Heal the Heart

5.

Once I reached my room, I immediately turned around and pressed the button on the knob, locking it. A quick glance to my left told me my roommate wasn't present. Just as well.

In my hurry to get to my suitcase under the bed, I sank to my knees a little earlier than I was supposed to and had to demonstrate a little slip and slide manouevre to reach there. I grabbed it, unzipped the bulging ends and rummaged around till I found the edge of the paper board sticking at an untoward angle. I crawled into my bed after finding a stray pencil on my study table and flipped to the first page on the brand new sketchbook.

I couldn't remember the last time I had cracked open a sketchbook, or the last thing I had drawn. It never occurred to me to reignite a dwindling passion for the arts after my career in cricket was done and dusted. Too much had happened and my art was the last thing on my mind. I wasn't even the one who bought this pad. It was my father who handed it to me when I was packing. He had thrust it into my arms and said, It will be useful. I stuffed it into the bottom of my suitcase almost a year ago and left it to yellow and rot.

My pencil hovered over the page. I was rusty and out of practice. I didn't know if I could pull anything to life again. My pencil moved in the air, cutting strokes as I replayed the evening in my head. In my mind's lens, he was still fresh. Colours hit his broad jaw, his back created shadows across the floor with lips curled in concentration and thighs straining against the edge of the stool. I tried to hold on to my memory, but the more I clung on to those series of mere glimpses, the more I got lost.

I tried sticking to the image I had of him in the cafe, but I couldn't hold on to just that. I kept going back to that night when he played with my clavicles and I had a hold of his thigh.

When I had asked him to take me away, he didn't act straight away. He had sent me his dazzling smile and kissed the spot behind my ear. His fingers continued to press into my deltoids, moving to my trapezius and rhomboids. He massaged the back of my neck, releasing the tension in my muscles. I relaxed against his hold and leaned further into him, tucking myself by his side where I could feel the intensity of his warmth.

I pushed the sketchpad away and settled down on top of the sheets. I palmed my crotch, whimpers escaping me as I lived that night again.

Gone was the piano and explosive singing from my ears. All I could hear, all I wanted to hear, were his breaths, the rhythm of his inhales and exhales and the steady beat of his heart that rose the more I got closer to him. I had followed his Adam's apple when he swallowed and eyed the delicious dip in the hollow of his throat where I wanted to stick my tongue in.

God, I was swimming in so much and want and desire, I didn't know how I was even alive. This sensory overload should've caused some sort of palpitation and given me a stroke right there in his arms. But I held it in and focused on his hand, sinking further behind my shirt.

After what felt like forever, the duo wrapped up their performance with an exaggerated bow. The ten table filled crowd cheered and clapped and he removed his hand from inside my shirt, rendering me at mercy to the sudden chill. His hot breath was near my ear soon enough to compensate. "That's our cue."

My hand, on instinct, found his, and he led me out from our secluded corner and further towards the makeshift stage. I turned around to see the cabaret woman and pianist interacting with the crowd, our jackets left in a pile on the cushioned bench, and the empty stem glasses on our table. During my momentary distraction, he had pulled me through a door and into a room.

I didn't know it was possible for my heart to thunder more than it already was, but one glance at the dark room, and my heart was pounding for an entirely different reason.