Silverlighters (revised version as I edit)

13

                13

I was on his lap, my back pressed to his chest. My body was curled into a ball, cradled within the curve of his as he wrapped himself around me.

He was holding on so tightly it was as though he were afraid to let me go.

Above us the branches spread out, and I tried to choke back my sobs as he rocked me back and forth, back and forth.

My tears glistened in the healing light of the moon, and the early stars of the evening shone brightly above us.

For a long time he just held me, his voice soothing as he hushed me. His fresh breath warm on the side of my face.

“Why did you save me?” I whispered, my throat hoarse.

There had to be a reason. A reason why he saved me and not Chris.

“I couldn’t live in a world without you.” His voice was raw, full of unspoken pain.

I turned my head, pushing against his arm so I could look up into his eyes. Those strange and eerie and beautiful eyes.

He was breathtaking. I had never seen anything so beautiful before, and would never tire of looking at him.

His skin was alabaster-pale, giving him an other worldly look. His thick lashes blinked at me, and his head tilted slightly to one side, his dark hair shifting with the movement.

I felt the urge to run my hands through his hair, and down the strong line of his jaw.

I wanted to feel his lips on mine.

His hands, so warm, so alive, were suddenly cupping my face. So hard it was almost painful. “You have no idea how important you are.”

The force of his words stopped my tears cold.

Something happened then, as he stared into my eyes, his thumbs lightly stroking the line of my jaw.

I sucked in a deep, shaky breath. His eyes seemed to be made of moonlight and fog. I could see my face reflected in them.

And I remembered. I remembered everything as though I were reliving it again.

He tried to pull away as the stolen memories tore through my mind. But I seized his hands. Held them there.

He didn’t fight me. But then, he always knew he could take it back again.

I was only about two or three the first time I remembered seeing him clearly. There had been other times, but they were fuzzier. Like when he’d smiled down at me in my crib. Or the time when I was at the park with my mother, my excited voice driving him away when I called out to him to come play.

The time he found me crying at the store was so clear it could have been yesterday.

I was lost and scared, and then suddenly he was beside me, his big, warm hand curling around my smaller one.

“It’s you,” I said, my tears evaporating as we walked through the store.

Nodding his head he crouched down beside me, and pointed.

My mother looked so scared as she hurried through the store. As though she’d thought I was gone forever.

“Mommy, you got lost,” I shouted.

She ran towards me, pulling me into her arms, the smell of her shampoo enveloping me.

By then I knew not to mention him. Instead, I stared over her shoulder until I could no longer see him.