The Castle of Gold [Bk 2]

ch.63 To heal

“Angie” Harry spoke up again. “I can’t- I can’t let you just accept something like that. You- you loved your father more than air and I-I killed mine. Angie, I’m just not good. I’m not good for you” he sighed disappointedly.

“Harry, your father hurt you and your family. You were just overwhelmed with anger. You’re good, Harry. Your heart is golden and you know that I love you” I reminded him.

I looked into those twin marbles that I used to think were so hard and cold. But now, now they were as soft of grapes and just as ready to release some pent up, soured tears.

“I know, Angie. I know you love me, you love me more than I deserve” he sighed quietly.

“Harry, you deserve every ounce of love you’ve ever received. You deserved your mother’s love, your sisters, Danny’s, the boys... mine” I told him honestly. “You deserved your father’s love” I spoke more quietly.

Harry looked up at me and his eyes were rounder and a brighter green than I thought possible. The glint of gold amidst the grey and the forest-green light up with the hope only a young, innocent child could possess.

Harry had lost his innocence the moment he stuck that knife into his father’s gut, but that didn’t make him a monster, it tortured him, it haunted him. It made him human, not a man who could hide behind his leather armor, but a man who could cry every ounce that he could bleed.

I reached close and rubbed Harry’s cheek softly, as if I could erase the pain of the years of beatings. But I couldn’t. No matter how desperately I wished I could kiss every inch of his body, every tattoo mark, every muscle, every cut, I knew I couldn’t, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to try.

I held his face in my hands and kissed his cheek and close to his eyes.

He looked down quickly and rubbed his eye hurriedly.

I took his wrist and stopped him from rubbing away an on-coming tear.

“Let yourself heal, Harry” I whispered quietly.

Harry stared into my eyes quickly, like I had asked him to do the most unthinkable crime.

Then he furrowed his face in my chest, pushing me down on the couch, afraid I might see one of his tears.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and held him close, but he squeezed me even harder as he tried to muffle out his tears.  

I felt his warm, but unsteady breath grow quick and anxious as his tears moistened my shirt. He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed them quickly with his hands, but I took his wrist.

“Please” I asked of him. I wanted him to cry and to cry every ounce of pain that he has ever felt. I wanted to be able to taste every moment that he has ever felt unloved or hated or criticized. I wanted to share the torture if not take it all for myself.

Harry nodded quickly and he let his tears fall more freely over my chest. I patted his back and kissed softly along his neck, which made him cry even more.

I had been so busy trying to get him to cry, to release every bit of his pain that I didn’t even realize that I was already crying myself. My tears fell down my cheeks and dripped onto Harry’s curls, which soaked them up as well as my shirt soaked up Harry’s tears.

For a while, we lay there, on the couch, holding each other desperately, protectively as we shared this excruciatingly beautiful moment of release.

I listened to Harry’s breath warming and cooling my chest as he let more tears fall. I heard him start to relax and his tears muffle out. Then I felt him kissing my chest, just over my heart. His lips trailed down to my stomach.

I looked up at him.  

He wrapped his arms around me and lifted me up from the couch. Then he carried me over to his bed and gently laid me down.

He crept his hand carefully under my shirt, letting his fingers glide along my skin and up my abdomen until he reached my bra. He was surprisingly anxious, as if he were discovering my body for the first time.

I lifted my half-moistened shirt off. I snuck my hand under his jacket and he unzipped it without blinking.

Harry’s hands carefully, but urgently felt down my waist and smoothed along my hips for a moment before he tugged at my jeans.

I slid my hand around his waist, sneaking down to his belt and tugging urgently, pulling him to me. I felt a warm hum emerge deep in his pants. He tugged his jeans down and tossed my clothes carefully to the side.

He let his lips kiss along my underwear before he pulled them with his teeth.

Then he held my wrists down on the mattress, the way he had the night he read his first poem to me. And he slid his tongue under my bra, moistening my breasts the way he had moistened my shirt with his tears. Then he unhitched the clasp.

He came up close on top of me and looked down for a moment, just the way he had the first night he had touched me.

“I was wrong” he shook his head slowly as he scanned my chest and my legs, then glanced back up to my eyes.

I looked up at him with a confused, but trusting expression.

“My angel has been here all along. She’s been here all along” he whispered softly, against my neck.

I leaned up on my elbows and reached for his face. I pressed my lips to his, urging his tongue to follow my lead this time, to let me comfort him. He was willing this time, willing to let me lead him as he healed. But not willing enough and I pushed him down on the bed and leaned over him.

He looked up at me with slight surprise.

I laid over him, kissing along his collar bone, his neck, down his chest and to his abdomen. He didn’t come inside, he just let me kiss him; let me heal every wound- both visible and invisible. Then I reached his v-line.

Harry slid his hand along my waist and tugged me down tugged on the mattress until he was over me. He gloved himself, then came inside me quickly.

I gasped as he filled me with his pain and his pleasure. He filled me urgently and didn’t waist a moment on his breath, which slithered down my neck.

He went deeper and deeper until I was sure he would be stuck, we would be stuck in our golden puzzle. But I didn’t dare say a word because I wanted us to be stuck. I wanted to feel Harry’s pain as much as I wanted his pleasure. I wanted him and the only way to have him was to have his whole, broken self.

A tear streamed down his cheek and I tasted it on my lips.

"Please" I asked quietly. 

He let another tear fall and glide down my chest. 

Then my tears mixed with his. 

He groaned as he pushed into me so softly, the pleasure tortured me. I grasped his curls and urged him faster and harder, to release his anger and frustration onto me, into.

Harry nodded and lodged himself so deeply into me, I was afraid the condom might have broken or getting stuck.

But Harry continued. He continued and our tears mixed together, soaking our bodies, gluing us together as long as we both shall live.