Nothing but Your Skin - Cathy Ytak [10]
You pushed that little bit of childhood skin, gently. Before I even felt pleasure, I wanted to howl out in joy. It was good, it was good. There was nothing around us except a frozen lake, and our bodies burning on top of it. You weren’t saying anything, you were breathing hard, softly, hard. I followed your breaths and got into a rhythm. I felt you inside me, it didn’t hurt. We were a patch of color on the dark ice of the lake. You came, but not me, not totally, it was a bit quick. You said, “It’s okay, we have the night ahead of us, I have my hands, I have my mouth, there are a thousand and one ways, you’ll have your turn.” And we took our time loving each other, again, again, again.
Until the moment we heard the dogs barking in the distance, and the people walking on the shore.
“As strange as it seems,” the psychologist said to my parents, “I think Louella agreed to go with this boy and to have sexual relations with him.”
My mom took some time to think about what he said. But for a few days now, when she comes into my room, she almost looks me in the eyes. She talks to me, mostly about you. She says that you haven’t come back, that you haven’t tried to see me. That even if you didn’t force me, which has yet to be proven, you haven’t come to see how I am, you haven’t even phoned. She says that I was stupid to trust you and that even if I did say yes, you took advantage of my gullibility. She says that you’ll never come back, that you’ve already forgotten me, and that I should do the same with you. Then she asks if I’m still thinking about you and I shake my head no, because I’m not going to say yes. But I know that you’ve gone on your apprenticeship for three weeks, and that those three weeks have almost gone by. I managed to keep track of all the days, I haven’t missed one. My mom says that you’ve ditched me, but I know that you’re going to come back. I keep quiet, my hand on my throat. Because it’s our secret. And I know you’re coming back tonight, or tomorrow night. I’m not allowed to take the bus anymore, but you’ll wait until it’s really dark at night and you’ll come around to the back of the house, so you won’t disturb the dogs.
You’ll tap on my window. You’ll leave a little note, or just the traces of your steps. If the dogs don’t bark, I’ll open the window. If they do, we’ll wait for the right moment. And one night, one night when the moon is almost full, a very cold night with lots of stars in the sky, we’ll start again. We’ll find each other on the lake and you’ll have two sleeping bags zipped together. My body will be like brand new under yours. You’ll touch my skin, I’ll touch your earlobe, and nothing will happen to wreck our story. We’ll make love as much as we want. And if I hear people walking on the shore, you’ll just say, “You have nothing to be scared of, you’re with me. We’ll survive everything because we love each other. Lou, the dogs will never find us here.” And I’ll believe you, Matt, I’ll believe you.
First published in France as Rien que ta peau, ©Actes Sud, 2008
English translation ©2009 Annick Press
Annick Press Ltd.
All rights reserved. No part of this work covered by the copyrights hereon may be reproduced or used in any form or by any means—graphic, electronic, or mechanical—without prior written permission of the publisher.
Series editor: Melanie Little
Translated by Paula Ayer
Copyedited by Geri Rowlatt
Proofread by Elizabeth Salomons
Cover design by David Drummond/Salamander Hill Design
Interior design by Monica Charny
Cover photo ©istockphoto.com
To Éric, the