Page 72 of Angels In The Dark
I’m broken beyond repair and yet finally whole with him.
I wake up to the sun setting in the west-facing windows of the bedroom. Jay stands to the side of the bed unpacking the bags he brought with him, dressed only in the dark jeans he wore earlier.
His body moves in such a way that draws my eye to every flex and bend of his muscles. My eyes follow his shoulders down to his strong hands, which delicately fold my clothes before placing them in drawers. Sleep still in my eyes, I let them trail over his torso when they catch on a dark pattern on his skin where his jeans hang loose, inches above the dip at his hip. I sit up and lean to run my fingers along the small space where the black ink peaks out.
“When did you get this?”
He stops his task and turns to sit down on the edge of the bed.
“After you were…” The silent understanding hangs between us. “I needed to feel something and thought a tattoo might do it.”
“Can I see it?”
Pulling down the edge of his jeans as he stands, he reveals a beautiful pair of wings surrounded by words in script.
“Jay.” I let out a gasp in shock.
Intertwined with the shading around the wings is a phrase: Let nothing stand in your way.
I thought I was all cried out, but I choke on the words from the first show we did together: Angels in America.
“Yeah,” he says.
Jay lowers himself next to me on the bed, and we both sit there in silence together for a while as the words hang between us.
“You got it for me, didn’t you?”
“I mean, I got it for me, but yeah, I needed something of you then, and it felt right.”
I can’t help but tear up at his words.
“Baby, no. Please, no more tears.” I lean into his touch when I feel his hands on my face, wiping away my tears.
“I like when you call me that. Baby. Never babe. Always baby or baby doll,” I say with a shaky breath.
“Or doll, when I’m feeling especially Guys-and-Dolls-esque.” He chuckles.
“Yeah, you want to see me in one of those gingham chickadee dresses.” I giggle.
Goddess. When was the last time I giggled?
“Damn right I do.” He places a soft kiss on my nose. “You’d look hot as fuck in the skimpy little outfit. Legs for days, and I’d be drooling, dreaming of your ass under a short little petticoat.” As he speaks, he reaches out to grab me by my plump ass and brings me to straddle him. My hands go to rest on his chest, and I aimlessly trace his collarbone.
“You wanna tell me about what happened?” The words are so hesitant. He’s walking on eggshells.
“Yes…”
“Yes, but…”
“I wanna tell you. I do. But, b-but…” I take a deep breath before continuing. “I don’t remember a lot.”
He contemplates for a while before responding. “Makes sense. Your brain is trying to protect you from the memories. That’s normal.”
“I remember feeling a void sometimes. Then there were times when I thought I was at camp. Riding horses, swimming, or dancing. But there are flashes of some things.”
Patience is neither of our virtues, but I appreciate Jay’s willingness to sit with me and listen.
“And I remember after,” I say.