Page 167 of Eternal
Back off, Azra. Back. Off.
I tell myself that, and slowly, I put space between us. The distance grows, he closes his eyes for a second, mirroring my movement, the closest we’ve felt and yet somehow the farthest apart we’ve been.
“I don’t know,” I whisper, staring back at the stars. “My name... it’s my whole identity. And I don’t know if I can trust it anymore.”
I feel his hand tighten around mine, but he doesn’t say anything.
“Let’s go home, okay? We’ll talk there. I hate how your hands are always so cold I wish I could keep them warm.”
He gets up and like a routine he cleans the bench and pull me closer to take the road again.
Home.
He wants us to go home. Like it’s ours, like it’s a warm and beautiful place. He doesn’t see the journal like I see it, the irises on the table like I do, or the blanket like I feel it, so he thinks it’s home. The funny thing is that when he’s there, it does feel likehome.
In a few minutes we’re back at my apartment, sitting in front of my TV. Songs are playing in the back. I’m hearing them, the one turning on again and again was putting a whole new atmosphere in here.
All I Need by Radiohead.
Fuck… it does feel home to have him here.
Damir is touching my hair again, and I’m closing my eyes letting myself relax under his touch.
“Can you stop moaning just because I’m playing with your hair?” He asks tugging on the strands.
I open my eyes and smile as I see his face upside down, head title back.
He’s really beautiful. “Don’t you like hearing me moaning under your touch?”
He laughs and leans down, his chin brushing my eyelashes and when his mouth closes on the top of my nose I can’t help but close my eyes again.
It's so delicate, like I almost imagined the way his lips felt.
“You’re too dressed for me to be loving hearing those sounds come out of your mouth as I touch you.”
“Perv.”
He laughs and pulls me back up from the ground to the sofa. “Alright, now why is the same song repeating itself since we came back?”
I shrug and get up. “I do whatever I want in my house. That includes me being obsessed with a song and repeating it over and over again until I can’t do it anymore.”
I walk toward the kitchen, preparing two cups of tea for him and me.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m making dessert,” I say, dropping a handful of loose tea leaves into the pot.
He shifts on the sofa, watching. “That’s dessert?”
I glance at him, deadpan. “Yes. It’s called emotional sustenance. I’m making you one too.”
I toss in fresh mint, a little cardamom, and way too much sugar, just the way I like it, the scent starts to rise, and I feel a strange sense of comfort running through me.
He raises an eyebrow, trying to decide if I’m actually serious. “A highly advanced dessert plan, just for me?”
“Yep,” I say, turning the heat down to let it simmer. “Step one: tea. Step two: the same sad song on loop until I can’t stop thinking about it.”
He stares.
