Dreams of 18(116)

I went all silent after that, all speechless but he kept going.

“I want that look from you, Violet. I want it and I’m going to put that look in your eyes whether you want it or not, got that? Now come on, I’m running out of patience here. I’ve heard a thousand goddamn nos from you in the past one month and I’m going to lose it now.”

Oh Jesus.

What else could I do but walk up to him and tell him that he was an idiot. That he had no reason to be jealous. That the reason I had that look in my eyes was because I was daydreaming about him and me.

When I told him the last part, his nostrils flared and he went for me.

He threw me over his shoulder and brought me back to his rose garden, where a priest was waiting for us along with Richard – thank God, their friendship is still going strong and didn’t get ruined because of that almost panic attack incident, Brian and Billy.

And that’s how we got married: him in a black suit and me in shorts and a t-shirt because he didn’t give me enough time to wear the white dress he bought me.

It’s okay though. I wore the white dress later that night.

In this moment, I step up to him.

I get on his feet and wind my free arm, the one that’s not holding the roses he picked out for me, around his neck.

His hands settle on my waist and my body goes flush with his.

And the roses?

They get trapped between us like they did on my eighteenth birthday.

Craning my neck up, I say, “I’m sorry I kept saying no to you.”

“A thousand times,” he growls, squeezing my waist.

I guess, he’s still kinda pissed about that. “I was scared that you were scared.”

His eyes go all liquid at that. All liquid and emotional and beautiful. “I was. I am. But you inspire me to be brave, remember?”

I swallow. “Yeah. You inspire me to be brave too.”

An emotion ripples through his features and I rise up on my tiptoes to press a soft kiss on his beard. “Happy first wedding anniversary, honey.”

“Yeah. It’s that.”

“Oh, that reminds me. Don’t be an ass to my mom tomorrow when she calls, okay? Be nice.”

He gives me a blank look but his jaw tics.

Yeah, he does not like my mom and she doesn’t like him. She still thinks he’ll leave me brokenhearted even though, we’re married now and it’s been two years since he came back for me and I left Connecticut to be with him. And he hasn’t forgiven or forgotten her years of neglect.

But I don’t want them fighting over me.

“Come on. It’s a big day.” I bite my lip and peek up at him through my eyelashes. “It could be your gift to me.”

His eyes narrow in a familiar dangerous and delicious way. “I thought my gift to you was reading that crazy Bukowski guy.”

“Hey, he’s not crazy. He’s my favorite writer. Besides, he was the one who made me kiss you that night.”

He brings his face closer to mine. “How’s that?”

I can’t believe I never told him this story. “Well, he said to find that one thing in the world that we love and then let it kill us. I’d already found that one thing in the world that I loved. You know, when I was sixteen. So I figured that at eighteen, I’d steal a kiss from you and let you kill me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yup.”

He comes even closer to me, closer and closer, until he’s blocking the moon and all the light of the world.

Until he’s all I see.

“How about I just kiss you back this time?”

Laughing with my whole heart, I go for another kiss on the night of my yet another birthday. The roses are still trapped between us and I’m still standing up on his feet.

The only difference is that these roses are fresh and velvety, instead of dying and rejected, and he’s kissing me back.

Oh and we’re kissing in our world.

A world we’ve built on love and dreams.

A world where he’s mine and I’m his.

Forever and ever.

***




People go through lives barely living.

They never go crazy.

They never crave something to the point of pain.

Their chest never hurts at the sight of someone.

They don’t write in diaries. They don’t collect dreams in their big, fat hobo. They don’t create new worlds. They don’t stare at the moon and they don’t climb up to the roof at midnight. They don’t jump in the water with their clothes on and they don’t fall in love with someone at first sight.

I could’ve been one of those people.

I could’ve lived a dull, ordinary life but she came along and changed everything.

Because of her I tasted the snow last winter. Because of her I read poetry in front of the fire one night.

Because of her I dance with her at midnight to the songs from her kickass playlist. And because of her, instead of running inside when it rains, I stand on my spot and let the drops drench me.

But most of all, because of her, I’m learning to dream. A thing people wonder about.

I’m learning to want and desire and crave.

I’m learning to live.

Because she’s a girl made of moon and magic. She’s a girl who has streaks of gold in her thick hair, red as fuck lips. And she’s a girl who glows in the moonlight.