Amalia
stop thinking so much
Amalia shivers in his arms, pressing closer into the bulwarks, overwhelmed and awed by the simple and stunning pleasure of having a place were she belongs.
They have been close before, closer than Amalia ever dreamed she would want to be to another (fingers and tongues, skin and skin, soft and hard and slick and heat-), but this remains distinctly different. Intimacy in vulnerability: here between these hallowed walls a trust is given, a promise exchanged. There is a deeper comfort, a more important sensation of safety, a happiness to be found in this new proximity. For months she has not been able to sleep except when wrapped in another skin, the leopardess a shield against the darkness, the haunting dangers of unpredictable night. But tonight, tonight, tonight alone, the Shield feels no need to retreat, to wear the armor of another skin: she has him as guard.
Oh, but she is still afraid- only her fears are different now, bathed in hope. In the comfort of his embrace, in the weight of his arms, the uneasy baker yawns and shifts, her eyelids heavy with impending sleep. Though she is happy, though she is content, anxiety can never leave her be; even now she wonders, considers, fear, a nagging doubt in the darkest recesses. Words and dreams fill her mind, never at peace but close, so close, here where she belongs, where she has found a place. In her dreams this place is permanent; in her hopes it is built to last. She holds to dreams, because reality is more frightening, because there haven't been promises, because there are things she still wants, because she is inadequate and somewhere deep down he must see, must feel, must know that truth, because as much as she hopes it she does not know, cannot know, because-
"Love you."
Does he hear her heart stop, she wonders?
Does he feel it start back up again, a thunderstorm inside her breast?
Does he sense the electricity that sparks within her, the way her entire self is suddenly alive, wired and woken and wild and vibrant?
She feels like a fire, an inferno, a whirling vortex of passion and happiness, joy and relief and love and love and love. Love you- two words she has known, has felt, and yet to hear them is to be lifted, liberated and illuminated and buoyed higher than she has ever been. It is silly, stupid, how much it means, how long she has wanted to hear it, how deep the void those syllables fill.
Love you-
Were she to float off the bed she would not be surprised.
Amalia does not move, terrified of breaking this perfect moment, of scaring him with the intensity of everything she feels. Love you echoes and resounds in her mind, repeated and repeated, a haunting refrain, an opus, a sonata, a chorus, a hymn. Love you, love you, love you, love you-
She hasn't said it since that day, has waited through seasons and interludes. Only now does she realize the abstinence, the absence: only now does she recognize how much she has wanted it, the ache that waiting has left in her chest. Afraid to say the words again, to drive him away with too much, too much, to open the window into the inferno that is her passion and ardor. Amalia has so much love to give the world, to give him-
"Love you, too," the Shield smiles, happier than she has been in her life.
you're breaking your own heart
