If (14 page)

BIRD

ASH’S TONGUE WAS
the paintbrush, my lips the canvas. My fingers danced along the subtle slopes of his abdomen over his shirt. We were still dancing and painting, but this time our bodies were the tools and the surfaces where we created our art.

Ash slid his fingers underneath my shirt, his warm hands touching my bare skin. As Ash’s fingers ran up my torso, I felt a tingle like electricity and I wondered if maybe we all have just a little bit of synesthesia in us. Then, I yanked his shirt over his head, finally seeing what was underneath his paint-streaked tee. My eyes immediately drifted to the newly developed scar on his side: the remnant of his act of heroism. I glided my index finger over it and I slid down to my knees and kissed it. It was why, despite his circumstances, I had always felt safe around him. He could never know how grateful I was for what he did.

He bent over, took my hands and pulled me back up to my feet. He didn’t want my gratitude, I know he didn’t do what he did to be a hero. It was part of his character.

I didn’t want to tell Ash I was a virgin, but I was afraid he would sense my inexperience if things got that far. I understood that a twenty-one year-old virgin is something of a unicorn these days, but my run with the fellas had been shaky at best. I may have been screwed over, but I wasn’t dumb enough to give myself completely to any of them.

“
A beautiful Bird,
” he breathed into my ear as he slid the strap of my tank top down and kissed my shoulder.

I laughed a little and wriggled under the sensation.

We traveled to the futon, and I lay under him. We became a tangle of each other, his warmth cocooning mine. Ash’s touch was passionate, but patient. It was a lot like the way he instructed me to paint—to aim for the big picture, but first, pay attention to the small details along the way—soft kisses, tender strokes, sweet bites, gentle swipes of his tongue.

Then we were naked, and he was more than ready. I writhed my hips against him to tell him I was, too.

“Do you have a condom?” he breathed into my ear.

I nodded as I reached into the small side table just beside the futon for one of the four I stored in there, plunder from my last visit to the gyno. I watched intently as he ripped open the foil and rolled it on, my stomach clenching from nervous anticipation.

He kissed my collarbone, leaving soft tingles as he worked his way up.

“Ash, I—”

He raised his head from my neck, his wild hair falling over this eyes.

“I’m—this is embarrassing,” I said, tucking my chin down.

He tilted his head to the side, softly pulled up my chin and ran his thumb along my lip. “Tell me.”

“I’m a virgin.”

He pulled away. “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push things so fast.”

“No, I just wanted to let you know, but I want to.”

He sighed and buried his face into the subtle valley between my breasts. “Oh so do I, you have no idea, but are you—”

I pressed my index finger against his pout. “I said let me make my choice.” I brushed his hair away from his eyes. “I choose you.”

Ash looked into my eyes, the unblemished green staring back at me, and nodded. He leaned in and placed a kiss so soft, it took my breath away. “We’ll do whatever you want,” he whispered against my lips.

BIRD

Our naked limbs peeked out from under the afghan I had wrapped around us. Ash lay his head on my stomach as I twirled one of his wild tendrils with my fingers. I was in a daze from the type of drunken giddiness that surrounds you like a gentle cloud. You don’t think about the future, or consequences. You just live in that moment, soaking up the heady high of falling in love.

Ash turned his eyes upward, resting his chin on the flesh of my belly. His barely-there stubble chafed at the sensitive skin, but I didn’t want him to move from the spot. “How are you feeling?” he asked, running the tip of his middle finger along my thigh.

“Good.”
Oh, but it was so much better than good.
“Tell me something,” I said lazily.

“Like what?” he asked.

“I researched you, ya know.”

“Huh?” Ash asked, suspiciously.

“The synesthesia.”

“I know,” he said.

“How?”

“You left your laptop open the last time I was here and it was right on the screen.”

I slapped my hand against my forehead. “Do yourself a favor and never ask me to hide a body with you. I’m not very good at covering my tracks.” He laughed, and the choppy breaths tickled my stomach. “So tell me things. I want to know what you see.”

He sighed. “It’s not as strong anymore, except with you.” His admission made me feel different, but not in the way I was used to. It was a happy different. “It’s always there, but not as vivid. Everything is more muted now.”

“So is your life like one big Lisa Frank folder? Because I used to love those things.”

“Lisa who?”

“Oh never mind, you were never a ten year old girl . . .” I ran my fingers through his silky waves. “Do you miss it?”

“Uh huh.” It was as if it hurt too much to say
yes.

“Did it go away with age?”

“A bunch of reasons.” It was one of Ash’s answers that didn’t really answer anything, but I let it slide.

“So tell me some of most vivid things you see. Tell me your favorites.”

He paused for a second to think and then he pulled himself up so that he was next to me on his side, propping up his head on his hand.

He squinted, straining to draw every detail of a memory. “Your laughter. It’s that perfect buttery gold, like when you bake something to perfection. Warm . . . soft . . . my fingertips go warm and they tingle. And your speaking voice . . . it’s different. Say something for me so I can describe it for you.”

“Umm . . .” I laughed nervously.

“Ah, there it is,” his fingers trailed across the air in his line of sight above us. “Your laughter. Sprinkles of it.” I watched his eyes see something I could not. “Okay, tell me something. Anything,” he commanded.

“My name is Birdie.” I said, completely failing at originality.

“Birdie, what’s your given name?” he asked faintly. He already knew the answer. The words didn’t matter right now, just the melody of our voices. He was listening but his eyes were straight ahead, observing the phantom fantasia of colors in front of him.

“Annalise Robin Campbell.”

He pointed to the nothingness just in front of us as his finger made a subtle horizontal wave. “Pastel greens and blues, dancing across my vision. Transparent, like light. Cool. Your laughter is warm, but your voice is cool, like a dip into a pool on a scorching hot day. They move like wavelengths and when you stop, they break up and fade away. You have the best looking laughter and voice I have ever seen.”

“Why, thank you. Do you see your own voice?”

“It doesn’t work that way for me. Now you tell me something.”

I felt dull compared to his extraordinary gift. I had no way of telling him how I felt without just saying it. In a way, his ability allowed him to share his intimate feelings without saying the words. It felt safer for him to express and me to hear. I couldn’t say all the things I felt yet, I had already shared so much of myself with him that night.

“I bet you want to know how my face got this way,” I said, casually, to distract from the not-so-casual feelings I felt towards him.

“I bet you want to know how I ended up where you found me,” he said. “How about I don’t ask, and you don’t ask?”

I didn’t mind telling Ash, but I understood it was a way for him to tell me he wasn’t ready to share that story yet. And I understood. We were both trying to guard at least some part of ourselves. Soon, I would get the answer. Just not tonight.

“I don’t know about you,” Ash said, “but I should go clean up and I really have to take a leak.”

“Me too. Want to take a shower together? I’ve always wanted to do that with someone.”

“Another first today?” he asked.

I winked at him.

I gaped at his long lean body and taut butt as he walked off into my bathroom, gave him his time to pee, and followed him when I heard the shower start.

He was already waiting for me, all soaking wet when I followed him in. He pulled me under the spray and kissed me, and the water cascaded off his forehead and onto my nose and eyes so that I scrunched my face. He brushed the excess water off my face, caressing the side that no one touched but me.

When people hugged or kissed me, they always went to the “good side.” People didn’t touch the scars out of respect, I assumed, but it always felt like they thought they were contagious. With Ash, it was like it wasn’t even a second thought.

“Birdie! Bird!”

Before I could even respond to Jordan’s panicked calls for me, he was in the bathroom. My semitransparent shower curtain did not afford the luxury of hiding the identity of my shower companion, not that Jordan didn’t already have an idea.

I could only assume that he thought I might be in some coercive situation when he walked in and saw the clothes strewn about and heard the shower running. Jordan knew I was a virgin.

“Shit,” I whispered under my breath. I peeked my head through. “Jordan, I could use some privacy right now.” I darted my eyes towards the exit.

He pursed his lips and snaked his neck. “Well, well,” he said, dropping his chin and looking up over at Ash, who was behind me. He turned around with some extra sass, waved his finger in the air and called out “Ash, you be good to my girl. She has two gay husbands who are very protective . . .”

And out he went.

I knew that
well, well.
It meant:
you little lyin’ heffa, I knew you were full of shit.

I would have some ‘splaining to do, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered in that moment was the person in front of me.

ASH

I WOKE UP
after that first night with Bird more refreshed than I had been in as long as I could remember. I felt ready to take on any challenge. I felt renewed. I wanted to create with abandon. I wanted to spray my energy onto the canvas, like slitting my wrists and spurting paint right from my veins.

I rolled over on the futon to an empty space beside me. Bird wasn’t there, but the scent of coffee followed that realization and my eyes moved to the kitchen where she stood in my t-shirt, radiating a soft shade of violet. I thought about how I would later catch her scent when I put on that shirt, and how that would provide a never-ending well of energy.

“Good morning,” she said, flirtatiously.

“Good morning,” I replied, jumping out of bed.

“Do you want some coffee?”

“Sure,” I said, walking over to her, and scooping her in my arms from behind, taking in her fragrance: lavender mixed with soap and the pleasant scent of her soft skin.

She was warm and I felt that cozy feeling on my fingertips that I felt whenever I allowed myself to really feel how she made me feel. “What time is it?” I asked.

“Seven. I have a nine o’clock session with the little ‘uns.”

“When do you head out?”

“Eight-fifteenish.”

I slid the mug out of her hand and I put in on the counter. I was bursting with virile energy and I had to have her again. There was so much of her I hadn’t discovered yet.

At that moment, the realization clicked. I wasn’t just in a great mood. I was in a fan-fucking-tastic mood. And I wasn’t just horny, I was ravenous. If she didn’t have go to work, I could probably find ten different ways to have her before noon. I knew what this likely meant, but it felt so good, so fucking good to feel this energy in every cell of my being. I had a clarity of mind I hadn’t experienced alone on the streets, isolating myself in silent misery.

The switch was flipped.

And when the switch is flipped, I can’t—I don’t—want to stop it. I want to keep climbing, and climbing, until I lose my footing and fall. It’s the only way down, and it’s messy.

Yesterday, I had taken her softly and passionately. Twice. It was perfect, it was intimate and we connected on a level I had never experienced. It was everything I thought it could be: a sensory experience that would be the envy of Timothy Leary. But on this morning, I took her hungrily. She wasn’t a virgin anymore, and I wanted to show her not just how to make love but how to fuck.