In Her Arms
 

Spend all your time waiting
For that second chance.
For the break that will make it OK.'
There's always one reason To feel not good enough,
And it's hard at the end of the day.
I need some distraction,
Oh, beautiful release.
The memory seeps from my veins.
Let me be empty And weightless and maybe I'll find some peace tonight.

---

I cup her face between my hands, the smooth soft skin of her cheek against my palm, my calloused thumb grazing the metal next to her eye. It's warm, like flesh. I hear her sigh, watch her eyes close, lashes casting long shadows across the graceful planes of her face. . reluctantly, I pull my thoughts from that dangerous place. I know where that path leads and my feelings are too conflicted tonight.

I sink lower, down into the warm, scented water, and soap my limbs. I'm exhausted, every fibre in my body craves sleep, but my mind can't or won't clear. I close my eyes, even for a second, and all I can see is her. That angry, confused expression, red-rimmed eyes that she hopes I won't notice. My hand on her shoulder. A wordless action of comfort. I could never put what I meant with that touch into words.

Lord knows, I've tried. In my lonely, weak moments, standing alone in the centre of a darkened room. My voice trembling, stumbling over words dusty from lack of use. My voice catches in my throat and a sob wells up in its place. I close my eyes, waiting for the tears to fall. I don't do that anymore. I pulled away. Terrified of the comfort I wanted to offer her, I pulled away before she could. I do regret it now. But I'm drained. It's been a hard day, on so many levels. I could just use some company. But it's so nice to lie here, in the quiet privacy of my own personal space.

The candlelight flickers, sending a glow around the room, on my naked form, distorted slightly through the water. A well-thumbed novel lies by the bathtub, unread. I reach out to grasp the glass of single malt whiskey. It burns a scalding hot trail down into my belly, and the warmth engendered there seeps into my entire body. I close my eyes and the rest of the world just dissolves. . .

---

In the arms of the angel,
Fly away from here.
From this dark, cold hotel room,
And the endlessness that you fear.
You are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie.
You're in the arms of the angel,
May you find some comfort there.

---

Wincing at the feel of cold air against my bare skin, I hastily towel myself dry and pull on my bathrobe as I walk to the door, all thoughts of quiet privacy rudely interrupted. The cool silk sticks to me. Within a moment she is standing inside the room, tears still drying on her face. The last person I would want to see me like this, skin flushed and damp, barely dressed. I am unnerved by her presence, but my attempt at self-delusion makes me smile inwardly. She is the first person I would choose to see me like this. Wisps of blonde hair have escaped from their chignon and she brushes them back awkwardly, pats them in place with her hand, a blush of shame at her disarray painting her alabaster features. She is self-conscious as a teenager in my presence. I reach out to her, trying not to think how close my comparison is to the truth. . .

"I needed to see you". Her voice is oddly strained, tremulous. "I wanted to thank you � again." Her hands twist together painfully, hypnotically.

Without thinking, I place my hand on hers, separating the fingers. I can feel the tension there and try to soothe it. "It's alright. It's been a long day, a hard day, for both of us." All of us. I meant to say all of us.

"It hurts." She sounds so strangled, so choked up with emotions she is used to supressing. Or maybe she isn't. Who knows how she vents her feelings when I'm not around. . . I draw her a little closer and we sink onto the couch. Stay like that quietly, for a long time, as I try to keep my mind clear. . .

---

So tired of the straight line,
And everywhere you turn
There's vultures and thieves at your back.
The storm keeps on twisting,
You keep on building the lies
That you make up for all that you lack.
It don't make no difference,
Escaping one last time,
It's easier to believe in this sweet madness,
Oh, this glorious sadness
That brings me to my knees.

---

"You don't have to thank me. There has never been one moment when I've regretted bringing you into our lives."

"Hasn't there?" Her voice surprises me, when she speaks. So hard, and cold, devoid of feeling.I deserve it. It's a knife to the heart, stabbed straight through my back. Oh, she knows how to hurt, to wound. But she learned it all from me.

I pull back, maintaining friendly eye contact, nothing more or less. The temptation to let my guard down is too strong, too sweet, too potentially disastrous. But her eyes bely her words. I look into them, wanting only to get lost there, and my voice is soft when I can trust it to speak.

"No. Never. It wouldn't be the same without you. I wouldn't be the same." It's more than I meant to have said, should have said, but God, I think I owe her that much. She is silent, for so long I wonder if she is daydreaming. Wonder if she ever does. Sitting there, staring into space in a daze.

After a while, I smile tiredly and rise, rubbing the painful knots in my neck. She follows suit, moves my hands, replacing them with her. Kneading softly at my flesh. A sigh escapes my lips and she lets her hands fall. I keep my face from her as my eyes fill with tears. I cross the room and mess with some papers, quickly dashing the moisture from my eyes. When I turn around, her back is to me, her eyes fixed on the obsidian sky, scattered with stars. I let my gaze wander over her reflection and take in her trembling lower lip and the solitary tear coursing down her cheek. Brushing it away, I cup her face between my hands, the smooth soft skin of her cheek against my palm, my calloused thumb grazing the metal next to her eye. It's warm. . .

I fold her into a tight embrace as she convulses, crying. Stroking her back, her hair. I don't know at what point my tears start to mingle with hers. When I start to lean into her arms too, taking as much comfort there as I offer. Too dangerous. . .

She steps away first. I don't think I can move at all. Her voice, a whisper. "Thank you, Kathryn." Her lips on my cheek, only for a moment. Then, the room is silent and I'm alone, again. The bath water is cold, the candles guttered out long ago. Her scent still hangs in the air. Slowly, I move my hand to the place her lips brushed.

---

In the arms of the angel,
Fly away from here.
In this dark, cold, hotel room,
And the endlessness that you fear.
You are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie.
You're in the arms of the angel,
May you find some comfort here.

---

The End