Page 38 of Light in the Dark
"You don't have to do anything about me, or for me. I'm not asking. I'm not waiting. I'm fine, Ember. I promise."
She takes a stalking step toward me. "I'm not."
I go utterly still. "Ember…"
She holds my eyes. Stops in front of me, breath coming in slow, deep, breast-swelling heaves. "I fucking want you, Felix. It's been…a long time—" she blinks, shakes her head. "A long fucking time since I…since I've felt anything but sad and angry and confused and lost."
I slide a thumb across her cheek, beneath her eye, smearing a teardrop away. "Ember."
"I want to beg you to make me feel literally anything else." She licks her lips, dropping her gaze to my crotch again, to the bulge straining against the cotton of my underwear. "Even for five fucking minutes, I want to feel anything—fuckinganything, Felix. All I’ve felt is broken for months."
This is dangerous. For me, but more for her.
"I know the feeling," I whisper. "My shit is different. I know that. I haven't lost anyone like you have."
"But fucked up is fucked up,” she murmurs. "It's not a competition, and there aren't any prizes for first place."
"How long has it been for you?" she asks.
“Since what, exactly?"
A shrug. "Anything. Last sexual partner? Last time you got off, regardless of how?"
"Last sexual partner was…" I have to think. "Several months."
"Tell me about it."
"Um…
"I mean, was it a girlfriend? A hookup? Was it good?"
"No, not a girlfriend. A one-time thing. And…" I shake my head and shrug. "It wasn’t great. It wasn’t bad—and it wasn't her fault. It was just…unfulfilling. Flat. The physical enjoyment was so quick, and once that was over, it was just awkward. I didn't know her. Didn't have any real connection to her or even a meaningful attraction. She was pretty, sure, but…" I shrug. "I dunno."
She searches me, and I can't fathom what she's looking for, much less what she sees. "You want meaning."
"Guess so."
She rests her hands on my chest. "Ask me."
"Your last time." It comes out as a statement, rather than a question.
"With Dutchie, obviously. My…" she swallows hard. "My husband." A long pause, her eyes closing, tears leaking down her cheeks. "Seven and a half months ago. At a campground in Illinois, near Lake Michigan, not far from the Michigan border. Early morning. We found out—he, um." Her eyes squeeze shut even tighter. "We found out he was sick three days later. And he, um. He—he—he died less than a month later."
"Ember," I breathe. "I'm so sorry."
She curls her hands into fists in my shirt. "That's the last truly good, pure, and happy memory I have of him."
"I can't imagine."
"Good. I hope you never can." Her fists shake, squeezing so hard her knuckles turn white. "I don't want to forget. Not him, not us, not that memory."
"Of course not," I whisper. "How could you?"
"But holding on to every memory, good or bad, it just hurts. I feel trapped in my grief." She opens her eyes and meets mine. "I…I want to forget. Just for a minute. I want to be free of the grief, Felix, just—just for…for a minute."
"Ember," I breathe.
She holds my eyes, her silver gaze unwavering, wet with tears and turbulent with desperation. "Please, Felix. I…I can't give you everything you're asking for. Not yet. But I…I need to forget. Please, Felix. Help me forget."
