Chapter 4

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I could feel him next to me in the dark, his body making a dent in my thin bed and hid breath barely skimming my skin. The warmth of his body was wonderful, especially where his large hand was on my back. I tried to keep my breathing under control.

"Thank you," I whispered, although nobody could see us or hear us in my room. It seemed like darkness should be accompanied by quiet. I could feel the tears in my eyes dry as my dilated eyes relaxed.

"No problem," Michael breathed and took his hand away from my back and placing it behind him. The springs on the old matres creak beneath us. I wanted him to put his hand back and to lean closer to me instead of away. I heard him take a breath. "Do you feel pain and emotions like a normal mortal?" he asked.

I wanted to laugh and say, Of course I do. You can't think I'm invincible just because I can't die. But that would hurt him, make him feel embarrassed. It was just an innocent question. "Yes," I said, "I feel every pain, tickle, and sensation--physically-- that a human would feel. Every sad and happiness, urge, lust, want and need exists for me like it does you. I am everything human except the obvious."

"Oh," he said quietly, "That's nice to know, but . . ." 

I waited a minute for him to finish, but he seemed as perplexed about the second half to his sentence as I was. I heard the rustle of his lab coat as he ran a hand through his thick head of hair, making me wonder what he wore under his lab coat. Did he wear button-downs or a regular T-shirt? Was he strangely skinny in his arms and upper-body as his legs are?

"But what?" I asked, curious.

"I-I, um . . ." Michael stumbled over his words. "I just don't . . . want you to feel the . . . pain that they make you go through. I don't want . . . this for you."

I thought about this. He didn't want me to be in pain? Did this mean that he shared the same affections for me as I did him? I didn't know what to say.

"Thank you?" I said, not knowing what else to say. We sat in silence. He didn't welcome me like e usually does after I thank him. Was he as confused as me? Or did he feel awkward? I didn't know. "Michael," I whispered.

"Ambrosia," he said even quieter than I. 

I felt him shift, and his breath was on me, moist and warm. I heard his clothes rub together as one hand slid in the back of my head and the other over my spine. I felt his nose on my cheek and then his lips press gingerly to mine.

He kissed me softly, unsure of how I would react, but then he kissed me more fiercely. Our teeth knocked together.

"Sorry," he mumbled and I let out a little squeak before we resumed. 

I wrapped my arms around his neck and he lifted me on top of him. We moved together, our kisses getting hungrier and longer. Our breaths came out in ragged huffs as we tried to stay connected for as long as we could. My hands were locked in his hair and his around my ribcage, dangerously close to my breasts.

He pushed me down to the bed, crawled on top of me and kissed my neck. His hands pushed their way under my shirt and my fingers undid the buttons on his coat, still curious about what was underneath.

Did time flaw like a river, moving always towards the future and every moments unravels how it may, or it it like a loaf of bread and everything is already there, it's just that the moments are slices of the bread that need to be lived and cast into the past? Does everything already exist and time just happens or is everything new and we can really change our destinies? Is every actions the way of the Universe or is it your choice?

Sometimes, does it really matter how time works? All that matters is that current moment where you are so happy or sad that what's happening just matters then. You don't care whether this was supposed to happen your whole life or if you made it happen.

I whispered this to Michael as he kissed the back of my neck. I felt him nod.

"Are you listening?" I asked as he pulled me closer to him and ran his fingers up and down my side.

"Of course," he mumbled, clearly not. I chuckled and pushed him away a little, and turned in his arms so that he was facing me. His dark eyes looked a little guilty, but smug and they gazed into mine. "I am," he whispered and kissed me.

"What did I say, then?" I said, challenging him. I had to tap him a little on his cheek with my hand when he became a little distracted with how the skin felt on my arm.

"Every moment, pieces of bread, rivers flowing towards the future . . . Mmmm, you should stop thinking so much, just relax," he told me. I sighed, but kept my mouth closed, knowing that he was right. I did just want to focus on him and us right now, but too many thoughts were running through my mind. "How are your eyes?' he asked and pulled me closer, kissing my forehead.

"Alright, I suppose," I said and moved a few pieces of hair away from my face. I thought back to the time when Michael said that he had seen things that would make him think that a god couldn't possibly exist. "What have you seen . . ." I asked. "That would make you believe in no God?"

He sighed and tugged me closer to him. He didn't speak for a while, but when he did it sounded painful. "When I was sixteen," he began. "My parents and little brother were in a car accident and . . . the police took me out of school, and brought me to the morgue where they . . . made me identify my family-- to verify who they were." He shifted a little and swallowed. "Jesus, just to see something like that-- their faces. It was . . ." He shook his head. "You know, my little brother was only nine. Nine. His voice hadn't even started to crack."

We lay still for a few minutes. I felt the need to say something. "I'm sorry," I breathed. "I had no idea."

"There's nothing to be sorry about."

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