was chuckling softly once again.

             
“
This
is no laughing matter, James Maxwell.” I said in jocular scorn, “Are you unaware of the fact that it has been proven to end
relationships when one of the people in said romantic binding tattoo the name of their partner on their person?”

             
“Don't get me wrong, I
love
the alliteration, but do you want to cite your source on that? Because I think you're wrong. I'm sure there are o
ther reasons that the relationship ends.”

             
“Ha-ha, I know you are being blithely sarcastic. I'm sure there are other reasons as well. But there is a causal relationship between the two events, at least in my humble opinion.”

             
“Your
humble
opinion? I don't
think that I need to tell you that what you just said is an oxymoron.”

             
We were laughing again.

             
“Alright, lady, you want me to explain every drunken night I spent in tattoo parlors. I want to know about yours.”

             
“I only have three tattoos and believe me,
the stories are not that interesting. Plus, I was stone-cold sober when I got each and every one of them, so the stories you have requested regarding drunken nights would simply not be truthful.”

             
“I never asked for stories regarding,” He stopped, “whateve
r it was that you just said.”

             
I grinned in over-the-top triumph.

             
“Yeah? That face? 'Ha-ha, I got you?'” He asked before sitting up quickly and pressing his lips to mine hard. “I'm treading very close to a dangerously personal topic, aren't I?”

             
“What mak
es you say that?” I asked calmly, though internally, my insides were beginning to swell in anxiety. He was right; the stories behind each of my tattoos were very personal.

             
“Because you're starting to get that sketchy look in your eyes like I am treading v
ery close to a dangerously personal topic. Either that, or you're about to go on a killing rampage.”

             
“Oh, look at you. You know me so well.” I made an effort to smile at him and shrug, “At another time, my dear, I will tell you all about them. Just not to
night. Besides, my ink does not rival that lovely bespectacled avian creature that is cemented so glaringly on your chest.” I walked my fingers over it, smiling in genuine amusement once again.

             
“That one on your back certainly rivals it. You know how that
one drives me crazy. I love it.”

             
“Despite how colossal it is?”

             
“It is the perfect size, actually. Sometimes, when you bend over, I can see it when your shirt comes up. You did it the other day and I kid you not, every male on Security Detail was
staring.”
             
“People were gawking at me and you didn't say anything?” I feigned shock and offense.

             
“Nope. I just grinned and nodded. I got several fist bumps. I'm a little bit of a celebrity amongst those guys, I have to say. They think you are very attract
ive and that I'm old. Because those two things don't generally go together unless there is a large sum of money involved, they believe that I must be some God-like creation who reeled you in with my charm and boyish good looks,” He shrugged nonchalantly, “
and my massive lower appendage.”

             
I laughed so raucously that I nearly rolled off of him again. His hands found my waist and he held me up.

             
“I find it really insulting that you're laughing like that. Just so you know...”

             
I kissed him quickly.

             
“I love yo
u dearly, James Maxwell,” I gasped out, “You never fail to entertain me.”

             
“I love you passionately, Brynna Olivier. Even when you're about to suffer a concussion after your laughter sends you flying sideways off of me and onto the floor...”

             
“Stop!” I cov
ered my mouth as I snorted, “I really might fall off of you!”

             
“It would be kind of funny. You have to admit.”

             
“If I were to suffer a concussion, you would find it humorous?! You don't love me at all, James Maxwell!” I accused him teasingly.

             
“Oh, I don't
?”

             
“No. I know the truth now.”

             
“You think that's the truth?”

             
“I do, or else I wouldn't have said that now, would I?”

             
He sat up quickly and pulled me forward, crushing my mouth against his. My hands traveled over the curves of his carved back, exploring
the rocky terrain in innocently greedy fascination. My breathing hitched in my throat as his tongue confidently moved against my own.

             
When he pulled away, he rested his hand on my cheek. I placed my own over top of his and noted as I looked into his eyes
that he was suddenly completely serious.

             
“I love every last thing about you, Brynna.”

             
My heart jumped in surprise before falling over itself in a swoon of powerful affection for him. When I finally regained my ability to speak, I found that my throat ha
d clenched in the urge to cry at such simple yet so emotionally resounding words.

             
“I never thought I would hear that from someone in a thousand years. Surely, you are mistaken.”

             
“Surely, I'm not, actually. Luckily for you and me, we do have a thousand ye
ars. We probably have two, three, maybe even four thousand years.”

             
“A part of me doubts seriously that you will last through that much time with me. Eventually, my tendencies will drive you away.”

             
“Really?” He raised his eyebrows at me in an acknowledgme
nt of some challenge that I did not realize I had proposed.

             
I nodded, trying to smile again but feeling those unwelcome tears that so painfully hindered my ability to breathe reemerge quickly. He saw them and reached out to gently wipe them away. I turned
my head away from him, trying to hide the sadness that he had inadvertently provoked in me. There was nothing else in the world that I wanted more than to be with him forever as he suggested we would be. But I knew myself. I knew him quite well, also. I k
new that somewhere, deeply guarded inside of him, was a breaking point. After much prodding, eventually that forceful reluctance and drive to get away from an emotional tormentor would detonate. In my own way, I tormented him. My need to detach drove my cr
uelty to spur back to life and as a result, he was driven away.

             
“Stop.” He whispered after resting his forehead against mine. I closed my eyes and drank in his deliciously soothing scent. “I might not be able to read your thoughts but I can read your face
very easily.”

             
“Really?” I asked softly as I stroked his stubble-covered cheek with my thumb. “I thought I hid these moments well. Now you're telling me that I do not.”

             
“I can see them now. You don't think that I know but I can tell when you're upset. I
can generally guess what it is that's upsetting you. Right now, you think you're going to drive me away.”

             
I was shocked that he had guessed accurately the true nature of my distress.

             
“Brynna,” His hands grasped mine, “Look at me.”