(no subject)
Castaway on a lonely day
Bosom for a teary cheek
My song can but borrow your grace
Nightwish, “Ever Dream”'>
The month of August went by, each golden day wrapping Edward and his companion in a safe cocoon. Melora went the next day to the Ashtons, packing the rest of her things and bidding them goodbye. If any of them felt apprehensive, they did not show it.
Work continued both in the village and in the manor; every weekend Melora and Edward would go into the forest to chop logs for the winter and for the stove. At the video store, Melora ignored the unsolicited comments that passing pigeons gave, and focused on her job. Some days Michael and Brian would come by at lunch time, and they would eat out together. Brian asked Melora many questions, but most she dodged, always bringing the conversation back to Brian himself. Melora was always very careful not to give too much of herself away-if she noticed Brian’s fawning attention over her, she did not say anything about it.
Michael noticed, of course. The way Brian would hold open doors for her, the way he chose his words so carefully when speaking to her; Melora was a beautiful puzzle box to Brian, there to be admired and contemplated and handled delicately. Brian had not had much trouble with girls before; it was his confidence in his desirability that made him forget how platonic Melora behaved towards him. Michael did not want to shatter Brian’s hopes, partly because he didn’t understand why Melora wasn’t particularly thrilled to be the object of Brian’s fascination. Brian was everything a girl Melora’s age could want-charm, good looks, athleticism and popularity. Neither Michael nor Brian could see that when Melora sat with them, she was barely able to focus; so distracted was she by visions of creeping rose vines, shattered bits of colored glass, and the relentless work of time to sweep away their decadent lives into dust. How could she stop to indulge Brian in his puppy love when at home there was something so much more wondrous?
Edward threw razor bladed shadows over the walls, he was always there, filling the house with his quiet presence. Though he seldom spoke, he was never far from Melora. He would sit at the edge of her studio while she painted, sipping tea through a straw and cutting various pattern pieces out for her to later sew. When trips to the supermarket or the fabric store had Melora wondering if she would ever feel accepted for who she was, a heartfelt smile from Edward could make her heart soar. In turn, Edward would sometimes drift back to his memories of suburbia, and his heart would sink at the thought of Melora leaving him. But then Melora would come home to him, setting the table for supper, and each time she did Edward felt like nothing could separate the both of them. In the evening, after Melora had bathed, she would brush Edward’s hair and read to him, always answering kindly his rare question. It wasn’t long before Melora had sewn for Edward a pair of large mitts. He wore these at night, shyly bending his arms around Melora’s form as they lay together on the feather duvets downstairs, despairing that he could not feel her through the leather of his suit. Each night after Melora had finished reading and blew out the candles, she would pull the thin blanket closer around them and curl her fingers around his black hair, falling asleep to the roar of the fan and the faint ticking that could be heard inside Edward’s chest. He was her constant silent companion, and together they made the manor into a sanctuary. Day by day, after work or on the weekends, Melora would piece together fabric scraps to make curtains, eventually covering the walls with their gauzy draped forms, tying them back to let in the light. It seemed as if Melora sewed each day to the next, creating a train of sun-soaked afternoons, building a swing in the front yard, potting flowers to train them to grow indoors, baking cookies, showing Edward how to make paper snowflakes and sun-catchers out of colored paper, of candle-lit evenings spent in steaming baths, reading to each other as the stars came out over head, and holding midnight picnics in the garden when Melora couldn’t sleep. While the house was still old and precariously held together, now it was bedecked in the gossamer fantasy of its inhabitants. In that time, it seemed like their happiness could not be touched by anything.
August gave way to September; school began for the young people in the village. It was in that first weekend of school that the dream Melora and Edward had built for themselves began to crumble.
The knocking had come around one in the afternoon. Melora was standing on a ladder upstairs, nails held in her lips as she situated a bit of tapestry over the window of the sewing room. Edward was downstairs, cutting out colored tissue paper for another sun-catcher. The both of them stopped at the sudden noise; neither of them believed at first that someone was at their door. Carefully, Melora stepped down off the ladder and tiptoed to the balcony overlooking the studio.
“Maybe they’ll go away.” Melora whispered, and they waited in silence. The knocking came again, more urgently this time. Melora scampered down the stairs as Edward rose, the colored paper lying forgotten at his feet, his eyes full of fear.
“Hide, quick!” Melora whispered to him, drawing back the tarp of the studio to reveal the door to the untouched bedroom. She opened it, and rushed Edward inside, settling the white sheet over the door again to remain hidden. Composing herself, Melora went to the door to open it. What she found made her gasp, and a brief look of terror passed across her face before she could catch herself.
Standing there were Mr. and Mrs. Ashton, along with a dozen of their neighbors. The Ashtons looked faintly embarassed, along with other couples who looked a bit unsure of themselves. When no one said anything, one man came forward.
“You’ve been hiding in there like an old hermit crab,” said his wife, laughing nervously.
Melora searched her mind frantically for how to respond. “Uh, well, I’ve been sort of busy and I uh...”
“We understand. It must be a lot of work moving in here all by yourself, but it’s been a month already, we thought you deserved a proper welcome!” the husband said. At this, the other couples seemed to brighten, regaining some of their resolve.
“Oh, well, that’s very, uh, kind of you-” Just say whatever you have to, as long as they’ll leave!
“So exactly what time is the barbecue?” a woman asked.
Melora’s eyes widened. “B..barbecue?” Suddenly she glared at the Ashtons, who were trying to look as innocent as possible.
“Surely you intend to show hospitality to your neighbors by inviting them to a barbeque. We’re all dying to see what you’ve done to the place, and we figure you’d appreciate getting to know us all in a friendly atmosphere,” the man said. Melora began to protest, when others volunteered to bring different supplies.
“Next Saturday, you think?” a wife asked, and her friends concurred. Melora’s jaw was agape, but before she could raise her voice over their chatter they were dispersing down the driveway.
“Wait a second, you can’t just-” Melora shouted, running to the gate. Already they were gone. “A barbecue. I am so screwed.” Melora muttered. She went back inside, walking quickly across the living room to the studio. Melora pulled the sheet back and opened the door slowly.
“Edward?” Melora called out. She shivered; that room gave her the creeps. She could hear him snipping, and again she called to him, “Edward? It’s safe, they’re gone. They’re all gone.”
Something black and spindly moved at the corner of her eye, but before she could be afraid Melora realized that it was the tips of Edward’s blades emerging from under the bed. “Oh lord. Of all the places.” Melora groaned as Edward crawled out to stand on his feet. He seemed taller in the low-ceilinged room, his face powdery white in the shadows. From head to foot, he was covered in dust and cobwebs. Melora was about to crack a joke about it when she saw the look of absolute terror in Edward’s eyes.
“Did they come for me?” Edward asked, visibly trembling. His arms were crossed over himself, the shiny vinyl glinting under a fine layer of dust. Melora felt her heart breaking, and she reached out to touch him. Edward stepped back, suddenly uncrossing his arms. Snikt!
“Ow!” Melora cried, snatching her hand away as blood welled at the tips of her fingers. The wounds weren’t deep, but they stung fiercely. Tears ran down her cheeks at the pain, Melora could not stop them from coming. “Ow...” she said again, shakily.
Edward’s face fell, gazing first at his bloody razors, and then at Melora’s tear streaked visage. “I...I’m sorry, Melora.”
Melora sniffled. “It’s ok, Edward. I know you were just scared; you didn’t mean to. Let me run some ice water over this cut before we do anything else.”
Cautiously, Edward followed her to the kitchen. Melora could not help crying a little; her fingertips were extremely sensitive. Knowing that Edward still didn’t have a definite answer to his question, Melora tried to break the bad news as gently as she could, “no, they didn’t come for you, Edward. They...they want to have a barbecue here. They didn’t really ask me whether I wanted to have one or not. It all happened so fast. I tried to tell them no, but they’d made up their mind before they even knocked on the door.”
As soon as Edward’s fear subsided, it came back. Melora saw the scared look on his face, and grimaced herself. “I know. But...” Melora finished wrapping her fingertips in band-aids, “I won’t let them ever hurt you. They won’t even come in this house. It’ll only be for a few hours, and then we’ll be rid of them. They won’t see you. You’ll be safe and sound.”
Inwardly, Edward was not convinced, but when Melora pressed him into a chair and ran a cool washcloth over his face, he could not allow himself to think of anything else but the feel of her hands on his skin. Gently she wiped away the dust, marveling at the marble whiteness of his brow and the way that little crystal clear droplets of water balanced on the thick black lashes of his eyelids.
Melora beckoned Edward to follow her upstairs. In the bathroom, Melora bent him over the sink, running cool water through his hair, massaging the cobwebs away with her fingers. I hurt her, and yet she remains, she touches me, she takes care of me. She loves me. If Edward understood the concept of a god, he would have prayed to be struck dead right then, before the beautiful dream Melora had built for him crumbled to dust, like he knew it would have to.
Together they lay on Melora’s bed, Edward reclining in Melora’s arms, his back to her. He was careful to keep his arms straight at his sides, angling them away from Melora’s thighs, which he nestled the lower half of his body between. His head rested at her collar bone, while Melora gently combed her fingers through his hair, stroking the sides of his face. He looked so peaceful to Melora, who viewed him from above, his fragrant black locks drying in whisps against her chest.
“I’m sorry I hurt you.” Edward whispered, his voice delicate in his throat. He didn’t want her to stop touching him. He didn’t want any distractions from the feel of her palms and nails and fingers stroking him, so he closed his eyes, hoping he could stay like that forever. Trapped in a body that was shut off from physical touch, that could only feel in one place, Edward did not respond like a normal man to Melora’s caresses. He did not arch his back or curl his toes, he did not move at all, actually. Edward lay very still, perhaps even stiffly, trying his best not to snip his scissors in apprehension. Edward could not help but jerk his limbs slightly when he felt something soft touch his lips.
Melora lifted for a moment, whispering against her companion’s mouth, “It’s ok. I forgive you,” before lowering to kiss him again, turning Edward’s jaw upwards to get better access. Twining her fingers deeper into his hair, Melora saw colors suddenly explode dully behind her eyelids. She felt warm air pass across her cheek as Edward sighed, not sure how to respond to Melora’s actions but reveling in the sensation all the same.
Please don’t stop...Edward prayed silently. He couldn’t help but remember his first kiss, given almost as an afterthought. It hadn’t meant anything to him then. It was an unfamiliar gesture, done in haste before everything really did fall apart. Kim had kissed him, and then she had left. Forever. The only thing that had come afterwards was snow, in abundance, a form of self expression that did nothing to ease his loneliness, beauty incarnate reaching up only to be trapped in merciless ice.
But this was not some rushed, desperate expression of love, regret and despair. This was his Melora. She could never be Kim, but somehow she was so much more than Kim ever was. She was his companion, she accepted him and loved him for who he was. She never used him, or treated him like a lapdog. She loved unconditionally, and gave of herself all she could. She was the only one who had.
When Melora pulled back, Edward kept his eyes closed. His lips were flushed, like bruised fruit, they were full and tinged violet. Melora felt him relax completely, sagging against her. Together they stayed that way, eventually slipping into dream, and for that time nothing bad could touch them.