To Be Free (14 page)

I ran out of steam then,
lowering my eyes and shaking so much a bit of coffee spilled onto
my hands. I carefully put it down on the table by my feet, holding
my head in my hands and breathing out a quiet swear.

For a while he didn't say
anything, regaining his composure and setting his own half-empty
mug on the coffee table by our feet. He then leaned back and
spoke.

"You know, I found an old book
once about the Greek creation myth," he began softly, and I looked
up at him to see him smiling sadly to the ceiling. "They believed
that there were three kinds of human beings at first - men, women,
and a mixture of the two. The first were from the sun, second from
the earth and the third of the moon. They were completely round,
and Zeus cut them in half to make them less of a threat to the
gods.

"They would
then search for their missing halves; those who had been completely
male sought out males and females who had been entirely female
sought out other females. Then the third ones, the children of the
moon, searched for the half of them that was the opposite gender."
He laughed once dryly, without humour. "The fucking
Greeks
were more
accepting than we are, and yet we're the more advanced race? I call
fucking bullshit."

I laughed along with him,
though not with humour. Then, he put a hand on my shoulder,
suddenly much closer, and offered me a kind smile. A sad one, on
the verge of breaking again.

For a while we just stared at
one-another, not saying a word, but as if it was fucking planned
from the beginning to the very end, we fell into one-another. In
the eyes of the N.O., we performed sacrilege.

Because of this one fear people
had, that their faith would die out and be forgotten the same way
the Mayan faith was lost, they revolted. Spent fortunes on science
to figure out how to pinpoint people like me and him would be born,
and then kill us before we came to the world. For people so against
abortion, they were keen to drag out every last one of us from the
womb and kill us.

Fucking
hypocrites. All we've ever wanted was to love and be accepted - we
never chose to be born into a world where people look at us and
scoff, think we're going through a phase or that we're going with
what's popular. That we don't know what we want and that we'll grow
out of it, that we should give it time and that we'll change our
ways. They make us feel like being who we are is a bad thing, and
we grow up wishing that we were different, when what we are
is
wonderful
and
amazing
and
completely fucking
natural.

Just because
you believe something is wrong doesn't make it wrong. To us it's
our truth, it's always going to be our truth, and we can't change
who we are. We shouldn't
want
to change who we are to make you happy, but when
your family around you never stops saying things such as
people like that only want attention
or
they don't know what
they want; they're still young
.

Who gave you the divine right
to tell us what we think is wrong? Who told you that you held power
over us and had the right to make us feel weak? All we've ever
wanted was to love, to love and be loved... we shouldn't have to
die for that.

If you think
for a second we're making a big deal out of nothing, consider this:
throughout history, we've been put to death for who we are. Have
you ever had that happen to you? Have straight men and women ever
had to die for their sexual life,
which
should be their own fucking business?
Have
you had to go to sleep at night fearing you'll be kicked out of
your home, left to die on the street and shot for who you are?
Beaten to death? Mocked and abused by your peers, so that you grow
up to have social and psychological issues?

You've never
grown up in a society where you've been told that you
have
to state your
sexual orientation if you're not straight, you're pressured to let
the world know even though it's none of their business. Then, once
you do, you're told to shut up and that you're wrong. To erase that
from your mind and conform to what
society
wants, and that what you
want doesn't matter one fucking lick.

You've been eating your buffet
this entire time, so why can't you just leave us our crumbs in the
corner and let us enjoy them in peace?

Seb's kneeling beside me, arms
wrapped around me and face pressed into the crook of my neck as I
cry without shame into my hands, the memory burned into my mind and
playing, again and again. I spared him the more graphic details,
but I still parted with the most important aspects that make up the
story.

He didn't say a word the entire
time, simply holding my hand and playing with my fingers as the
firelight bathed us in its warm hues. The sun has left us
completely and the moon graces our presence, and by now the flames
have died to embers, glowing faintly with the wind.

For the longest time he doesn't
say a single word, letting me cry my heart out and not judging me
for it - because that's what your greatest regret does to you; it
forces you to shut up and to keep it to yourself, while the
emotions gather on the other side of the dam anxious to be
released.

When it's released, it's pure
agony.

Now
he
sings a quiet song, a
lullaby I don't know, and while he's not the best singer in the
world, it still makes my heart throb in painful ways as I hear him
attempt to calm me down. The same way I do my best to calm him down
when he's upset.

I look up as he sidles over to
kneel in front of me, holding my face up so our eyes can meet and
he can give me that smile of his, a smile that says it'll be okay.
It forces my lips to return the gesture, albeit shakily.

Fuck, I do love the man, don't
I?

"Now you can heal," he
whispers, thumbs wiping at my eyes. His expression is timid, a shy
and innocent look that's full of nothing but the purest intentions,
and my hands rise of their own accord to map out the contours of
his jaw, cheekbones and lips. When my finger brushes over the
chapped skin, he kisses it briefly and smiles.

"Is there a rule as to how long
you have to wait before you fall?" I question, my voice catching as
the memory threatens to resurface. I make a face as it tries to
bring me back down, and he notices the flicker in my
expression.

Shaking his head, he rises
slightly while kneeling still and presses his forehead on mine,
making him temporarily taller than me.

"I'm willing to catch you," he
replies. "I heal you, you heal me. Deal?"

"Undo what this fucked up
dystopia's done to us?" I ask, and he nods. "Man, that's a tall
order. Good luck."

"I know how to go about it," he
counters, and I arch a curious eyebrow, trying to force all images
of that night from my mind, to varying degrees of failure. "I'll
love you every day of forever, if you'll let me; I'll be your
confidant, and you'll be mine, and we'll crash and burn together;
and we'll only do the things we both want, not just me or you, at a
pace we can agree on."

I can't help the smile that
forces its way onto my lips, his hands threading through my
hair.

"I like
the
we
part," I
muse, and the man laughs. He tips his head back to do so, and when
he looks back at me his eyes shine with a mischievous joy, a new
look that I can't say I don't like.

"There's a
lot more to like," he laughs, his eyes lowering briefly. Biting his
lower lip a moment, he licks them as he looks back up.
"
Lots
more."

Then the man claims my lips,
and it's everything Seb himself is; gentle, fierce, sensual and
chaste.

Basically, a fucking tease.

I accuse him of just that
against his lips, moving ever so slowly against mine, and all the
bastard does is smile and laugh, returning the favour with
something to do about good things coming to those who wait.

It works wonders at making me
curious about his plans.

He leans in, hands falling to
my shoulders as he settles himself partially in my lap. Then his
hands slip into my hair, arms resting against my shoulders and
allowing him to press his chest against mine just enough to feel
his heartbeat. My heart stutters at the touch of skin-on-skin, as
neither of us has put the clingy suit back on yet, and I
shiver.

He calls me passionate, so I
have the right to call him sensual. Fucking tease.

The thing with Running is that
you never know how much time you have. Maybe that's why neither of
us has offered a complaint about how quickly we're falling into
things, knowing that we could be shot in the next few minutes for
all we know. Maybe that's why we've fallen so quickly and
completely, trusting each other not only because we have to and
because we want to, but because somewhere deep down we have the
fear that we don't have that much time together.

And God only knows how I wish
each moment lasted an eternity.

Finally, after a small piece of
eternity, the fucking tease deepens the kiss, tasting of dried
fruit more than anything. He tips my head up to give himself the
advantage of height even though he's already exploiting it, and my
hands run down his bony back. Seb makes a small, pleased noise,
leaning forward slightly and breaking the kiss momentarily to
breathe.

"I could play the xylophone on
your ribs," I comment idly, and he pauses an inch from my lips,
already diving back for another slow, sensual kiss.

"Fuck you," he whispers with no
venom to back up his swear, and I grin at him.

"If that's what you want," I
laugh, and he shuts me up in the most effective manner, deciding my
mouth has better uses than talking. I admit, I agree.

This time he changes tactic.
His hands slip from my hair, leaving me free reign to match his
movements, and instead run down along my back, and back up
carefully along my stomach. When he gets back to my shoulders he
pushes gently, a quiet request for me to lie down that I follow,
and he copies my movements while never breaking the kiss. Finally,
once I'm fully settled on the grass, he pulls away and looks at me
a moment, a hand rising to brush my fringe from my eyes as he
watches me try to catch my breath.

He mutters
something along the lines of
I'm so
fucking screwed
before he claims my lips
once more, but this one's a bit different. It's still got his
little playful nature, but there's a hint of something else.
Something I can't quite identify...

...until he bites my lower lip
and forces a gasp from my throat, grinning in victory as I arch up
slightly. I know that look, that dangerous gleam in his eyes
promising a good time.

It's desire.

Two can play at this game.

For a second we grin at each
other, his expression letting me know he's fully aware that I've
taken up his silent challenge, and without warning I grab his face
and pull it down for the kind of kiss I wanted to give him earlier
but forced myself not to. I pour everything into it, all my
emotions - the passion and the desire I hold for this man, the
anger at the pain we've both suffered, the regret of Kenny's
passing, the love I've never been able to give; and, I admit it,
the lust I have for him.

This morning I was being gentle
by my standards, nothing more than a passionate show of affection
with no hinted promises - this time, I'm not. I'm not, and he knows
it and he returns it with equal fervor, making a sound that sends
chills down my spine.

This time it's a full-on
battle, and neither of us is taking prisoners. He's cupping my face
as well, leaning forward and trying to use gravity to his advantage
as best as he can while making himself comfortable, sitting on my
stomach. I let him keep that little safeguard, giving him the
reigns to call it quits when he wants to back out.

He doesn't seem to want to back
out.

Finally, breathing becomes a
necessity so we both break it, gasping for air. His hair is
completely unsalvageable right now, my hands having messed it up
beyond repair, and I doubt I look very different. He breathes a
quiet swear, dropping his head onto my shoulder and practically
shaking.

"...what the
fuck are you doing to me?" he breathes against my skin, and I bite
back the sound that claws its way along my vocal chords, tensing.
His hands rest on my chest, fingers digging into my skin slightly.
"I wish I knew how to control all these fucking emotions -
fuck,
Sarah
never
made me feel like this, and she was
smoking
. Then again..."

I ask a
quiet
what
, still
looking towards the night sky invisible to us from the canopy of
the willow tree, swallowing thickly as I regulate my
breathing.

Seb props himself up onto his
elbows, catching my eyes.

"She never
had the kind of sex appeal you do," he admits, his face darkening
with his words - I'm proud to announce it goes all the way down to
his chest the longer he speaks. "Not only that, but when you look
at me like - yeah like
that
exactly, fucking hell Quinn - I can't be held
responsible for what I do next."

I grin at him, and he swears at
me.

"I'm serious; I'm trying really
hard to stop myself from doing something I'm going to regret right
now, because we're moving really fucking quickly, Quinn," he
admits, and I nod. He's right on that part. "Plus I don't exactly
feel at ease with the thought that anyone could walk in on two
horny twenty-two year old men who, by all rights, should be
dead."