It is so clear, what we feel, what we have with each other, and yet, when we do speak, we speak in riddles, in a made-up language we translate for each other – I brushed her hair one night last week, just to do it, just to feel the curls slide between my fingers, feel the bend of her skull against my palm. I told her I loved to take care of her. That I always would. She held me so hard after that, wordless. But we knew.

Yesterday? Yesterday she baked me brownies. Ashley baked. Brownies. And I smiled, and I laughed, and I kissed her, I let her kiss the taste of brownies off my tongue, and I told her I loved… those brownies. And we knew.

Or, did we? Did we understand, or did we just keep throwing out words like breadcrumbs, creating false trails, were we shaking out meaning-fraught phrases before each other like sheer curtains, hoping to expose and disguise our feelings at the same time? I love her. It is so simple, so strong. I think it shines out of me when the lights are dim, this love. And, yet… I have never told her so.

I step in front of her. She twitches, it is almost imperceptible, and pulls her hands in closer, folds them over her stomach, and I feel it tear at my heart, that vulnerability.

“Ash.”

She glances at me and then focuses her sight low, somewhere past me, mumbles. “Forgot my keys in the club.” Frowns, her jaw twitching, and when she looks at me then, I recognize that look – we are back at the schoolyard, arguing about Josie, pretending we don’t care, intending to hurt. “Must be off my game, Spence. I used to have the ‘Storm out, and leave ‘em’ routine down pat before, you know, in my whor-”

I drop to my knees before her, lay my hands on her jeans, feel the bones of her kneecaps shift under my palms, draw in the warmth of her. “I love you, Ashley.”

Her eyes are wide as she looks at me, and she blinks, shakes her head a little, and I clutch at her knees, force her to hear me. “I love you. And I was jealous back there, afraid you would want her over me, I wasn’t upset, not like…,” I shake my head, want her to understand, “Not like that. Not because of that.”

I see it in her eyes, as always, and she bites her lips as the tears start, and then she is on her knees as well, and in my arms. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” It spills out of her like rain, like pain, and I take it in, I hold her close, I say it back, I finally say it all to her.

My lips are near her ear and I kiss her near her earlobe, feel her shudder against me, breathe in deep, feel her hold me tighter in response, and then I whisper. Even so low, my voice shakes, with need, with remnants of fear, with love. “Ash, I’m ready.”

She pulls back, cheeks anointed by tears, eyes large and red. I smile. I lean in, kiss her. I taste her tears with my tongue. I wash them away. When I pull back and look at her, I am ready to say the words.

“Ash, I want you.” She is looking into my eyes, searching, questioning. “And I won’t stop. I won’t stop.”

The smile she gives me is all Ashley then, but a different kind, new – wavery, watery with the edge of tears, and all mine. Mine.

She took me to her room, then. And I made love to her. And I didn’t stop. I won’t stop.