The Song of David

When I slipped into the house through the garage entrance, I stopped to listen. I could hear someone upstairs—Moses, by the sound of the footfalls—but nobody seemed to be downstairs. The big guest bathroom on the main floor was connected to the room Millie had slept in, but the bed was neatly made and Millie was nowhere to be seen. I released my breath and ducked into the bathroom, locking the door and making use of the shower.

But Millie was waiting for me when I came out. She sat primly on the bed, her hands folded in her lap, just waiting.

“You smell good, David,” she said with a smile, and I felt a pang at the memory those words invoked. She stuck out her hand toward me, like she’d done the night we met, as if waiting for me to shake it.

“Hi. I’m Amelie. And I’m blind.”

I couldn’t deny her. I stepped forward and took her hand in mine and said my line.

“Hi. I’m David. And I’m not.” I didn’t release her, and she didn’t pull it away. I ran my thumb over the silkiness of her skin, my eyes riveted to our joined hands. God, I loved her so much! I wanted to shut the door, lock it, and push her back onto the bed and just let it all go. Just for a while. I wanted that so badly.

“Now that we’ve introduced ourselves again, maybe you’ll talk to me,” she suggested gently.

“I don’t want to talk, Millie,” I whispered.

She tilted her head sideways, catching the heat in my voice. The ode. The freaking ode that was still thrumming between us, the song on constant repeat.

She stood up slowly, and she was so close that her body brushed mine. I felt her breath at my throat, a little flutter of the melody that I couldn’t get out of my head, out of my heart. I brought one hand to her face and tipped her chin up, until her lips were directly beneath mine. And then I kissed her. So lightly. So gently. Trying desperately not to turn the song into a symphony, the ode into a cymbal-crashing orchestral arrangement.

She responded, but she didn’t increase the tempo. Our lips met, merged, and retreated only to meet again and repeat the motion. When I urged her lips apart and tasted the wet sweetness of her mouth, it was all I could do not to moan in defeat. And then we were tumbling back onto the bed, her hips in my hands, my shirt clutched in her fists, and the kiss roared to an inevitable, if sudden, crescendo.

And that’s when she pushed me away.

“David. Stop,” she whispered, her mouth seeking me even as she asked me to quit. I pressed my forehead to hers to rein myself in and bit back a curse when my still-tender flesh protested the contact. She took my cheeks in her hands, and ran her fingers over my face, as if trying to read my expression.

“We don’t have to talk. But you can’t kiss me and then leave again. You can’t do that to me, David.” There was steel in her voice, though it was wrapped in velvet, and I knew she meant it.

“I may not be able to control whether I leave or not,” I said, rolling away from her and staring up at the ceiling.

“That’s not what I mean, big guy. And you know it.” She sat up and folded her legs beneath her. She kept a hand on my arm the way she always did when we were close, the contact important to her. Yeah. I knew what she meant. I’d taken myself away. Removed myself. And she was asking me if I was going to do it again.

“People don’t survive what I’ve got. They just don’t,” I whispered.

She immediately shook her head. Resisting. Her resistance made me harsh.

“It might seem romantic, Millie. Taking care of me. But it isn’t romantic. It’ll be ugly and painful. And I won’t be the man you’re in love with. I’ll be the man trying not to die and dying anyway,” I pressed. She stiffened and her hand tightened on my shirt. Good. She was listening.

“I’ll feel like shit, I’ll probably be mean as hell, and you’ll wonder what you’re doing. I’ll lose my bumps. You’re all about the bumps, remember? I’ve already lost my hair. I’ll lose my ability to be strong for you. And for Henry. And when you’ve lost all that, when you’ve been through hell, I’ll die anyway! I’ll die anyway, Millie, and you won’t have anything left. No David, no Tag. You won’t have my song. You’ll just have a belly full of sorrow,” I argued, impassioned. But she was ready for me.

“Some people are worth suffering for. I’m strong. I’ve been training for this, you know. Instead of feeling bad that I’ve had my trials, be grateful that I’m strong. I’ve got this. I’ve got you. Don’t take that away from me, David.”

“I don’t want our last days together to be with me in a vegetative state. I don’t want you to feed me and hold my hand! I don’t want to forget your name. I don’t want you to watch me suffer!”

“Ah, but I won’t. Perks of being a blind girl,” she shot back, and there was anger in her voice. “I won’t have to see you suffer at all, will I?”

I swore and stood, shaking her off. I didn’t want to argue with her. I headed for the door. I now understood Millie’s need to walk everywhere she went. Walking beat being trapped. And I was trapped.