"I never knew about your mum," I whispered after hearing Aaliyah's sobs calm down.
"Elvis never told you?" she asked.
"He never did. We never speak about personal stuff with him," I finished.
"It's okay. It was something brutal and abrupt. The remarriage and mother's death. Father just married so fast; it was so hard to process everything."
"I'm sorry you had to go through that," I stated soothingly.
"Let's get your wound fixed," she finally stated, pushing herself off my embrace and heading outside the room.
I remained frozen in bed, still seated, wondering how I would react if my own mother ever passed away. I would surely be disoriented and pained. I don't know if I would survive the ordeal. Aaliyah was a strong woman. I now understand why Elvis was always protective when it came to her being with me. He feared she would be hurt.
'I don't want to hurt her. I really don't,' I repeatedly stated the words in my mind, as if trying to convince myself more. Plus, for real, this all was true. The fact that I did not want to hurt her. It was super true.
"I found these," Aaliyah called out as she came in with cotton and a full first aid box kit. I always had it in my room. The reason being, I was always clumsy. If not bleeding out of a fight with one of the bouncers in a bar, it would be being super tipsy leading to me hurting myself on my way outside the bar, or up towards this apartment. Plus, to top up everything, I was always drunk. Until now that I have somehow stopped having daily drinks like an idiot with no guide in life.
As I thought, Aaliyah had already taken my right hand and was examining it. I wondered what she knew about first aid. Thus, I just observed her without telling. It was normal for doctors to feel the intense need of telling someone what to do when it came to lives and human tissues. With Aaliyah, I saw no point. Until, she, without any warning, poured spirit on my knuckles. Hell, I flinched in pain.
"You should have warned me," I stated, as she laughed.
"You know I'm not a professional," she added.
"What do you major in?" I questioned, trying to form a conversation between us, that would make me forget what was happening in my hand.
"Creative writing," she stated, and my eyes brightened in surprise.
"You are majoring in creative writing? Are you serious?" I questioned.
"Yes, do you think it's lame?" she questioned, and I vigorously shook my head, as I took the bandage off her hand. I realized she was really trying to find the starting point of bandaging my knuckles. Thus, I just chose to help with it.
"I think it's cool," I stated, now smiling purely and wholeheartedly.
"Have you written a book?" I questioned, my eyes still focused on my almost finished bandaging, as I gestured for her to place some masking tape on the tip of the bandage.
"Just a coursework. The lecturer has it," she added, as we finished the bandaging, but her hand still embraced mine longer, as her fingers trailed my now bandaged area.
"I wonder what you would write about me," I detailed, now staring at her soft eyes, which I was so badly drawn to. She too was staring at me hard. I wondered what she was thinking. What crafted words would she say about me?
"For starters," she began, checking out my whole face and my hair, "I would compliment your sharp jawline," this made me touch my jawline in approval, as I felt beneath my skin the beards that had escaped the shave of my electric shaver. "Your eyes would also play a part, and the little nose that compliments your face. The tip of your nose is a little beautiful triangular style when one observes you from a sideways angle. I would complement it. Your hair is cute, but you need a haircut," she finished, laughing, as she lightly raised her hand to touch my slightly grown hair. I had postponed shaving it for quite some time. Tomorrow, I shall visit the barber.
"I like your description," I stated, not failing to notice that whatever she was complimenting was an alignment of a liking towards me. Does she really like me? I suddenly questioned myself, as we both stared at each other.
In effortless motion, she let herself lie on the bed, still eyeing me.
I knew she was observing me, but my eyes ignored all that and checked her out. Her neck was visible, but they did not linger on her neck but her chest. Her chest steadily rose up and down. In addition to her curly hair which was embracing part of her chest. Her hair now was colored into beautiful curls of brown that blended so much with her light skin.
I wanted to kiss her, but my eyes lingered on her chest, as my mind pictured her lips. Her chest rose gradually; she had no bra on, the first thing men observe in women. And that turned me on greatly, her not having anything other than the lengthy T-shirt and some sweats.
"You are beautiful," I finally stated. Words that I had never stated in months and years to a woman and truly meant it. I stared back at her eyes, which were still soft on me.
"What are you thinking?" I questioned, my eyes becoming overwhelmed with some tears, out of the constant nervousness and anxiousness my body exploded. She did not answer; she just shook her head.
I wanted to kiss her so bad. So bad! My eyes diverted from her soft eyes and lingered on her lips. They were full, the lipstick a little not well intact. I would blame this on the alcohol, but I knew it was long gone. I indeed wanted her. I did not have protection. But I know if I am to kiss her today, well, all this will go down. I was tired of stepping back. Stepping back in fear of vulnerability and maybe making a deadly mistake; as I did in my past.
As I thought, I was initially closing the distance between us.
My hand had already involuntarily found its way to her left side, and the other, my right hand, despite having a bandage, had started caressing her cheek. Then my forehead met with hers, as I noticed her eyes close, her breathing pace, and her nose embracing me with her inner airs that smelled exactly fresh.
The touch of our lips, as anticipated, happened.
They were soft, as they always were since I last made my lips embrace hers. The kiss started out soft. I did not want to hasten everything, but my breathing became my letdown. I wanted more!
My mind focused on nothing but Aaliyah.
My heart raced in unison, and blood flowed through my body as if she were my only reason for living.
One thing (the kiss) led to me steadying myself on top of her, the next became me deepening the kiss after the first one. My right hand trailed her body, as she parted her legs to embrace and consent my body collide with her's.
We still had clothes on. I had my shirt and damned khaki trousers on. She still had her T-shirt and her pajamas.
As if in realization of what I wanted, she gave me her hand, and I helped her up and sat down on the bed as I did, still face to face. I started unbuttoning my shirt, but I realized the blood stains that lingered on it.
"Damn!" I exclaimed in a whisper, as I looked at her, only to realize also her T-shirt was filled with stains. Her eyes fixated on my right hand, and so did mine. The bandage was soaking with blood.
"Excuse me," I stated in disappointment and annoyance. At myself and at my knuckles. It would have happened, I told myself as I went to the bathroom to freshen up.
The knuckles had bled a little much. I think I had hit that wall really hard. So, I washed the blood off my hand, in addition to letting the water spill on my knuckles as I flinched in pain.
"I'm sorry," Aaliyah's voice whispered behind me, and in the mirror, I saw her. She was wearing just a lengthy T-shirt that barely hid her upper thighs. She did not have anything on. 'WHATEVER WAS HAPPENING BETWEEN US! God!'
"Aali," I started, as my head turned to face her physical self, to believe what the mirror reflection had told me. She held a bandage. My eyes barely noticed it anyway, I was really checking her out and wondering through, the things I would do to her. I did not care if my knuckles had a bloodbath! I just wanted her. And she looked at me, carefully and steadily; and then her eyes shifted to my hand again.
"Ouch!" she stated, as I observed the part she looked at. My knuckles were still bleeding; I think I had placed my hand in a fist unknowingly, as I scanned Aaliyah's dressing.
"I don't need the bandages!" I stated, my voice becoming deeper and coming out more like a whisper, "I need you," I added, my legs pulling me towards the door area where Aaliyah stood, and I slightly pushed her onto the wall. "You do things to me!" I found myself confessing, as my lips caressed her ears, forehead, eyes, and nose, as if feeling and inhaling all of her.