A Veil of Glass and Rain (19 page)

died.” The realization annihilates me. An

uncontrolled shiver grips my entire being.

Eagan covers my body with his. His mouth

captures mine. Our sobs blend. Then he makes

slow and soft love to me. He reassures me

without words; he's here with me, he needs

me, he loves me.

Afterward, I dig out my guitar and play for

Eagan and for David. My melodies tell about a

precious existence crushed and about a

wonderful boy, who was in love with life.

18.

We spend the weekend mostly in bed. We

cuddle, we kiss, we make love. We leave the

bedroom only to go to the bathroom, or to

prepare and share quick meals. Then we hurry

back in our cocoon of lust, suffused with

lemon, cinnamon and the musky scent of sex,

and imbued with our sobs, whimpers and

moans.

Eventually, when everyday life requests our

attention, I don't feel sad, I feel invigorated

instead.

“Clém? Where are you? The reception is

awful!”

“I'm in this stinky and smelly hole we call,

theater.”

“How is it going?”

“Not so good. My one and only male actor

left us. He found a job, which is good with this

economy and all. But he left me with a group

of very discouraged actresses.”

“Sorry.”

“We will be fine, as soon as I find a

replacement. I have good news, though. I

found a roommate!”

“Good.”

“Very. She's my assistant director. Well, she

happens to be also my manager and one of my

actresses. Anyway, it's a convenient solution.”

“I can see that. You'll be working non-stop.”

“That's the plan. So, how's your American

dude?”

I chuckle softly. “He's good. Look, I have a

gift for you and your theater company. I want

to give you my car.”

“What? Why? I mean, thanks! But why?”

Eagan's fingers grasp the steering wheel so

tightly, that his knuckles turn white.

Twisted metal and shattered glass. A car

crashed against a tree. Two boys are trapped

inside.

“Brina? Are you still there?” Clém's voice

wrenches me away from the terrible images

inside my head.

“Yes, I'm here,” I reassure her.

“I appreciate the offer, but-”

“Please, take it,” I insist, trying not to

sound too desperate.

“What's wrong? You like that car.”

I love Eagan's peace of mind more.

“Nothing's wrong. Just take it. Please.”

In the end she accepts my gift. After we

hang up, I call Ivan and Alessio.

“Hey, boys. Do you want to go shopping?”

“At last!” They yell in unison.

I need them to help me select some new

undies, for I plan to surprise Eagan tonight, but

I also require their advice.

I intend to go to Berlin only for a couple of

weeks; enough time to interview the fabulous

professor, who teaches Italian Cinema at the

university. Then I'll come back and I'll finish my

paper here, after all I'm planning to write

about movies mainly shot in Rome. The

scholarship will allow me to quit the job at the

bookstore, so that I will be able to concentrate

mainly on the paper.

All these arrangements will let me stay

close to Eagan. I crave him too much. Without

him, I am certain, I will crumble.

The moment I step into my home and let the

door close behind me, the voices swamp me.

One of them belongs to Eagan, the other two

seem to be owned by a man and a woman; the

voices I don't recognize sound distant and

metallic.

I remain rooted to the spot, unable to leave

the small entry space, because the words I'm

listening to tell about me, and they wound me.

She's fragile. She's my friend. You're not her

doctor. You're her boyfriend. She's my family.

Is she worth it? I'm not letting her go.

Consider her family history. She needs me.

She will drag you down. I need her.

The voices are like violent waves. They lash

and twirl my small body, until it dissolves and

becomes liquid. And then the currents pull me

down.

I want to slap my hands over my ears and

lock the words out, but I have no strength, no

weight, and no limbs. I am an insubstantial

creature.

When I open my eyes, I don't find myself on

the cold floor, but in my bed. Eagan's strong

body is curled around mine, keeping me warm,

As I stir, he cups my face in his palms and

turns my head, so that I'm looking at his bright

blue eyes.

“I found you on the floor. By the door. What

happened?” His tone is calm, but I detect an

urgent undercurrent.

“I heard,” I rasp out.

“What?” He urges.

“Enough.”

I slide away from him and he lets me. I

stand by the bed and force myself to stare at

him; he seems weary and his blue eyes are

moist and glum.

I am not good for him.

“I'm like my mother,” I confess. “She was so

sad when my father wasn't home. I had to let

her follow him, because she was fading away

in front of my eyes. You remember? You came

to help me.”

He nods. His lips part. He begins to utter

words, but I shake my head sharply.

“You deserve better. You're not like me, or

my mother, or your parents. You're not needy.

You're strong and bright. And I'm not.”

“Shut up.” His voice is a biting hiss. He

leaves the bed to stand before me. His fingers

are folded into hard fists.

I step away from him, and I turn toward his

desk and his lap-top. The screen-saver

represents a peaceful ocean; I wish it were

real, so that I could swim away.

“Your friends are right. I'm not good for

you,” I insist.

He circles his arms around my waist from

behind, tugging me back against his taut chest.

His breathing against my neck is heavy and

labored. He grinds his penis against me with

possessive force, until it becomes turgid and

swollen. Then he quickly fumbles with the

button and zipper of my jeans, so that he can

slip his hand under my panties.

When his fingers find me ready, he groans.

“Say yes, Brina,” he growls.

“No,” I whisper.

His pained cry vibrates throughout his body.

He jerks his hand away from my mound and

rests it on my abdomen.

He nuzzles into my hair, then he trails open-

mouthed kisses across my jaw and my cheek,

his tongue and lips create soft and wet sounds.

I gradually melt against him.

“You promised. No more running away from

me,” he rumbles against my skin.

“I'm too selfish. I can't let you go. I need

you too much,” I reveal.

He nibbles and licks my neck, before telling

his own truth. “We're alike, Brina. I'm just like

my parents. I'm desperate and lost when you're

not with me.”

“Earlier your words hurt me. You should

make it up to me,” I murmur.

“Undress,” he demands.

Our gazes fused, we take off our clothes.

Eagan stretches out onto the bed and

prompts me to straddle his chest. Then he

seizes my waist and draws my sex toward his

mouth.

He makes love to me with his lips and his

tongue. As I writhe and squirm above him,

Eagan fists and strokes his shaft, so that we

dissolve into cries of ecstasy at the same

moment.

Afterward, he cradles my trembling body

against his chest.

He waits for my pulse to quiet down, then

he asks for a kiss. I frame his handsome face

with my hands. I brush my lips across his

mouth once, twice, three times. Then I push

my tongue between his lips and caress his

tongue with tiny, teasing touches, meant to

heal our troubled hearts.

“We will be fine. I'll make everything good

again,” Eagan promises against my mouth.

I want to believe him.

I try to believe him.

I fail.

19.

EAGAN

My name is Eagan Sherard.

I have to hold on to what I know. Otherwise

I'll go crazy.

I left the radio on. Songs keep playing.

They're like background noises. I'm not really

paying attention. But I need them to crush the

quiet.

One week ago, I took my girlfriend, Brina,

to the airport. Before kissing me good-bye, she

gave me a gift, a DVD.

During the weeks preceding her departure,

she shot a short film. Ivan and Alessio helped

her. I was glad about this new project of hers.

I didn't suspect the true reason why she was

making the movie, though: Me.

I watched the DVD as soon as I got home. It

gutted me.

The film is a about a young man who finds a

broken guitar and decides to repair it. Then,

he learns how to play it. After a while, he

begins to travel the world to let more people

experience and appreciate his tunes.

Eventually, he becomes a famous musician.

A simple and easy plot.

What was painful for me to listen to, was

Brina's voice-over telling an entire different

story.

A tale of a girl walking down a busy street

full of stores and people. The girl is sad and

lost. She glances at the windows and at the

passersby, but she doesn't really see anything.

Then she meets a boy. The boy shows her a

beautiful garden and the girl begins to truly

notice and feel things. When the boy leaves

her, though, even for a brief time, she ceases

to feel all at once. Everything around her

disappears. The girl is so scared, that she

decides to leave the boy and the garden

behind. However, it's not a permanent

separation. She just needs time to learn how

to sense the world by herself. After six weeks,

she returns to the boy with new knowledge.

She confesses to the boy that reality seems

brighter when he's beside her. But now she

also knows how to use her perceptions when

the boy is not with her.

My girl wants six weeks away from me.

Because we're too clingy and too needy. We

don't breathe when we're apart. We forget

about the rest of the world when we're

together. We resemble our parents. And we

both don't want to.

I keep repeating these words like a song in

my head. My temples throb. Violent rushes of

blood in my ear make me dizzy.

I know that we have to be better and more

open than our parents. Our greedy love can be

dangerous. I'm aware of all that.

But I ache.

I'm twenty-five years old.

I met Brina when I was fourteen.

She wrapped herself around my soul when I

was sixteen.

It was very early in the morning. The

annoying buzz of my cellphone woke me up. I

wanted to destroy the damn thing. I stopped

when I saw the caller ID.

“Hey, fur-ball. What's up?” I tried to stay

calm. She was calling from the other side of

the ocean. Normally we sent each other

messages or emails, or we talked over the

computer. Something was definitely wrong.

“A need a friend.” She sounded small and

fragile.

I didn't hesitate. My parents were

somewhere in China, working. So I called my

British grandparents. They helped me book a

flight. The next day I was at Brina's place.

At first she didn't want to talk. She didn't

even hug me when she opened the door for

me.

I respected her silence. I dropped my

backpack to the floor. Then I sat on the couch

beside her.

After a while she spoke. “I had to let my

mum go. She was too sad, here, without my

dad. It's fine. I can do this. They hired a

housekeeper. She will take care of the house,

and of me.”

“She's a nanny,” I told her.

She lifted her chin. She gave me a stubborn

stare. “I don't need a nanny. She's a

housekeeper.”

I smiled. “Right.”

“Anyway,” she went on, “My mum was sorry

to leave me, but she was also so relieved. She

needs my dad so much. I don't understand all

this need.” She looked at me, seeking an

explanation.