Empyrean Iris Story Collection Vol. 4

Filling the Gasps

"Adam."

Her voice was low and smooth. He had picked that voice for her, a long time ago when she had first been granted the translation equipment, but he could still feel her real voice underneath: a gentle humm that sent vibrations through his ears, morphing to a shiver that traveled down the sides of his neck. He closed his eyes feeling as his body broke out into a nervous sweat despite the ideal temperature of the room.

"Are you feeling okay?"

He laughed, and even to him it sounded nervous, lurching upwards from his throat in awkward sputters, "No."

He heard her take a seat on the edge of the bed, listened to the blankets shifting as they brushed over each other.

In his mind he could see her poised at its edge. He could imagine the light as it fell over her body. The entire image was penned into his head in such exquisite detail he didn't need to look at her.

"So, are we going to talk about this?" She said, She sounded so calm, and he wondered how she was doing it. He felt so small all of a sudden, a child compared to her and he didn't know how to take the sensation back.

"Then talk." His voice felt tight.

"I'm not the one who needs convincing."

He closed his eyes. "What do you want me to say?"

"I want us to talk about what is going to happen moving forward. I need to know where this goes."

His hands continued to shake. "I don't know. . .I've never. . . I don't know if I can."

"Why don't you start with telling the truth. I think we both need to hear it."

He paced two steps to the right and then two steps to the left, "Why, you already know."

"You're not exactly convincing."

He laughed again, another nervous laugh and turned away from the window, still refusing to look at her. His feet carried him back and forth over the floor in short, quick steps. The walls spun past him. Every time he turned he caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye and his heart picked up in pace.

"Maybe I don't want to be convincing." It felt like a hand around his throat.

"Why not?"

He threw up his hands. "Because!" His voice cracked. No, not now, not like this.

His eyes stung and his face grew hot and he turned his head to the ceiling.

"Adam. . ."

He squeezed his eyes shut. Every time she said his name it was like being branded, each time a new wave of heat washing through his body.

"Why can't you say it?"

"Because I'm not supposed to feel like this!" He couldn't stop it, the words tumbled from his lips, and even he could hear his voice shaking. He kept his face pointed up and away.. He wished he could sink through the floor. He wished the window would open up and suck him into space.

He looked at the door.

Could he run again?

He heard her shift behind him, knew she could tell what he was thinking. She always knew.

His cheeks flamed with heat.

"I don't understand, why can't you feel like this?"

His hands dropped from behind his back and he turned down to look at them, anything to avoid looking at her. Suddenly he felt distant, detached from his body as he stared at his hands. He never expected this would happen, but now here it was, and somehow he was having trouble comprehending that fact.