~ Bette Porter ~

I have my arms wrapped around her again. It feels so natural to be comforting her. I feel like I want to devote my time to defending her. Protecting her from ever feeling hurt again. I’m clinging to her in the hopes that she’ll understand. I’m praying that my arms are saying what I want to say.

She said not to pity her.

Ha.

Pity her? The thought never entered my mind. I’m trying to tell her. Reassure her.

Does she have any idea how hard it is to let her know? How can I tell her I’m scared. Does she even know she has the Powerful Porter metaphorically on her knees?

For now, I thought only to reassure her but somehow my mouth keeps going.

Be asking her to marry you in a minute. Stop talking, Bette!

“.. What an incredible-“

Oh yeah, stop mid-sentence. Smooth, Porter. Articulate.

I stare furiously at a section of the floor, as if it had somehow gravely insulted me. I feel slightly embarrassed at my words. She’s gone quiet, the silence unsettles me. But I feel her turning in my arms, she’s twisting her body round to face me. I should probably stop touching her. But for purely selfish reasons, I don’t. I keep my arms at her sides.

It’s a mad suggestion, one that I most certainly will not be voicing: I feel as if we’ve been together forever. I feel as though we’ve stood in this spot a hundred times, stood here so long that we’ve moulded into this perfect stance. Together.

If I were ever to describe this to somebody, I swear they’d think I was referring to a lengthy intimate relationship. I feel the start of something hatching within me, something that’s going to grow stronger. I don’t feel the need to fight it.

She shakes her head gently and her eyes are glazed over like she’s coming out of a trance. Suddenly I’m lost in her again. The fog clears from her face and she looks set to say something.

She’s going to leave. What do I do?

Her pink lips are parting slightly as she prepares to speak. I don’t give her a chance as I act on every force in my 30 year old body; I diminish the distance between our mouths, let them touch before instantly pulling back.

Holy fuck.

Just a second on her lips and my lungs are completely devoid of function.

Well, if my organs are failing, I may as well kiss her again.

My justification seems absolutely perfect and I place a hand at the nape of her neck before easing her body to mine. I get a hint of the twinkle in her hazel eyes before she lowers her lids and we stand breast to breast, mouth to mouth.

My eyeballs roll back in their sockets and a kaleidoscopic burst of colours, music, emotion erupts magnificently about the room, reflecting the tremendous sensations exploding inside me.

I’m a child again and the rollercoaster ride is turning my stomach, I’m screaming for it to go faster despite nursing the tiny inkling of fear in the back of my mind. I’m hoping for the ride to keep on, praying against all logical thought that it won’t end. But it always does.

The kiss is finished, but she’s still holding onto my face; our mouths parted and breathing heavily into each other’s. It doesn’t feel as though the ride has finished yet.

I rest the right side of my face on hers, my forehead coming slightly higher than her own and I cling to her, as I clung to the safety bars all those years ago.

“Please don’t let it end” I whisper softly, eyes closed.

A moment later and my own words hit me. I vocalised that thought. No damage control this time, however, as I feel her lean further into my body and whisper.

“I’m not leaving.”