Page 198 of Camp Bliss
When she looks up at me over a latte in a boho coffee shop, I understand that hope can be distilled in one, fragile smile.
Then she’s sleeping across the fifth wheel, her nearness has my heart threatening to defect.
And in the next moment, she’s waiting for me on a sunlit dock, her feet trailing in the water, and her smile lighting up my whole world.
Then she’s balancing above me, teetering between fear and power, and in a flash, my lips are on hers. Finally, finally.
She’s bending over a gravel path, in work gloves with dirt on her knees, driving me out of my goddamn mind.
She’s bleeding and vulnerable and letting me soothe her.
She’s shaking, wrapped in a towel, and I’m ready to commit murder.
She’s telling me that I’m the one she loves.
She’s calling my name. Owning every ounce of my joy.
“Zach… Oh, God, Zach!”
And I’m breaking apart. Splintering into ten thousand points of light.
Holding nothing back.
* * *
We lie together,practically melted into each other, for what feels like an age.
But maybe it’s just moments because I’m still catching my breath and the chill in the night air feels like heaven on my sweat-misted back.
“Mmmmm.”Greta’s sweet little sigh grounds me, returning me to time’s proper flow.
I take my weight onto my elbows so I won’t crush her and then press a kiss to the slope of her neck.
I glance down at our still-fused bodies and grin.Holy shit, I get to do this now.
She sniffs in amusement. “What are you grinning at?”
I shake my head and kiss her on the tip of her nose. “Just my own good fortune.”
Greta rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. She shifts her hips. I’ve grown soft inside her. The prick of grief when I pull out of her takes me unawares. But when Greta nudges me onto my back and tucks herself under my arm, a flood of warmth washes it away.
Holy shit, I get to do this now.
I draw her in close, reveling in the feel of her fingertips grazing the patch of curls on my chest.
I don’t know if I’ve ever felt so relaxed… so replete. Greta’s earlier words come back to me, and I know why.
You don’t have to prove anything. Everything you are is already proof.
A sigh as big as the gulf stream heaves out of me.
I don’t know if she really understands what a gift those words were.
And I can’t help it. I sigh again.
“Tired, baby?” she asks.
I shake my head and smile at her. “No, just…” How do I find the words? How do I explain the relief of being understood? Of chasing after validation—not from others, but for myself—in striving for perfection. In striving at everything. In school. In work. In building a fence. In erecting a challenge course. In balancing a budget. In damn near everything.
