A Fine Cast of Characters - J. Dane Tyler [57]
She chuckled then, but it was mirthless, empty. “Say my name. That’s all.”
The world blurred in front of me, and I blinked. My vision cleared when fat tears slid down my face. My anguish wrenched my being, like I was physically hurt. I couldn’t bring myself to let go of her, though I only knew her for two weeks. She was everything to me, and I wanted her for my own.
“Please. Please, I’m begging you. Tell me your name, and I’ll say it. I’ll shout it. I’ll run through the streets screaming it, pay a pilot to tow a banner with it. I’ll do anything. Anything. Please. Please tell me.”
She turned to me then, still in my lap, and her gentle hand lit on my cheek.
“I can’t. You must say it.”
“Wh—I don’t understand.”
She gave a sympathetic nod. “I know. You never do. But I hoped ... you seemed so much like you this time. You had moments when I thought, this year you’d finally remember. I thought it was this year. But no. You can’t say my name, and so it’s our last night together.”
A sob escaped me before I knew it was there. “No! Please! Don’t leave me. I love you.”
“Say my name. Just say my name.”
I wailed in agony. I’d never known such pain, such a hollow, gutting sensation. It disemboweled me, like a prize fish for mounting. I sank against her. She held me, her sea mist and flower scent filled me as she shushed me, stroked my back gently, kissed my hair tenderly. I felt her tears splash on my skin while she enfolded me.
“Please,” I mewled, weak as a kitten. “Please.”
“I can say no more, love,” she whispered, her breath soft on my skin, her kiss that followed softer, sweeter. I didn’t want life without her anymore, and I was losing her.
“Please! Tell me your name! Please!”
“I can’t, love. I can’t.”
“I want to say it, I want you to stay.”
“You have to remember.”
“Remember? Remember what? Your name? The name you’ve never told me?”
She nodded. “Among other things. But you can’t.”
I cried, partially angry with her, partially in agony. Felt like an animal caught in a trap. Fear, frustration and pain swirled in an emotional fog. My thoughts silted, muddied, I didn’t know what to do. I held her, desperate and frightened.
I wanted to comply. I wanted to remember. I didn’t even know what I had to remember, but I struggled for it, thrashed like a maniac through my memory, searched for some piece of her. Everything was gray in my head; only the last two weeks with her came clear in memory. Nothing before her mattered. I couldn’t find it, didn’t want it. When did she tell me her name? What moment did I miss, did I let slip by, now so critical? Why couldn’t I remember her uttering it, her voice so sweet, musical, melodious, like a song played in heaven. How can it be she let her name pass through those beautiful, sweet, soft lips and I missed hearing it?
It wasn’t possible. I heard every honeyed note her mouth played, every guttural growl of carnal pleasure, every climactic scream, every sensual curse. I heard everything she said, every sound she made, and I didn’t remember her saying her name.
She hadn’t.
“Shh,” she hushed, and touched my lips when I raised my head. “Don’t struggle so now. It’s our last night together. Let’s be fully one, once more.”
She untangled from me and disrobed, her beauty stole my breath, and lay down on the bed and covered herself with the sheet. Her outstretched arms beckoned, and I discarded my own garb, then slid beside her.
She was cold. As cold as death.
“You’re so cold,” I lamented, and pressed myself against her, letting her draw the warmth from my own flesh. I didn’t care.
“Warm me. Warm me one last time.”
“Please don’t say that.”
She touched her fingers to my lips. “Shh. The sun is coming. We have only a little more time. Don’t be sad now. There is time for mourning later. For now, be with me. Be with me.”
“I want to be with you forever.”
“Be with me now.”
I took her in my arms, and she warmed. She warmed like the sun on a chill autumn dawn warms the world as its rays embrace it. I held her so close, as tight as I could, and tasted