The Inferno's Indulgence

Chapt 49

Xyle

I flipped your hair this morning. Your long, thick, beautiful strands of black hair looked so disheveled after a long night of dancing, and morning sex, so I flipped it. I slid my hand across your slender back and lifted my hand until I reached the back of your neck. There were long pieces hanging on your shoulders and hiding your beautiful body away from me, and I removed it so I could see it all.

You noticed it, too. Your brown eyes lit up, and a innocent, but not so innocent smile rose on your face. Your cheeks curled, and your lips formed into a thin line, showing the one dimple on the left side of your face. You leaned into me, and despite my heavy breathing, you placed your lips against mine and said "Don't go lookin' at my goodies." I chuckled for a while after you said that. We had just finished making love, our pure bodies coming together and forming as one, and you were concerned about me seeing you.

But I've always saw you, Celeste. I saw the innocence in your eyes as you did the things you loved. I saw the way you'd put your tongue between your teeth and lips as you were doing something that wasn't considered 'easy' in your eyes. I saw the way your face scrunched up at the taste of that disgusting beetroot— so you say, on my plate when we shared our first date. I saw the way you attempted to hide your body away from my eyes well after we laid in bed together many times. I saw the way you'd sit down after a long day and remove your bra, not caring if I would make fun of you or not. I saw the way you wanted to know more about me but waited until I was ready to show you. I saw the way you looked at Noah Calhoun from your favorite movie, and how you said he was the best boyfriend ever because he built a house and sent her letters. I'm not skilled enough to build a house, but I want to tell you something.

I've started writing this book since the day I saw you on that couch. Ironically, I had just finished going to therapy three days a week, a few days before that. It was as if the universe prepared me for you, and I'm glad I was prepared. I wrote in my notebook every chance I got. I jotted notes in my phone, wanting to make sure no memory went unsaved. I even went as far as mesmerizing your grocery order just in case I'd need to go for you one day. I googled my feelings, and jotted them down as quick as I could. I wrote in my book with the time and date so that when you read it, you could see my point of view of things. I may not ask you important questions all the time, but I want to ask you something.

Am I better than Noah Calhoun?

No, I wasn't your old lover from back when you were a teenager. Your parents don't dislike me to the point where I am forced to leave you. I didn't send you three hundred, sixty five letters. I wasn't your first. I didn't build a house to the exact way you wanted it, and post it in a newspaper. I didn't track you down after a great amount of time. I didn't invite you to my home in hopes I'd get you back. I didn't take you to a nearby body of water and allow you to feed the ducks. I didn't make love to you, hoping I'd convince you that our love is still there.

Yes, I was your new lover. Your father approves of me and I'm sure your mother will, too, when we break the news to her. I've written you a book with more than three hundred, sixty five pages, real time, my thoughts and intentions all poured out into words. I am your last. I listened to you when you told me you liked that house by the river, and I bought it for you, and I'm fixing it for you. I invited you to my home to see how you felt about it, wanting to know if you could live there until our home was ready for us. I met you at a river, and took you to meet my mother. I watched you in the field of purple hydrangeas. I made love to you, hoping you'd allow me to continue loving you.