He interrupts me by kissing me again. This time it's different. He's not just kissing me but he's pouring his heart out. He's willing me to feel his love for me. He's saying goodbye because he knows this might be the last time he gets to hold me, this might be the last time he sees me, this might be the last time he kisses me. This might be our last time together. Our farewell. This might be the end. I'll have to wait a year to see him, that is, if he doesn't die while he's there.
He releases my lips, but, he hugs me tighter and I hold on to him. At this point, my heart is beating ridiculously fast. I bury my face in his chest and breathe in the scent of him. He smells as sweet as he always had. His skin is as soft as the first time I held him. I wish I could turn back the time. To rewind. To start all over again. It was a happy time back then. When the only thing we worried about was his abusive father but knowing we'd get through it, together. But now the future is uncertain. I'm no longer sure what fate has in store for us. I'm no longer sure I'll ever see him alive again after tomorrow. I need more time with him. But I'm hopeless. I can't stall time. I can only make the best of what I have left with him.
He pushes the thin straps of the dress from my shoulders. I stand ramrod straight when I hear it drop to the ground, my heart kicks into my chest, then I dip my head and cover my breasts that have grown a ridiculous comic-book size. My hands tremble.
He lifts my chin. "Hey. Look at me, please."
I look at him. He's giving me that special look again. It's an intense moment. His fingers trail from my waist to my ribs. A shiver rolls through me and heat spreads through me with a sudden surge.
"I—I've never done this before. And I... um... I don't know if I can meet your expectations."
"Don't be silly, Clara," he says softly. "I'm only ever sharing this with you. Here—" he pulls a ring from his pocket and slips it into my finger "—I'm as new to this as you are."
I recognise it immediately. Somehow this makes me want to cry again. This is the ring I fell in love with two years ago when we were window shopping. I would look at it every time we were in the mall until one day I got there and it was gone. Daniel had promised me I'd see it again, I wasn't hopeful. The odds that someone I know would've bought it weren't good. When I'd told him this, he'd taken my face between his large hands, looked me in the eye and in complete earnestness said, "I promise." I had no choice but to believe him. I mean, he always, always lived up to all his promises. I just didn't know that he'd spent all his savings for it. That he'd always known he was going to ask me to marry him.
You can do this, Clara. I hesitate for a second and then take a huge breath. My hands are still trembling when I unbutton his shirt and remove his jeans. My heart's beating too quickly for it to be healthy. We just stand there, staring at each other for a moment. He pries my hands off my chest and shakes his head, awe in his eyes, "You're so beautiful, Clara. I can't wait to see you walk down the aisle."
We'll probably have to wait at least two years to get married since I'm still underage but I can't believe he's going to be my husband. This... guy. This kind soul. What could I have possibly done to make God bless me in such abundance? It'll take some getting used to, but I'm afraid, Daniel is not the kind of guy anyone gets used to. He's just so... so...
My hand then moves towards him without my will, just to touch his cheek, to feel his skin under my fingertips. Beneath my fingertips his skin is smooth and delicate, it seems to flow, and almost glides under my trembling touch. Just like it always had. The scars from his childhood catch the moonlight, and I run the tips of my fingers against them. He's beautiful. The image of what perfection should look like. He closes his eyes and inhales sharply.
"I want to love you tonight," he says, slipping his fingers through my hair. For a few seconds he concentrates on what he's doing and then he locks them tightly into my hair. "Can I do that?"
My lungs burn and I try not to think about tomorrow when I'll have to say goodbye. An array of unpleasant emotions like fear and dread ambush me. I nod and he proceeds to give himself to me all through the night, under the stars, in the meadow we've met at every day for the past eight years, and for a moment the heartache is gone. He continues to bury himself deeper into me while dawn begins to crawl up on the western horizon. I have no control over the sun. I'm only able to watch, hopeless as it hales me into a day that I've been dreading for quite some time.
The morning finds us curled up in each other's arms. My eyes flutter open to find him looking at me. His fingers are tangled deep in my hair and when our eyes meet, he presses his lips to my forehead. I wrap my arms around his neck and he helps me to a sitting position. My body is sore in all the right places and I look at it, the evidence of our love making doesn't show on my dark skin but I can still feel where he dug his fingers in my hips, I can feel the bite mark on my shoulder when he closed his teeth around my flesh to stop his groan as he came.
"How does it feel? You'll be gone in a couple of hours," I say. I don't know why, but I feel an unbearable pain whenever I think of this.
The smile he gives me doesn't reach the eyes and his voice is dead when he says, "Yay, Afghanistan here I come." Both his Basic Training and AIT were done two weeks ago.
He looks at me and the softness in his eyes is overwhelming. "Sweetheart, I—"
I interrupt him by planting my lips to his, gently, and for a tiny wisp of time, we both freeze. I am surprised by the desire that shoots through me, the hot, uncontrollable need to have him inside me again. I part my lips slightly and take his bottom lip into my mouth. He kisses me back then, tenderly at first until the passion stifles, wrapping us in a war of lovers. I touch his face, brushing it softly with my fingers. He pulls back and kisses my cheek, my jawline, I feel his quick breath travelling down my neck, fingers digging into my hips. I smile. Everything feels hot — his lips, his tongue, his fingers — like the two of us are standing directly under the sun. His tongue traces a pathway down my neck, between my breasts and all the way to my stomach. He pushes me back against the quilt and hovers over me, just looking at me.
"Make love to me," I plead.