Loving the Wounded (pt. 2 of Typical Teenybopper)

I had no clue what Chris’s issue was. The most frustrating feeling to me is when the one you love most freezes her heart to you, melts enough so you can just taste her essence, then freezes again abruptly and attempts to smash her solid self. Chris had just been released from the hospital. When I asked her sister about Chris’s experience with her psychiatrist, her sister giggled at me.
“Shrink? Hee hee! Her head is shrunk! Hee hee hee!”
It’s fifteen-year-olds like this that ruin the general perception of maturity for the rest of the teenage world. Then again, I had always believed that the two-year difference between Chris and her sister was a millennium with regards to maturity. After Chris’s arm-slashing, I was, of course, proven slightly inaccurate.
“OK, but did she tell you anything about the shrink? Was she helped? Is she… is she… talking? To me?” I tried to be patient. Tried REALLY hard.
“She seems OK. She just spends hours alone in her room – but always DOING something. She used to just sit in her room and do nothing. Probably thinking about something. Now she just occupies her mind and her time. It makes no sense at all. You know what I think? Chris has a booooy-friend!!! Hee hee!”
I exhaled sharply, but resumed natural breathing quickly before I looked suspicious when I calmed down. Of course. Her sister knew nothing about us. Her sister was rather useless. That was quite enough for me.

*******

I wonder sometimes if I look gay. What does “gay” look like? I know the whole “bull dyke” persona consists of a shaven head and leather jackets. That’s getting antiquated, I’m thinking. Nobody knows Chris is a lesbian because she doesn’t have any “look” in particular, at least beyond preppy blonde cheerleader. And nobody knows I’m a dyke. Well, for now. As far as I know. But nobody figures it out because we just don’t look gay. In public, at least.

*******

Chris finally returned to school on Monday. Everyone knew what she had done. Nobody knew why. I exchanged glances with her in the halls. Her look was that of the haunted insane. I couldn’t bear it. I nearly fell over when she finally approached me and spoke to me.
“Well… How are you?” Cautiously said. 
Well isn’t it ironic… Dontcha think.
“Chris… I couldn’t stand it. Why…?”
“SH! I don’t need the whole fucking school knowing my business. Look. I’ll see you later since I know that’s what you want.”
“Chris…”
“I’ll be at your house at seven.”

*******

Sometimes the things teenagers say are so trite. That, or completely irrelevant altogether. Our dialogue is boring, I’ll grant you. All we ever hear sometimes are the whys and the what's and the “well…uh…’s” Or between us, a dull banter of “Chris…” “Stevie…” “Chris…” “Stevie…” and so on and so forth. But sometimes things can get so strange… What else are we to say?

********

We were in her room, just holding hands. Nothing else. I was awaiting the final blow. I knew somewhat what the verbal bullet would resemble. It would be freezing chrome, fast but not quite fast enough, and, of course, followed by nothing – no merciful shot to put me down and end the misery. And it would run along the lines of, “I’m really sorry, but you know… It wasn’t meant to be… Who knows what ____ would think… We should just be friends…” Yadda yadda… Bullshit. I braced myself.
“Stevie, baby, you know we haven’t been as close as we could have been. You know I haven’t given myself over to you entirely. I couldn’t. I’m such an ass…” Tears sprang to her eyes. Damn, I hate that cliché. 
“I understand. I always told you I’d understand. Your reputation means something to you. And no matter how irritated I got, I could never bring myself to take away that which is important to you.”
“You understand. Yeah, I know you understand. You understand everything.” Chris was running out of useless chatter. She cut to the chase. Something taut within her seemed to have broken. She fell onto me, clutching me as though I were the one to run out onto the street looking for death, looking to leave her as she had tried to leave me. 
“Stevie… Please… I know I make it seem like you mean hardly anything to me… but you will never know just how much I love you. I will give myself up to you entirely. I will give you my heart. Just please…,” she sobbed, got quiet, and hesitated then whispered, “don’t break it…”

Sex is not a healer. Sex is not even a remedy, for me. Just look at the same unhappy couples fucking themselves over and over again, literally and figuratively, watching in their ejaculation their lives spattering away, leaving their bodies and sapping them in spirit. But sex is still good for the closeness. Damn, do I relish the feeling. If I could only have that feeling of intimacy with Chris for the rest of my life – the knowledge that someone is surrendering herself to me entirely, while I drop my shield and bare my soft side – I would give up the power to orgasm for the rest of my life. 

I lifted Chris’s soft face and kissed her tears off her cheeks, then softly met her lips with mine. After everything she went through, Chris still knew passion. Since she was already on top of me, she simply hefted herself up slightly to kiss me sweetly and strongly, her hands roaming under my back and pulling me closer to her. Terrible with each other’s clothes removal, we quickly shed our own shields, and were back together warming each others bodies in seconds. Her tongue slipped into my mouth, softly invading but almost asking permission, then warming my own tongue in the same soft caress that we warmed each other’s bodies. 
I wanted her to know pleasure. She already knew way too much pain; I have always believed in balance. I rolled her off of me and began to lick and suck at her already stiff nipples. I think she had briefly buried the memory of this good feeling. As I traveled down and began teasing her clit, she began to lilt the tune of bliss. My tongue glided rapidly; her taste, like a warm sweet ocean but not as salty, filled my senses – I heard her breathing and sounds increasing, her climax resting on a clear, sharp note. Chris’s guard was down, her inhibitions were gone, her heart and soul were mine. Chris obviously perceived something similar. For the first time, we rolled into something we had before disdained as something “that would never work,” something we would before feel too foolish attempting because of its closeness and difficulty at times. Chris’s light body melted into mine above me, her stomach in my chest, her sweet pussy in my face. She bent over my pussy, slipped one finger in and one arm around my leg, and started licking me with smooth deliberation, massaging my G-spot with a finger. In return, I wrapped my arms tightly in ecstasy around her lower back, driving her body even closer into mine, and licking her clit the way she liked it- “fast and flowery,” as I had once described it. She murmured, “Here comes the romantic part;” then we both came, my body responding to her pleasure and my own tensions relaxed by her tongue. She rotated herself, kissing me deeply, smiling for the first time in days, and whispering, “well, that worked.”

We pulled the cover over us, and she slept naked in my arms. The chill awoke me at about 3 in the morning, and I pulled her cold sleeping body closer to my furnace-like warmth, feeling her subconsciously give in and cuddle close to me. I couldn’t sleep too well, so I watched her instead. My loving feelings for her gave way, and, like squeezing blood from a stone, I lost my cold hard rock persona and allowed the tears to run out of my eyes. 

*******

Is she healed? Is she stable? I still am not sure. No matter how close I get to her, I still cannot be her. I don’t know if she meant every word she said. I don’t know how she handles rocky situations – whether or not she can hold herself together. Regardless, give up on her I can’t, for I love her so deeply. Who knows how she will weather the blows. Time will tell. She’s losing her bubbles, but gaining some depth. Maybe one day she will not fear who she is. I hope…