Love Is Blind ~ Fuffy ~ Complete to Part 5

//Part 3//

Cocooned in the tumbled folds of her duvet I subsist, waiting for sleep. Time, or at the least the basic structure of time which is night and day, is inconceivable to me now. I have no idea if this room is swimming in darkness as I am, or if soft early morning light is trickling through the heavy curtains. I would hope that I would feel it, that maybe after all these years I would have developed an inherent sense for that sort of thing, but if anything I’m learning that there is so much I used to take for granted.

Her feet press into the side of the mattress, securing her slouched position in the creaky wicker chair. My Mother had a chair like that, and when I was young and she was far more moderate with the drink than in her and my later years, she would sit it on our porch and tell me stories. I never much cared to listen, but that’s beside the point. The chair was a mesh of thin woven wood strips which were coloured an oily dark brown and I liked to pick at the loose ones so that they frayed and eventually snapped. Sometimes, if she was in a really good mood, I’d get to sit on her lap. I always remember how the solid wicker arms would dig into my back and how all those loose frays would pinch at my skin when she laughed.

And the point in all this, well, I imagine Buffy’s chair to look very much the same and to be just as uncomfortable.

Despite my reservations the serenity of her state is clear. If I listen hard enough I can hear the occasional parting of her lips as she occupies a deep breath, and the murmuring sweep of her hair as her head droops across the chair’s unyielding back. I imagine that, if I could get close enough to her, her breath would be warm and saccharine.

Damn, you know what I need?

Answering my own question I pull the bedclothes back and slide soundlessly upwards into a sitting position. My muscles twitch anxiously as I edge across the unsteady mattress, my bare feet arching as they prepare for the sudden shock of what I know is going to come; nothingness, the end of her bed, the empty drop to her carpet and then the beginning of total oblivion.

My senses reel as my body remains fixed, unable to move an inch either way. I’m coated in blackness and the only thing I know for certain is that I’m safe, safe on this unfamiliar vessel with its woollen throw and downy pillows. Senselessly, I find myself chocking on futile sobs, I squeeze my eyes shut as they perform their one remaining duty; to craft my tears. I then topple sideways, burying myself back into the seemingly endless supply of blanket and cushion as my lungs rage on my breath, making it shallow and broken.

Wordlessly, her fingertips fall onto my thinly clothed back as her weight on the bed increases and hovers above me. I continue to break down, my body instinctively leaning into hers as she pushes against my side with her abdomen. Gradually, her hand trails down my back, reaching under the oversized t-shirt so that her palm presses heavily into my bare skin as she begins to trace smooth and deliberate circles.

We remain in limbo for some time, our breaths meeting occasionally as I begin to succumb to her calmness and hallowed whispers, and once my crying has been reduced to just the occasional whimper, she finally moves to rest beside me. Her hand remains, though stiller now, and her head comes to laze between my shoulders. I sniff shakily, my lower lip still trembling as I rub at my flustered face and turn from the damp material.

“Are you alright now?” She questions, her fingers tapping lightly along my spine.

“I think so.” I respond hoarsely, my un-seeing eyes nervously flickering in her direction.

“I’m sorry about before. I didn’t mean to, you know, push or anything.”

“I know.”

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” She lifts her head as I roll over, her hand cupping my waist as it slides over my supple stomach. “Can I ask? Were you, before, were you going somewhere? I-I mean it’s totally fine if you were.”

“I was.” I confirm softly, draping my arm over my eyes. “Is it late, B? It feels wicked late.”

“Where were you going?” Her voice rises slightly and I wince, sensing her discomfort. “Were you, were you going to, uh, you know…leave me?”

“Leave you!?” I splutter incredulously. “You’re kidding, right? I’d be totally screwed if it weren’t for you right now, how stupid do you think I am?” I pause, realising a little too late the exact implication of my outburst. “Err, Buffy?” I remove my hand from my eyes and raise my head. “Well, say something then?” Receiving no response I carefully walk my fingers up the length her arm, pausing at her shoulder, where I flatten my hand and smooth my fingers up the nape of her neck and finally over her mouth. Slowly I begin to trace the contours with just my index finger. “You’re smiling?” I ask curiously, still keen to explore the delicate surface.

“Of course I am.
”
“You could have told me!” I tease, she laughs. “I wasn’t going to leave you, okay?”

“Well then where exactly were you going?”

“I just wanted a cigarette!”

“What? Seriously, Faith, you’re unbelievable sometimes.” I grin and withdraw my hand, returning it to my side. “And it’s almost morning, so I’m guessing you’ll want some breakfast to go with your way overdue nicotine hit, hmm?”

“Please.”

“Well…” She mumbles, her head burying into my shoulder. “Give me a few, yeah? And I’ll get right on it.”

“Sure,” I reply quietly, resting my head on hers, “take as long as you need.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Minutes have divided and fallen, creating a heap of time that I cannot even begin to fathom. I keep coming back to it, time that is, as I lay here feeling ever so slightly bruised by the occasional bearing of her skin against mine.

I recall, almost mundanely now, the memory of her milky complexion, and the way the area just above the hollows of her cheeks would flush hot cotton candy pink in the sun, or when she laughed. Yet now, with these aspects not gone but denied to me, I am awakening to the new, the unseen and the unfamiliar, but above all, the ultimate only, because now there is just this.

When Buffy sleeps her hands are warm and restless. They travel fervently through her hair and into mine, they flop like heavy material into my open palms and splay across my chest, becoming still for what feels to me like mere breaths before wandering again. Of course I can’t be exactly sure, not when I’m using all my self-control to keep perfectly still, inhaling a short breath only when I’m forced, in the hope that her hands might remain just that little bit longer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I can see again. The darkness has been reclaimed, her bedroom is filled with iridescent colour that shimmers and transforms from the real to the surreal effortlessly.

I slide from her bed, my eyes pulling the room apart object by object as I begin to travel through it, my hands locked to my sides. Out of the corner of my eye her doorway is visible, it’s teetering and flexing, the white-wooden frame arching above me for what looks like miles. I blink, eliminating the image for now, although ultimately I know that it is the only way forward from here.

I turn slightly, my attention drawn by another large object, though this one is a cloaked, hiding its true intention. I raise my hand unsteadily, my toes curling into the toffee-toned carpet, as I hook my fingers under the soft velour material.

I tug gently and instantly the fabric is heaped at my feet, engulfing my ankles and working its way up to my knees. The object, a large brass mirror which echoes memories of a long-forgotten elderly relative, reflects an overpowering light. I look away instinctively, my hands grasping around my eyes as I search for a shield.

There is no need. Moments later and the light is gone, dispersed into her room perhaps, or maybe it even disappeared out of the looming doorway as I should have done by now. My hands fall slowly, distrusting, and I begin to squint at my reflection.

It doesn’t even strike me at first; my eyes are too preoccupied by the dark-chocolate pools that stare back at them. I move closer, my fingertips grazing the cool surface as my vision finally dips, revealing my whole being.

I’m too young; my small frame is overwhelmed by a long and detailed cream nightdress. There are three buttons near the neckline that radiate a dusty pink glow and the frilly hem is dirtied from the repeated fumbling of my childlike fingers. My hair is long, streaming down my back and breaking into a barrage of twists and curls that my mother cursed when brushing on a daily basis.

Disorientated, I stumble away from the mirror, the fallen cloth tripping and grabbing at me. I finally break free, my vision swirling, as I fall backwards into the strong arms of the wicker chair.

My palms begin to tingle, it spreads up my arms and then dives deep, deep down into the pit of my stomach. The floorboards begin to creak as she approaches, her voice calling my name, as I bury my head into the flats of my hands; covering my eyes once more.

There’s a sharp gush of air as she comes to crouch beside me, and I bate my breath as one of her hands falls deftly onto my rounded shoulder. The pressure of it intensifies, becoming more real somehow. I lift my head, opening my eyes with a jolt, only to meet a face full of blackness.
“Buffy?” Her name falls from my lips instantly as my hands search the surrounding surface. I’m still in bed, wrapped doubled-fold in her muggy duvet.

“I was about to give up!” I turn my head, following the cheerful hum of her voice as she makes her way towards me. “You sleep like the dead, Faith! I was only gone twenty minutes you know, I didn’t expect a coma to elapse.” A small smile creeps onto my face as she slides in beside me, her arm brushing mine. “Sit up then, this tray’s heavy you know.”

“Tray?” I repeat wearily, levering myself awkwardly into a sitting position. Buffy laughs gently and slides a heavy and flat force onto my legs.

“Yeah, for your breakfast, I didn’t know what you’d want so I went a little overboard.”

“Oh right.” I continue to stare straight ahead of me, unsure of what exactly she expects me to do with the may-as-well-be-invisible breakfast she’s made me.

“There’s those little boxes of cereal, um, pancakes, fruit, because fruit’s really good for you, and a yoghurt.” There’s a distinct pause, and I’m certain she’s studying my face for a reaction. “I thought you must like one of those things, you do, don’t you?”

“Sure.” I reply with a nod, my fingertips moving anxiously along the tray’s startlingly cold edge, leaving me barely satisfied in the knowledge that it’s square, metal and of a reasonable size.

“And I got a little carton of juice, because I figure that’s easier, right?” The tray begins to shift as she reaches onto it and collects something. “I put the straw in already.” Her hand clasps mine suddenly, turning it over and carefully opening the palm. I wet my lips curiously as her thumb caresses my skin, running delicately over the natural dips and curves before she replaces it with a rough, cardboard juice box.

“Thanks, B.” I raise the carton to my mouth, seeking out the straw with my lower lip before sliding it inside. I suck feverishly for moment, surprised by how thirsty I am, as my tongue tingles contentedly with a bitter-sweet citrus tang. “This is orange juice, right?” I check suddenly, fearing my senses might be leading me astray. “I-I don’t drink it much, that’s why I don’t know…” My mind flashes back to the empty refrigerator in my ex-motel room and I bite back a sigh. How the hell am I gonna explain that to B on top of all this?

“Yeah, here, try this.” I frown, and lower the carton to my side. “Open your mouth, silly.”

“What?” I question, quirking a suspicious eyebrow.

“Open your mouth so I can put things in it!”

“You know, under any other circumstance I’d charge you for this, B.”

“Why is everything always about sex with you!?” She exclaims dramatically, I stifle a laugh. “You know, I was going to make a real effort with your breakfast, but fine, if you want to be all rude about it then I won’t!”

“Come on, B, I was only joking.” I continue, still straining to keep a straight face. “You know, I’m really grateful and if you want I’ll just sit quietly and say nothing while you put your,” I bite my lip and shake my head hopelessly, “things in me.”

“You make me so angry sometimes!” She continues heatedly, “I make a real effort, and all you do is sit there and make jokes, BAD jokes! I don’t know why I even-oh-don’t make that face at me!” I heave a despondent sigh and pout miserably.

“I did say I was sorry.”

“No you did not!”

“Oh well, the thought was there, hey?” I grin cheekily, receiving a sharp nudge in return. “Hey!”

“Well you deserved that!” She reprimands, her tone softening slightly. “Now, open wide before this gets messy…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Faith, when I said messy, you know I was only joking, right?” With deliberate lethargy I begin to lick each one of my yoghurt covered fingers, ensuring that each one slides out of my mouth, clean, and with a slippery pop. “Faith…” She warns sternly, I roll my eyes and turn to face her direction.

“Foreplay is meant to be messy, B,” I respond with feigned sincerity, “and breakfast is just foreplay to lunch.”

“You are so perverse, do you know that?” She giggles, wiping her thumb across my chin to remove yet more stray yoghurt. “And you’re all sticky too.” Her hand lingers for a moment, still grazing my chin, as we share a brief and, in my case, unseen, smile.

I feel my mouth fall a moment later, back into an emotionless state, as her hand travels upwards and begins to brush loose strands of hair away from my face.

“Sorry.” She whispers, withdrawing. “We should, uh, get you in the shower, huh?” I blink away my confusion and force a grin.

“When you say ‘get me in the shower’…”

“Well, you’ll want help, right? So I’ll help you.” Buffy says quickly, her tone fleeting. “Do you want to get undressed in here or in the bathroom? Not that it matters really I guess.”

“Hold up, what do you mean it doesn’t matter?”

“Well, I’m going to have to see you naked anyway so…” My mouth falls open. “Faith, it’s just so I can make sure you’re okay! I mean if I leave you on your own you might slip or something, oh, and how will you even know which bottle is shampoo, hmm?”

“But, B,” I protest, my voice strained, “it’ll be weird!”

“No it won’t, you’re my friend and so that stuff doesn’t even matter.” She enforces as I chew my lip anxiously. “And besides, with the stuff you wear I’ve practically seen everything anyway.” I raise my eyebrows and release a resigned sigh.

“Fine, but only on one condition…”

“Sure, name it.” She responds calmly; I push myself into a sitting position, leaning onto her side of the bed.

“You have to be naked too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What?” Buffy shrieks, shocking me back onto my side of the bed with a jolt. “You have got to be kidding me!”

“Look, it’s only fair, and it’ll make me feel more comfortable!” I explain hastily, my eyes staring pleadingly into the darkness. “Come on, B, it’s not like I can see anything anyway.”

“So really it doesn’t matter if I’m naked or not!” She exclaims, her voice still painfully high. “You know, you better not be faking all of this!”

“Oh yeah,” I deadpan, “I’m going through hell just to see you naked!” The absurdity of it all suddenly comes crashing down on the both of us, and there’s a short silence in which her hand comes to rest securely on mine. “I’d just feel more comfortable.” I repeat softly, my fingers rising to entwine with hers. “You get that, right?”

“I do,” She sighs, “and I’m sorry, that was a really stupid thing to say.”

“Don’t be, at first I thought you just wanted to cop a feel too.” Buffy laughs and shoves me playfully.

“Don’t flatter yourself, F!”