Blue Aspen Page 8

  I thought this was the proof. I was wrong. Only after I gave myself over to it, did he prove that he loved me. I cannot even begin to explain this; I can only describe what he did to me. He turned me into a vessel and he poured his spirit in me, like water. He laid his heart bare inside my mind. I looked over and felt everything that was there. He was truly pure. And I cannot even begin to describe his love for me, it was so vast that he was consumed by it. Now so was I.

  The fire flared, the pulse raced but it couldn’t last much longer. I was beginning to feel that I was breaking into pieces.

  He removed his spirit from me and blinked, his eyes returning to water. Our hearts quieted and I gasped, able to breathe again. It all drifted away except the fire. The fire was still in my chest, but burned now like a candle instead of an inferno. I continued to gasp, as my senses tried desperately to right themselves. The whole world was spinning. I staggered and fell into his arms. He held me to his chest and wrapped the edges of his coat around me so that we both were inside it. Everything was growing dark. I could tell the dream was ending. Tears sprang to my burning, throbbing eyes.

  "Dulcee, why are you crying?"

  "I don’t want it to end. Before this, I was afraid to be alone. Now the thought terrifies me."

  "It’s not the end, it’s the beginning. You have to sleep now, deeply. Your body and your mind have to acclimate to me. Dreaming like this has its price. You are exhausted. Sleep now, I won’t leave you. You will never be alone again."

  I buried myself in his chest and I let my mind go. I plunged into deep Delta sleep and lost myself in the ebony oblivion. It was a sleep like I had never known, embodied in total peace, like death. And in a very real way it was my death. As I slept, the person I had been, died. I would never be the same again.

  I lost the time. I could have been minutes or months, I had no idea. Waking up was like coming out of a coma. I very gradually became more and more aware of myself. My whole body felt altered, and still tired. I sighed and rolled over as the memories of my dream came back to me. I was too drowsy to think coherently. It had been so amazing, he had been so amazing. I wondered, if I could go back to sleep right now, would I see him again? I smiled to myself, as his face came to my mind.

  I sighed and whispered his name aloud.

  "Vincent."

  "Yes?"

  I almost screamed. My eyelids snapped open and all my muscles clenched in surprise. I sat up, looking around. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim light in my room. The drapes were closed, blocking out most of the morning sun. Only a thin band of light was coming in though the break in the curtains. He was sitting in my reading chair, gazing at me placidly. Was I really awake? I was wearing my pink flannel pajamas and not the blue nightgown. That, in and of itself, indicated a yes. I examined everything in the dimness, he was the same, and everything around him was just as clear as he was. Nothing was blurred or hazy.

  A surge of excitement washed through me. He was really here! Vincent was real.

  "Good morning," he said. "Or, afternoon, rather."

  "Hi," I said timidly. The shock of him really being right here with me, had me unnerved.

  He stood up slowly, walked over to the bed, and sat down on the edge, next to me. Half of me wanted to shriek and scamper away like a skittish rabbit, while the other half wanted to hurtle myself into his arms. I did neither. I sat perfectly still, my pulse thumping profoundly.

  He gazed at me intently. He raised his right hand, reaching slowly for my face. I still didn’t move. He hesitated, his fingers three inches from my face, looking uncertain. Touch me!

  He made contact, his fingertips sliding down my cheek to my chin. I flinched beneath his touch, butterflies erupting in my stomach. We looked in each other’s eyes, unabashed. I tried hard not to blink. I had never looked into someone’s eyes like this before. With what we had shared last night, and what he had showed me of himself, it made this intense starring seem almost natural. There was an unnerving level of intimacy between us.

  Then reality slapped me in the face. He was so close to me, he was touching me, and I had just woken up! My soul wailed in despair. I knew the way I looked when I woke up. My hair, my crusty eyes, not to mention my breath. Ugh! And my cheek, he had just touched my cheek! I was sure it was pillow creased.

  He looked at me quizzically as I pulled away from him. "What?"

  I shifted sideways, sliding out of bed and began backing toward the bathroom. "I just um…need to…I’ll be right back."

  I shut the bathroom door behind me and leaned against it. Could I have been any more juvenile?! It was extremely bright in the bathroom, the midday sun was pouring in through the windows and bouncing off the marble. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust. I rushed to the sink, without looking at myself, and began splashing frigid water on my face. I was sure I was awake now.

  I continued to splash my face repeatedly, when I finally caught sight of myself in the mirror. I stopped, dumbfounded, the water dripping from my stunned face. I grabbed the hand towel on the nearest hook and rubbed the water off my face and hands. I looked again. I took a step back and then another. I turned my head from side to side and ran my fingers through my hair. Was this some kind of side effect of being with Vincent? A result of the fire he had infected me with? Whatever the cause was, I wasn’t complaining.

  The change was not so drastic, as to cause alarm to others. It was really quite subtle, but definitely noticeable. My hair was perfectly styled, as though I had just walked out of a salon, instead of just getting out of bed. And my face was not pillow-creased at all. I wasn’t wearing any make up but I really didn’t need to. My complexion looked like silk, and my lips were blushing a perfect shade.

  I looked more like a woman than I ever had before. Maybe that was the biggest difference. Yesterday, I was a girl, but the events of the night had matured me. Now my eyes were wiser and my features more pronounced. It was as though the ocean that lived inside him had poured a river into me. In looks, I had been totally inferior to him before, and I still was, but his presence inside me had leveled the playing field a bit. It was the first time I had looked in the mirror and felt even the slightest trace of vanity. I might have stayed in the bathroom a long time looking at myself, but there was someone else I desired to look at.

  When I came back into my room, he was gone. The curtains were open, the sun filling the room, and the bed was made. I looked around.

  "Vincent?"

  There was no answer. Had I taken too long in the bathroom? I walked over to the bed, seeing there was something on it. A dark splotch on my white comforter. It was a blue rose with a black stem and there was a note beside it. It was obvious the rose was fake, but I couldn’t tell what it was made of till I picked it up.

  I gasped as my fingertips traced along its smooth surface. The rose was made of blown glass. I held it up, delicately, so it would catch the sunlight. The glass looked like water, its color varying like ripples. Beautiful. I placed it carefully on the mantle, along with my other favorite things.

  The note he left said, Meet me downstairs for breakfast, when you’re ready. –V

  I gulped. Breakfast? My stomach growled loudly just as I thought about it, but I wished I wasn’t hungry at all. The thought of sitting across the table from Vincent, with a plate of food in front of me, made me break out in a nervous sweat. If he asked me to jump off a bridge, I would without fear or hesitation, as long as he was holding my hand. But the idea of spooning food into my mouth and chewing it in front of him was a major problem. I had always been that way. Eating around someone I was attracted to, caused me serious embarrassment. Not just because I thought that people in general, were unattractive while chewing, but I usually couldn’t get through a meal without getting something on my shirt. My ex-boyfriend thought I was anorexic because for the duration of our relationship he never saw me put a single thing into my mouth.

  I changed out of my pajamas before going down stairs. I tried to calm my
self about the eating problem by deciding I would eat slowly, focusing on each bite, and maybe I wouldn’t have to change my shirt after breakfast.

  I was in a heightened state of awareness as I descended the stairs. I questioned if I was still dreaming or not. My awareness stretched beyond the normal stuff to things like the carpet under my socked feet, and the variation in the wood grain of the banister under my hand. Surely, these were things I wouldn’t take notice of if I was dreaming.

  I took a deep breath and decided to accept the fact I was awake. I was not going to reject something so wonderful, just because it was out of the ordinary. Unfortunately, like a transplanted organ that rejects its new host, my mind was having twinges, attempting to pull away by adding reason and logic to the situation. I tried to convince myself that I didn’t need logic, it was not friendly with my current circumstances.

  There was some quiet clattering in the kitchen, beyond me. I almost laughed in nervous absurdity. The idea of Vincent making me breakfast was a little hard to take. Before he actually came into my line of sight, I pictured him dusted in flour, flipping pancakes. My mind gave another lurch, in rejection of the mental image. The idea of someone so magical, so ethereal, doing something as mundane as cooking was bizarre.

  I stood still against the wall, just outside the kitchen, and watched him. He was placing some fruit on the table, his back to me. I studied him. He had removed his trench coat and draped it over the back of one of the chairs. He was wearing a plain black tee shirt over his black jeans. He was such a dark thing, all in black. I watched the movements of his arms, now that I could see them. He was really quite tall and broad. His muscles were not overdone, but pronounced all the same, obviously very strong. Everything about his movements and appearance pleased me greatly. I could tell he took care of himself, but not anywhere near the degree of a metro-sexual. Vincent’s look was natural, manly, as if it all just fell into place without effort. I liked that. He was no mirror-hoarding narcissus.

  He moved back and forth between the table and the counter, carrying English muffins and mugs of coffee. I also noticed that he had a naturally abrupt pace to which he did things, brusque.

  The table was all set, so I decided to make my entrance.

  When I came into the kitchen, Vincent turned and faced me. The air instantly buzzed with the electricity between us. We smiled broadly at each other. He took a tentative step toward me, and then paused, debating. I stood still, waiting for him to close the distance between us, or not. The seconds dragged mercilessly. Then the silence was broken by my stomach, growling loudly again. I made the first move and went to sit down at the table, our eyes still locked on each other. He followed and sat opposite me.

  "Thank you for doing this. You didn’t have to."

  "It was no trouble," he said dismissively.

  We stared at each other in silence. I could almost hear the electricity cracking and snapping in the air over our heads. Being with Vincent like this was awkward and exciting, but oddly comfortable at the same time. Maybe it was because, even though we had only spent a handful of hours together, and we were obviously attracted to each other, I was already certain of his feelings for me. I didn’t have to go through the months of roundabout questions or games to try to decipher how serious he might or might not be about me. I already knew.

  Finally, I dropped my gaze to the table, blushing. Vincent looked away, too, and out of the corner of my eye, I was amused to see he was also blushing. Then we both reached for the food and began to eat. I was careful to eat slowly and I was lucky it worked. I didn’t get anything on me.

  "So, what would you like to do today?" he asked, once we were both finished eating.

  "Anything," I answered. "Just as long as we do it together."

  He smiled, looking pleased with my response, and began clearing the remains of breakfast off the table. I instantly protested grabbing the plate he was trying to take to the sink.

  "You made breakfast, let me clean up," I said.

  He was still hanging onto the plate. It was like a tiny display of tug-o-war. He chuckled.

  "Oh no you don’t." He pulled the plate from my hands. "Your hands are way too beautiful to do dishes."

  I could feel my eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He just laughed and headed over to the sink. I observed him again as he put the fruit we hadn’t eaten back in the refrigerator and ran hot water over the few dishes. He glanced back over his shoulder at me, still sitting at the table. I turned away to look out the window, embarrassed. He had caught me staring at him.

  "I want to get to know you today," I said.

  He turned from the sink, having finished cleaning up, and smiled broadly at me. "Okay. How do you plan to go about it?"

  "Uh…Time I guess."

  "Ah, yes, time is good," he said seriously.

  There was another brief silence between us. I felt a little stupid. He had asked me what I wanted to do, and I couldn’t think of a single decisive thing. Getting to know someone wasn’t exactly something you could just do. Like things you would have on a to-do list: feed the fish, laundry, clean the bathroom, and learn everything there is to know about someone you just met. It was a dumb thing to say. So, I threw it back on him. "What would you like to do?"

  "To start with, how about you show me around this very large, very strange house?"

  "Okay. I’ll try not to get us too lost."

  He walked to me, his hand outstretched, reaching for mine. I gave him my hand. The electrical current shot from our hands and up my arm. My heart fluttered as we walked out of the kitchen. I tried to think about the first things Uncle Jack had showed me in the house. I decided to show Vincent the more extravagant things first, leaving my personal favorites for later.

  He seemed only mildly impressed with the showy stuff, like the pool, theater, and gym. We came around to the part of the house I liked best. Vincent looked thoughtfully into the empty solarium for a few moments before we headed to the library.

  "Wow! This is great!" he exclaimed.

  "I told you," I said. "This is my favorite room in the house."

  "Yeah, I can understand that," he murmured, walking around the edge of the shelves, examining the titles on the spines.

  I stood off from him a ways, watching him scan the books, almost exactly the way I did. After a moment he turned back to face me. I knew I was staring again and unable to muster enough shame to stop. I wanted him to wrap me in his arms, more than I’d ever wanted anything before.

  "What?" he asked, examining my face.

  "Huh? Oh, I was just thinking that you don’t look much like a book worm."

  He laughed. "Is that right? What do I look like then?"

  I looked over his build as he moved toward me. "Well…" I said, now standing face-to-face with him. "You look like a more physical kind of guy."

  He laughed again. "What gave you that impression?"

  "Well…" my voice trailed off. I reached up and lightly ran my fingertips down the length of his arm. Goose bumps rose on his skin under my touch and his whole body went rigid. I let my hand fall. I was amazed at my own daring.

  He chuckled lightly. "I’m no jock, Dulcee. I don’t even like sports."

  I laughed. "That is the best line I’ve ever heard. Are you trying to make me fall in love with you?"

  I wished I hadn’t just said that. The way he looked at me. All the humor fizzled in the air.

  "Actually, yes, I must admit that I am…But that wasn’t a line, just so you know."

  I gulped. I didn’t know what to say to him.

  "Why don’t you show me something else now?"

  "Okay. Just down the hall is my uncle’s freaky gallery." I told him, interlacing my fingers with his again. "Come on."

  We entered the gallery and I began to explain it to him. Only Vincent didn’t seem to find my uncle’s eccentric shrine to his dead wife the least bit odd. I showed him all the things that I knew any history about.

  "And, see?" I said as we leaned over t
he jewelry case. "This ring was Vivian’s." I held out my left hand for him to examine.

  "It’s very nice, and it looks good on you."

  "Thank you."

  Some strange mixture of emotion flashed across his face as he held my hand, and then he smoothed his features into a relaxed smile.

  "It’s on the wrong hand, you know," he said.