State of Grace (Complete)

Because You're Here

CH 47

"You can have the rest of your shower, and I left a clean towel on the counter. If you need it, you can use my robe hanging on the back of the door, okay?"

"Thanks Ian, honestly."

He smiles warmly at me, "It's totally fine Grace, take your time."

I turn on the water and strip out of my sodden towels and robe, tossing them into a pile in the corner. Stepping into his shower, I can finally rinse the shampoo from my hair and eyes, and it feels spectacular—the shampoo had dried enough that my hair was in globby clumps, but now I can run my fingers through it again. I don't want to spend too much time in here, just in case; at home I don't feel guilty wasting utilities a bit, but I know Ian pays these bills himself. Once I'm suitably rinsed, I turn off the water and wrap myself in the fresh towel. My hair is dripping, so I need the robe, too. As soon as I put it on, I know I've made a huge mistake. It smells like Ian, it smells like everything I remember, everything I've ever wanted. Against my better judgement I take deep breaths, filling my nose with the scent of him...

Dizzily, I step out of the little bathroom and into Ian's bedroom. Now that I can see better, my eyes roam around the room. He has an entire bookshelf filled with sketchbooks—piles of them, an easel, his cluttered desk is covered with different art supplies, plus his computer, and on a shelf near his bed is the framed picture of the three of us. The same one I dragged around Europe, the same one I have on my desk at home. His walls are covered in art, all different sizes, beautiful, intense, vibrant pieces that I know he has done himself. There are people and places, and buildings and the meadow, and me. Laying on the blanket a few years ago, with my novel beside me, rendered in ink, and it is astounding in detail and skill. I sit on the edge of his bed to get my breath. I feel more alive than I have in forever, like the shower rinsed away the last of the broken parts of me. I am stunned by the amount of emotion that washes over me.

There's a rap at the door and I straighten up, pulling myself together. "Grace, can I come in?"

I nod, then realize I have to say something. "Yes."

Ian slips in the room, quietly, like a dream, "Are you okay?"

"Everything in here...it's so...so breathtaking. You're amazing—incredibly talented." I again, survey the room, and each time I look I see something else remarkable. "It's like the purest essence of you."

Ian comes closer, sitting next to me, on his bed with me. "Do you really like it?" his voice is laid-bare, naked, like I could slay him with a single negative remark.

"Oh Ian, it's spectacular. I love it, who couldn't?" I tell him honestly.

"Believe me, there've been people who have hated it," Ian says with a trace of bitterness.

"Why?" His talent is staggering.

"Because you're here," he simply states.

I am confused, "What do you mean?"

"Look around Gracie, you're here." He points towards the walls and I take a closer look, getting off the bed, walking up to the artwork. I'm not everywhere, but I am in a few sketches, some sketches, a number of sketches.

While I look, Ian gets up and leaves the room, taking a piece of me with him. I open the duffle bag and get dressed, my hair hanging in loopy damp rings down my back. Ian packed a good selection of clothes, so I'm comfortable in some yoga pants and a hooded t-shirt. He even grabbed enough underwear to last a week. I hang up the towels and his robe, taking a last faint-inducing sniff, then go out to the living area. Ian is sitting on the couch and has some cheese, crackers, veggies and drinks set out on the coffee table.

"I thought you might be hungry," he says simply, looking up with a small smile.

It's a touching gesture. "Famished."

I sit next to him, close to him, my leg brushing up against his, and I am on fire with every movement. Ian stiffens a bit when I glance against him but then quickly relaxes. I think it just surprised him that I am initiating touch, that I want to be touched. To be so close, to feel him against me, it's making my emotions go haywire.

He and I sit and eat, the unspoken between us growing heavier by the minute, hanging over us like a noose, tightening, strangling. The tv blares in the background but I can't concentrate on anything other than him. Sitting next to me, close enough to touch, a world of unspoken things between us. Finally I think of something to say, "Where's your roommate?" I spit it out so quickly that I blush.

"At his girlfriend's, maybe, I'm not sure."

"Oh."

I settle back on the couch, angling so that more of me is resting against Ian. It feels like a memory and a future. I can feel his pulse through his arm and his tattoo is a beat going right through me.

"Grace?" Ian says tenderly. I turn towards him, his face is so close I can see the creases on his lips, the curve of his cheek, the stubble on his chin, the hope and want and need in his eyes surely mirroring mine.

"Yes?" I respond, an aching whisper. His face comes even closer and his eyes open wider and his lips part a little, and I try not to tremble.

"I need you," he breathes and we fall into each other, into an epic kiss, years in the making. Our lips join and my world explodes, I am touching his cheek and holding his head and my hand is clutching his hair as I burst into song inside. I am shivering beneath his touch on my arms and his lips pressed into mine, wanting me, and his hands tracing trails of flame along my side. Ian pulls me closer and I sit on his lap, getting closer, as my hips rest against his abs and his arm snakes around me. I am breathing him in and I feel whole for the first time in forever. I feel like I could burst, he and I together is better than I could ever imagine.

He pulls away just a little and I whimper. "Okay, Gracie?" his voice has a rasping timber, lust sawing into me. I can't be this far away from him now that I've been closer. The pit of my stomach aches to be nearer, drawing me against him. I answer with a deeper, harder kiss, my lips parting, inhaling him. My tongue traces his lips and he groans, shifting underneath me, charging me with hunger, and he opens his mouth to me. All my nerve endings are ablaze, awakening at his touch as his fingers touch my cheek and wind into my hair and his other hand runs up and down my spine. One kiss leads into another and another, and we are one, just a series of tastes and feelings and energy, answering years of questions. I can feel him beneath me, wanting me and I need to be closer.

There's a click of a key on the lock from across the room and we spring apart, struggling to regain our composure. Ian shifts himself, crossing his legs, and I straighten my shirt while I close my eyes trying to chase away the dizziness.