Chapped

 

Emileigh Julian

 

 

 

His lips are soft. His lips are soft as they ambush mine and his arms are strong as they drape over my neck, giving me the chance to stare at the tattooed biceps emerging from his tight black t-shirt. The darkness in his shirt contrasts with the white wall that I’m pressed up against. His body engulfs mine and I stare at the tattoo on his left shoulder, the one of the cross, and let his soft lips kiss me.

          Your lips were always chapped. Do you know that? You would carry Chapstick in your pocket and apply it obsessively but it was always in vain, and just one of the many compulsive habits that made me question your sanity. Do you know that I questioned your sanity? Your lips were chapped and your arms were small and you never wore black. Black would have looked good on you, you know.  But instead you stuck to colors and polos and bright blue eyes; you stuck to blondes and sweethearts and me. The Star of David around your neck since you were thirteen; your shoulder would never be inked.

          His hands brush through my hair and he thinks it is actually blonde and he thinks he is going to score.  I stare straight ahead and lose my eyes in the blackness of his cotton t-shirt, trying to see anything but you. Past the sea of red party cups, you’re there. She’s on your lap, the skinny one with the silky hair and the pointy chin. She’s wearing a trendy red shirt and balancing on your lap and making herself seem stupid to make you laugh. Your hands are groping around the waistband of her pants. You’re drunk.

          Remember that party; the one where I was drunk and you were young? Rum and basements and questions, slurring and kissing and bright blue eyes. Those wide eyes of yours stared as you clung to my black t-shirt; light against dark, me against you. I thought that if I looked at your cerulean eyes long enough, maybe I too could be someone who hadn’t seen anything yet. Eyes without hurt and cold winters and panic, eyes without loss and loneliness and the ache that comes with getting out of bed. Your eyes brought me back to life. I saw the sky in your eyes, do you know that?

          He kisses me harder and bites the tip of my ear, oblivious to my wincing as he skims my new piercing. I kiss him back and cling to him and to anything that I don’t know. I hold on to the loud, blaring music and his hand on my body and the blur of people passing through. He bites on my neck and I watch you, I watch you with her and you are so drunk and I am older but you are still so young. You laugh that fake laugh you have, the one that is too loud to be natural. She brushes a manicured hand through your styled brown hair and your fingers still linger on the waistband of her designer jeans.

          Your eyes couldn’t bring me the sky. Remember that fight we had, the one where I begged you to love me? Your eyes turned to ice as I begged for the sky back, you sat on the other side of the couch and winced at my words as I told you I would leave. I really would have left, do you know that? But you pulled me onto your lap and brushed a hand through my blonde hair and held one of my small hands while your other lingered on the waistband of my jeans. You promised me everything back, do you remember that? You promised me the sky and the ocean, but this time with fewer clouds and surges. I let myself go numb; it was far easier to just let your chapped lips kiss me.

It’s getting later now and he and I aren’t the only couple against the wall anymore, because everyone wants to lose themselves in someone bigger as the night goes on. The music has changed and the Chili Peppers play and everyone talks or kisses or loves or hides or both, and I study the lines of his tattoo and wonder if it hurt.

          Remember that time, the time when your blue eyes froze? My heart still hasn’t thawed from that night, do you know that?

We both hear it. The beginning of that song, our song, the song that meant bright eyes and sweethearts and us. “ . . . All I want is for you to be happy . . . ”

I remove myself from the depths of his black t-shirt and you push her distractedly off of your lap and we stare at each other. I see the false promise of the sky and you see the blonde sweetheart that had more behind her eyes than you were ever ready for.

I turn back around and cling to his black t-shirt as if nothing else can keep me from falling. I don’t see you because he leans in and kisses me with his soft lips.

Your lips will always be chapped.

 

 

 

 

Emileigh Julian reads too much and hates it when she can't see the stars. She hopes that one day she'll find a guy who loves Paris at night and her fat cat Ferdinand as much as she does.