This sort of spiraled into something odd. But i like this one. Just in time for Easter. And an Easterish theme at that. One can even go as far as viewing Sora as a Jesus figure. That is, if you want to go that far. Haha. Either way, hope you enjoy.
.•Smokey Circles & Dewy Stars•.
The cotton beneath her back felt sticky and sweet.
The night was humid and warm, uncomfortable at this hour of the night. You'd think there would be a breeze of some sort, some sign of life beyond the white of the bed she was lying upon, or the open windows lining the wall. Something to wake her up, maybe. To bring her out of this state of dewy vision. It would feel nice. And it wasn't much to ask for. A breeze, something created from tension in the air, difference in air pressures coinciding, something that would break the stale heat of the room, give her the motivation to sit up and move.
But that breeze never really did come. It stayed sticky and salty and stale and sweet, humidity coating her shaking lungs with every steady breath she breathed through the pink of her lips. There was a light on across the room, a dull, yellowish tinge in the night that made no difference whatsoever. A car passed by outside and projected the streaked shadows of the plastic shades on the windows across the room as the automobile turned outside, until it left the room in darkness once again. She tried to shift from her position, relieve the sweaty stickiness from her naked back, but she was unable to. She could not shake the feeling; it would be there for a while. Her dark-cherry hair was matted on her forehead, the beads of sweat that formed acting as the glue.
She was uncomfortable, really. Frustrated and fidgety, whether it be from the heat or something else. But she wasn't able to move. There was weight on her body, pressing her deeper into the white of the bed that molded her slender body, suffocating her as if it were a sick joke. It was such a weight, that she was unable to move, unable to twitch her trembling fingers, unable to make her vocal cords function and say what was to be said, unable to move really at all, despite her restlessness. She wasn't even sure she knew how to show this kind of emotion, facial expressions were failing her, after all. It was a horrible feeling, really, like the weight upon her body shed her of her freedom and instead chained her to the bed she could not move from.
He was tracing circles on her naked skin, and she was all too aware of the feeling in her stomach. It was twisted, knotted; all wrong.
The white of the sheets around her were wrinkled and in disarray. The large, useless pillows and quilt kicked off to the side in their moment of haste, only leaving the scratchy, sweaty sheets behind. Her eyes were locked on the ceiling above, a swiftly, slowly moving fan chugging its way round and round. It was steady, it was constant. The fan did not falter, it did not stutter. It just kept circling.
Circling, circling, fingers on her stomach. Fingers that did not give her a jolt of recognition or pleasure as others would. His fingertips were rough, too, textured in a way that someone younger did not have. They were sticky too, sticky and sweet. Her feet were tucked along the back of her legs as she continued to lay, so that she was not stretched out and comfortable, more like a crumpled ball of a girl who did not know her place.
Circles, circles, she heard him cough, the first silence breaking since unknown minutes before when they were tangled in the white of the sheets. But all was still again, and she felt herself relax, if only slightly. She heard a sudden high pitched laugh from somewhere outside far away, and then another shriek of happiness that she could not relate. Was the world still going on around her? Still spinning on its axis? Spinning, spinning? Circling, circling? Other people living, breathing, laughing? It didn't seem that way. She was in a bubble, and it was hard to see through the foggy glass to the outside world. But when she did, when she squinted her eyes really hard, she could see a figure. And yes, she knew who it was, why it was there.
She wondered if he was looking for her. If he was angry, or sad, or indifferent. But you can never really tell from this far away, from this side of the foggy bubble. He never was all that reliable anyway.
She licked her lips in the night, her eyes still glazed over from watched the ceiling fan circling, circling. Spinning were his fingertips, along her sticky stomach, where his hands had been not too long before, those fingertips everywhere not too long before.
God, it was hot. But she couldn't move, she couldn't think, she was just laying there naked in every way a person can be, idle and useless like a puppet, a feeling she was starting to get used to. But there once had been a time when she didn't feel this weight, when she was not tied to the white of the bed or circling, sticky fingers. Where it was still hot, but not too humid, and there were breezes along the beachy shore, giving her breaths of life.
Just as she thought this, she could have sworn she felt it. It was right at the tip of her tongue, a memory so close it was painful. She could feel her mouth salivating at the memory, pleasure pooling at her lips. She longed for the beach and the breeze and the life. The swaying palm trees and dry, stubborn sand at the bottom of her feet and in the white of her bed. She had taken it for granted then, but it was what she wanted now.
Because that was when she was happy, and right now she really wasn't.
Another boy was there too, a face she could run through her mind a thousand times and never get tired of it. Shaggy hair and ocean eyes. It was familiar and warm. Because he was there when she was happy, and those memories would always be safe and warm in her head. But now, in the white of her bed and the weight on her body, that shaggy hair and ocean eyes gave her pain. She had hurt him, and she hasn't gone back since.
She had wanted something different, something beyond that island she called home and that island she craved so strongly for now. How stupid she was then, how naïve and stupid. To sacrifice the heart of the shaggy hair and ocean eyes for selfish needs.
Her chest made a harsh squeeze, punishing her, giving her what she deserved. Because as the circles, circles circled on the ceiling, she knew she could not go back.
Somehow she managed to turn her head toward the blinking alarm clock. It was late, much too late. Late enough for him to get bored soon and move on, goodbye, see you later. And then the circles, circles would stop and she would be alone again, only until he needed her the next night to come. But until then she would just lay here, sticky and sweet, idle and useless. He was always the first to leave.
Her head still turned to the side, she closed her eyes, and the first thing she saw was the sand of the ocean, and the eyes of the ocean. The seagulls chirping and waves a-crashing. She opened them again before she could be pulled under. There was a streetlight in the parking lot outside, still a yellowish tinge. She stared outside for moments at a time, wondering when he would go and leave her alone again. The pink of her lips curved into a deeper frown. The circling, circling continued, it did not stop, it did not waver. The fan above her still spun, round and round, but she could only hear it now, because she was now looking out the window. And there was a car out there. A car she could recognize.
Her mind froze over for a second, her body temperature rapidly changing from sticky and sweet to cold and icy. It was so sudden, in fact, that she wondered if he could feel her abdominal muscles contract under the paleness of her skin as he circled, circled. But she doubted he could. Nor could he, or she for that matter, foresee that she would sit upward and get out of the bed so fast, it was almost unnatural.
The weight had been lifted, or forgotten perhaps. Maybe the weight was just her after all.
She did not look back at his facial expression as she scampered around the room collecting her clothes and putting them on, tying her hair in a careless bun that hung from the side of her head. Actually, she didn't look back at all before she opened the door to the humidity outside, into the world of uncertainty that only promised her contact.
This might not even be real. This might just be a figment of her imagination, something she craved for so strongly, her eyes allowed her to see it, like a dewy mirage. But still she rushed onto the parking lot barefoot, the motel's neon display shining mockingly to her right and the "vacancy" sign radiating even brighter. She stopped on the rough asphalt of the black and yellow parking lot, staring at the dark Jeep that blended with the night. She continued to stand there for who knows how long, the stars clouded above and her clothes in a tangle. Suddenly the headlight turned on, bathing her in a dazzling bright light that swallowed her whole. It blinded her, the light. She did not cover her face, she simply stood there squinting, clasping her arms tighter to her side. She wasn't afraid of the light right now. Just scared of what was beyond it.
She heard a car door open in front of her, and she stiffened. The light slowly turned off until the bulbs of the headlights faded back into the dark crystal. She wasn't sure why, but she continued to stare at the headlights, her eyes throwing confusing spots of color in her vision. She blinked and looked at the person who was now leaning against his car, staring at her. When her eyes shifted to him, she saw the flash of blonde that haunted her, and the ocean eyes piercing her with silence.
But it wasn't shaggy hair and ocean eyes, it was spiky hair and soft face. A face she didn't recognize.
She took a double-take at the car. It was a Jeep, just like his. But this one was a pitch black, not a dark green. This car had brighter, whiter headlights, his had that troublesome yellow tinge.
Her heart sank low into her tight stomach, her mind thawing. She could feel her shoulders relax back into place, a deep breath exiting the pink of my lips. He wasn't here. He wasn't looking for her. It's been eleven months, and he hasn't showed up. She had to bite her lip to stop it from quivering. Who was the selfish one now?
The guy kept staring at her, leaning casually against his car. She couldn't see his eyes, but they looked light and kind, something she hadn't seen in a long time. His hair was askew in locks of brown and he was wearing dark washed jeans and some light colored button up shirt. She watched silently as he reached into his pocket to pull out a lighter and a pack. He took one out and once, twice, lit it with his lighter. As the flame danced upon the lighter she got a flash of his eyes, too much like the ocean she longed for.
He took a long drag and then let it out of his mouth. She watched as the smoke slowly spiraled up into the neon lights of the motel, drifting, drifting, gone.
"Want one?" he asked, offering the little white pack of cigarettes to her, his eyes steady. Her first instinct was to say no, no thanks, I don't smoke. But when she looked at the cigarette, and then at his soft face, she couldn't help but reconsider.
"Sure." She mumbled, took one out of the pack and leaned foreword awkwardly so he could light it up. She mumbled thanks and took a long drag just like him. Her mind felt calmer, not as loud and hurt as it was just seconds ago. Like the circling, circling was winding down to a slower pace. She wondered if when he took that long drag, it felt as good as it felt to her. How stupid she felt now. Of course he wouldn't come for her. Of course he would brake his promises.
"I gave this stuff up for lent," he said making conversation, taking her out of her daze. She nodded and rolled back and forth on her heals absentmindedly, watching as her own smoke spiraled up and blended with his in the night. He saw where she was looking and followed her gaze, watching as they formed intricate swirls and whirls until they were too thin to see, "I'm not addicted or anything. Just, man, it's been a long night."
She couldn't help but agree. She went over and leaned against the hood of the car with him, looking into the distance. A silent moment passed as they smoked, the gray clouds circling, circling up into the bleary stars. Just then the door to the motel room opened and he walked out, throwing her a half-hearted look, and then walked across the parking lot toward his car, tucking in his shirt along the way. She glanced at the boy next to her and watched as he stared at the man walking away. She didn't have to tell him that she had had a bad night too.
"Happy Easter, by the way." Upon hearing this through the humid night, she turned her head toward him again and looked at him strangely. Easter? Really? Huh. Day of rebirth, square one, clean slate, that kind of stuff. It was so mocking it was almost sadistic.
"You too." She murmured, taking another puff, her mind clearing in response. It was silent for a long time after that, the two staring off into the motel parking lot, his kind eyes soft and curious, glancing at her every once in a while. The crickets were chirping now, deepening the thickness of night's darkness beyond the safety of the neon and yellow tinged light of the motel. The stars were hazy with heat, not covered with clouds or even drowned out by light. They were just faded, looking more like a painting canvas than a night sky in the middle of no where. She sighed, the smoke pooling out from the pink of her lips.
"So, you looking for someone or something?" he asked her. She almost jumped from both the sudden noise and from the content of the question. She felt her stomach clench in an uncomfortable way.
"I thought I was. But I guess not."
He nodded, as if he understood perfectly. He dropped his cigarette and grinded it to the floor with his shoe. She watched as he did this, unable to help but see the similarity between the cigarette and herself. "Well," he said, taking a breath and turned toward her so her was leaning against the car sideways, looking at her straight in the face, "Sometimes it feels that way, doesn't it? Not sure if you're being pursued or the one pursuing. Lost and found. That kind of thing."
She nodded dumbly, unable to tear her eyes away from the softness in his eyes.
"Sort of like you're going in circles, going round and round and not really getting anywhere." She squinted her eyes at him. How come he had this spelled out so clearly, written down and figured out as if he were reading it straight out of the Bible?
"Yeah," she replied dumbly, biting her lip.
He nodded deeply again, still staring into her eyes. "But," he started, "there is a way out. All you really have to do is walk in a straight line. Right? If the trouble is walking in circles?"
She blinked at him. Was he serious? Did he really think that walking in a straight line could fix this all? He must have seen her hesitance because he chuckled.
"It may seem hard at first, and it will be, but in reality it is quite easy."
"You say that with such confidence."
"Not confidence, faith."
I moment passed. "Faith?" she mumbled, looking away, "I lost that a while ago."
He shifted his weight again, his eyes never leaving her.
"You with little faith, if you had even the smallest amount of it, and you could say to that mountain over there," he pointed to a far away mountain that cast a dim shadow in the night, " if you say 'Move from here to there,' it will move. Nothing will be impossible to you. So if you could move a mountain, you can walk in a straight line, right?"
I stared, "But I can't move a mountain, I can barely move myself."
He nodded his head again, and looked like he was in deep thought. Suddenly he reached over and took the cigarette out of her mouth, his fingertips grazing the pink of her lips, and grinded it to the floor like he did to the other. She let out the remaining smoke and stared at the disfigured cigarette, laying limply on the asphalt. "Then, you'll just have to have faith in yourself before you move the mountain. Wouldn't want to end up like that, would you?" he said this with mellow confidence and ease, pointing at the cigarette on the floor.
She stared at it for a while and then crossed her arms around her torso, "I wouldn't know how to get faith."
He looked at her sadly, and she couldn't help but feel her stomach do a small flip. A long moment passed as he searched her eyes. "What's your name?" he said quietly and sweetly, as if it were a secret in the night.
She looked down for a moment, and then up into his eyes again and said softly, "Kairi."
"Well, I can help you, you know." the man said just as delicately, warmth oozing from the pink of this lips, taking her hand and shyly lacing them with his. "I'm Sora." His eyes were wide and shy, asking for permission to save her. She got lost in them, drowning in the darkness and the blue of his eyes. For a moment she saw the sway of the palm trees and she heard the swish of the ocean against the sand. She could taste the sea salt ice cream on her tongue. She could smell the salt and the air, a delicious mixture that floated through her mind. She could feel the coolness of the breeze and wet of the sea, and the warm, homey feeling that came with it. Last she saw his shaggy hair and ocean eyes, blonde ruffling in the wind, the face of a forgotten boy smiling with promises and talks of forever that would never be kept.
Yet shaggy blonde was not here, ocean eyes were not the ones staring into hers, asking for tentative permission. No, he was not here. But this boy was, with his kind face and spiky hair. He was not giving her promises, but faith. She had her mountains to move, and she wasn't going to waste it on him.
She nodded her head and swallowed, holding his hand tighter as he pulled her into the dazzling light of the car, a strong breeze ruffling her hair, giving her air, and driving off straight away into the night, leaving the blonde, the cigarette, and the circles behind.
Reborn, square one, clean slate.