Ashes Remain

by Alethea Stauron

  “Why do you do this,” she asked.

  “This what?”

  She dips her shoulders, “I asked you first.”

  “You know not…” curling his lips between teeth. Lucius raises his chin, looking away as he thinks. He searches for anything to say. Something that would make sense to her. He taps his fingers on the counter. “You don’t know what you ask. Or what you’re freely willing to give. And… that’s dangerous.”

  She giggles with misreading, “So I’m turning you on again? Is that what’s dangerous?”

  He chuckles, “Not exactly what I was saying, but something like that… I guess. I am sensitive for you. That’s pretty clear.”

  “Well, let’s eat something,” brushing her hair back with chipper fingers, “Maybe, it’ll help us think. We can talk later.”

  “Yeah… later.” He reaches out with a step toward the refrigerator, “You want me to make something?” He grabs the handle, “I could make just about anything with what you might have in here. I’ve been known to be crafty. And, I can master any recipe, no matter what my friend says.”

  She strolls over, bumping into him, nearly spooning herself between him and the refrigerator. He huffs a silent laugh. She shuffles through bags of frozen potato puffs and peas, pushing through paper wrapped items from a nearby delicatessen. “I think I have some creamy curry or rice balls in here somewhere. You can master that.”

  “Oh… um,” trying to wipe the disgust from his expression, “Baby… um… I’m not real fond of foreign food.”

  Josephine raises a brow. “I thought you’ve been all over the world as a soldier. I love diversity on any menu. That’s weird… you don’t like foreign food? Are you strictly a burger guy?”

  “There are just some things I…” Trying not to sound impolite, “There’s just some things I can’t bring myself to eat.”

  “Like what? What’s so bad you can’t eat it?” She swivels back, “Sushi? The raw kind? That has to be it.” She rummages through her frozen packages again, “I don’t have that here. You need fresh salmon.”

  He grabs his stomach as if becoming sick, “That’s not it but… I never eat raw meat either.”

  “What is it?” She closes her freezer door and whips a smile back at him. “You’ve gotta let me know.” She studies his face turning a subtle shade of green. “Goodness. Lucius, you’re getting sick thinking of the food.”

  “Like I said, there are just some things I can’t bring myself to eat.”

  “I probably don’t have it here. All my food is pretty basic.”

  “You do.”

  “I what?”

  “You have it here.” He guards his abdomen, thinking of how the word is going to slip across his tongue and making him even sicker. His top lip shrivels, and then, “Honey,” quickly scraping his tongue with his teeth as if wiping his mouth after saying it. “Uh… gross.”

  “What?”

  His wrinkled face grimaces in repulsion. “It’s disgusting,” shaking chills through his arms and chest.

  “What?” She bursts in laughter. Her words trickle across her giggling tongue, “Hon-ee-ey?”

  He attempts gaining equanimity after speaking of the nauseating component used in many dishes in her house. She slaps her knees, laughing hysterically. He says, “It’s not that funny. It’s… eww.”

  “But… it’s just honey. I thought you were gonna say something gross.”

  Lucius shakes his head, absorbing how absurd it might sound to someone raised on it. “Baby, you put it in your…” rubbing his tongue through his mouth, “coffee and stuff. I can’t fathom how anyone would do that.”

  Her head bobs with laughter. At first, he faintly smiles. But his expression grows when watching her. Josephine is weak in the knees, hunching over against him. He places his arm over her back, mildly embarrassed that she’s laughing at him, but soon joins her chuckling. “Don’t laugh at me, little momma.” He watches her cheeks turning red and her eyes frown with tears. “What?” He says, “Honey is gross,” defending himself. She’s limp against him, trying to control her laughter. She staples her tongue, fighting it, but every time she opens her mouth it worsens. He blushes, bracing her against him so she won’t fall, and he’s holding her steady.

  She asks, “Why’s it gross?”

  Maintaining some composure, he asks, “Do you know what it’s made from?”

  “Yeah,” her giggle is dying down, “It’s made from bee pollen. That’s all.”

  “No… that’s not all,” and grimaces. “That’s just a nice way of saying, bee puke in a wax coating. A wax coating made with more bee puke. And whatever the bees had to climb on in order to get it. And you eat it. Literally, animal spit and nastiness mixed together.” He raises a brow, “I know it’s good for you but it’s gross to me. Some people have caught botulism from it.”

  “Botulism,” her chin quivers. Allowing miniature huffs of the hidden laugh. Then, it happens again. She fails restraining herself, “Spit,” and hunches over laughing once more.

  Lucius stands straight, accepting her ridiculous honest reaction to something he deems as incredibly revolting. He’s stoic as he describes, “Slimy,” listening to her laugh harder as he says, “Sticky.” She clenches his shirt, and he continues, “Raw. Fermented. Animal vomit.” Josephine’s lightheaded and showing little restraint. He smiles, “You’re really enjoying this? Aren’t you?”

  “I’m so sorry,” sighing with relief from her episode. “I couldn’t help myself. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  He’s sincere and not in the least bit bothered. “I love your laugh. Laughter’s a good medicine. You needed it after today.”

  Her mouth drops, “Oh, no,” and hitches a breath, “I didn’t mean to laugh at you, baby. I just thought it was gonna be something else… like… I dunno, something nasty.” She rubs his shoulder, “I don’t know what came over me. I’m so rude.”

  “I’m not offended. It did sound funny telling you that. I just don’t like eating animal barf.”

  Her arms wrap around him, clasping around his neck. “Bless your heart. You’ve had a hard day too.”

  He weaves his fingers together over the small of her back. “Not when I’m holding you. I have everything when you’re smiling at me.”

  “I must’ve sounded heartless to you. Can you forgive me?”

  “I already have,” he said.

  She rests over his heart beat, “I love your smell.” He kisses over the crown of her head, and she sighs. “I just love you.”

  He curls his chin inward, kissing her hairline, “I love you more than you could possibly know.”

  Her brow floats, “No, I love you more.”

  “I don’t think so,” cuddling her snug against him. He drops his eyes to meet hers, “Believe me when I tell you… I love you more.”

  Competition is it, she thinks No, he doesn’t.

  Josephine flirts her voice, “No, Lucius. I love you more.” He flicks a brow, and she continues, “I dreamt about you every night. So much so… I could smell you when I woke. Every day.”

  “Oh,” accepting the little game, “No.” Anticipation fills the air, and a smile grows over both of them. “I love you more… because I would die for you.”

  “No,” she says, “I can’t live without you… so… I’d die without you. Therefore, I love you more.”

  He forgets his disguise. His recent history when he innocently confesses with a blurt of his tongue, “I’ve loved you for two years,” thinking he’s won the argument, “I love you more. From the moment I saw you, I loved you.”

  She stops. Her brows furrow. “How can you… what?”

  He swallows and coughs, “I mean it feels like two years,” smoothly recovered.

  “You can’t make stuff up, Lucius,” shaking her head, “We’ve only known each other since November. You lose because you’re trying to cheat.”

  “Sorry,” leaving the discussion where it is, “Just this one time I’ll let
you win our little squabble. But… I did save your life today… just saying.”

  Josephine whirls her eyes, “Whatever you wanna believe, Mr. Camo Pajamas.” She turns, gathering ingredients.

  He squeezes his fists, pressing his lips together. His words are building up within him. He wants the last word. And then, “But I do love you more though.”

  She swivels from her bent over position, “Come on. Really?” He snickers on his walk toward the cupboards. Josephine shakes her head, “Cheater,” she grumbled.

  Josephine picks up her dishes scattered from around countertops and the stove. Lucius clears off table settings. “Put them in the dish water.” She tells him, “It’ll make it easier.”

  He does, slipping several plates and cups beneath soapsuds, and soapsuds collect on his fingers when he does. He sloshes the small fluffy heap over her arm for fun and takes a step back to chuckle. She gestures back with a point of her chin, “Don’t be a pest,” and continues unbothered while scrubbing dishes.

  He smiles with her relaxed nature, watching her wear soap suds on her arm almost like a badge he gave her. He swoops in, taking more foamy white bubbles around the side of the sink. “Lucius,” she sung his name, “You have my attention. No need to pester. If you wanna help, just join in.”

  He scoops his previous suds off of her arm, using a little of his abilities in making her skin completely dry. “There. Like it never happened,” he said.

  “You’re not really bothering me, baby. I love your attention.” She listens for his reply, but nothing. No sound.

  Then…

  “Baby, look!”

  She turns and her mouth opens, forming the letter O. “How did you do that?”

  He has slathered bubbles around his upper lip and chin, giving himself a perfect handlebar mustache and goatee. He pretends stroking it, “How do I look,” one brow fastens higher than the other.

  “Like art…” she snickers, “but… on your face.”

  “I look like my brother, Fenn. But his wasn’t a handlebar like this.” He sees his reflection through the microwave, “I could grow it out like this, if you’d like. Whatever you want of me.” He twitches his brow’s a few times, looking at her. “What do you think?”

  Her head shakes, “You’re so playful right now.” She pulls her hands from the sink water, resting them on each side of his cheeks, “To me… you look like Lucius… with soap on his face. I like you the way you are.”

  His face wrinkles, “Augh, baby,” wiping where her hands were. “You got sink water on me.” He reaches into a drawer of folded dishrags and wipes with a terrycloth.

  “But you just did that to my arm?”

  “I didn’t put grease and gravy water on you. I used perfectly clean bubbles,” cleaning his face entirely. “Little momma, I don’t wipe dirty stuff on you. I was only play’n.”

  “Lucius… you’re so finicky. It’s just soapy water,” flicking her wrist, “You’ll live.”

  ◆◆◆

  Josephine continues washing dishes and Lucius stands back. Enthralled with observing her every movement. Everything she does is hypnotic to him. Not because he’s watching, but because she knows he’s there. He’s there and she doesn’t mind. Every few moments, she glances back and he smiles warmly. He smiles the same way he’s imagined. The same way he’s daydreamed since meeting her. The way he’s imagined everything would be as her best friend. Or her husband, when he found out he was in love with her. His rekindled emotion grows in him, festering, making his heart plummet. Thinking of how willing he is, but how illegal the bond would be. A bond without approval from her father. He thinks of how badly he fights the temptation every day. A longing in his heart he’s been fighting the last few hours. Fighting his willingness at bay, he keeps from taking her up in his arms and letting her have her way. He’s drawn into his thoughts and his wants,

  until…

  “You mentioned brothers. And Fenn… you said Fenn was one of them. How many brothers do you have? What’s Fenn short for. Or is that his name?”

  “I said, Fenn?”

  “Yes. That’s it… right?”

  “I…uh…um…” he fumbles, realizing earlier he had honestly given his brother’s nickname while goofing around.

  She glances back, “It’s not a difficult question. Surely, you can answer that one, Mr. Confidential.”

  “I… uh… have… tweeelve…” stretching his word out slowly, “twelvish —

  “Twelve brothers? My goodness. Why so many? Wait…” she turns briefly, placing a cup into the dishwasher, “Did you say twelvish?”

  “Twelve … many? That’s a lot to you?” His head bobs, “That’s one you’d have to ask my father… I guess.”

  Her shoulders sag, “I guess you’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking in asking you.” She glances back, “I love children though. My friend, David… now he has loads of siblings.” She smiles. “He had… six-ish,” and winks. She shoots back over to the sink, “He’s the oldest of them all. It didn’t matter that they were all girls though, they would climb all over him like a park ride or something. I started babysitting when I was fourteen, until, they got old enough. I love all of them.” She flashes another wink at him, “I want lots of children like that.”

  But, soon her smile fades. Her eyes are met with a downcast expression. Lucius’s nostrils flare as his chin becomes weighted. His bottom lip opens. Unable to speak. But she can tell. He wants to say something. She grabs her last plate, placing it into the dishwasher with her eyes fixed on him. “What did I say? I was only teasing with you. Is it your brothers? I’m sorry.”

  “Nothing. You have every right to say what your heart desires.” He tries changing the subject, and helps her close the dishwasher. Her jaw slants from his expression, and he shakes his head, “No.” And places his hand upon her cheek, “We’re not talking about this any longer. Besides, you just reminded me. You need to call your friends.”

  “I will later. I’m spending time with you. This is more important.”

  “Baby. Josephine, you need to let your friends know about Drake. They wouldn’t understand it, if you didn’t call them the same day it happened. This isn’t fair to them. They’ve been worried about you.”

  “I guess you’re right,” her head hangs, “The last time…” she pauses, “didn’t go —

  “I understand,” gesturing toward the newly vacant room above him, “He had a hold on you. Blackmailing you. They should know.”

  “How do you know so much,” she asked.

  He simply says, “David needs to know what you did for him. They need to know you’re safe again.”

  “But how did you —

  “In due time. You need to rekindle your relationships. We have to clear the air before doing anything else.”

  Her lips pucker to one side, nibbling on the inside of her mouth for half a moment. “Okay. I’ll call them.”

  ◆◆◆

  In the living room, Josephine sits on the couch. She taps her hand to the seat beside her, signaling with her eyes that the seating arrangement is not an option. Silent huffing causes his lips to bounce. He joins beside her and she pulls her phone from her pocket. “I don’t even know what I’m gonna say,” she confessed. Josephine rests the side of her temple against his chest. “There’s so much that happened today.”

  He caresses around her ear, “I’m not here. Just remember that. That cuts a lot of your conversation short.”

  “Okay. I don’t understand, but okay.” Her phone rings against her ear. It’s ringing and the sensation happens again. The feeling comes back like before. The warmth of his presence stretches around her entire body. The tingles send impulses rushing through her skin. “I feel it again. The tingles.” She peels her head from him, bolting their eyes, “It’s stronger this time. Like I could touch the warmth.”

  “Hey, what’s going on,” Carissa answered. “Been forever and a year.”

  Lucius asks, “You feel it again?”


  “Hello… Josephine,” slightly anxious, “Is someone there? Please say you didn’t butt dial me?”

  Josephine nods, latching her eyes, “What is it?”

  “What is what,” Carissa answers, “You called me, Josephine. Can you hear me?”

  She bluntly answers Carissa, “Oh, yeah, Carissa I hear you. Drake just accidentally killed himself. It happened earlier today. He fell down the stairs and landed on his knife or something.” Josephine stares intently at Lucius. She knows he’s shocked.

  “Baby…” overcome by what he’s discovered. He kisses her cheek. “You’re feeling me. The real me.”

  “What?” Josephine slides her cheek against his lips, nearly kissing, “What do you mean?”

  “Are you serious,” Carissa interrupts, “Drake’s really dead?”

  “Carissa… yes… um… earlier today. Yes. He died,” almost panting with his lips rubbing just below her nose. His breath quivers against her, as she says, “Why do I feel like this?”

  “Feel like what, sweetie,” Carissa asks, “Are you alright? You sound distant. You poor thing.”

  Josephine doesn’t respond. Lucius and her are breathing over each other’s lips, until, the recently harnessed kissing is finally released and instantaneously sprouts like an eruption. She tries to focus, but Lucius’s warmth and hands speak louder than Carissa. “You do feel me,” he said.

  “Hello,” mildly irritated, “Josephine, do you need me to come over? Are you doing okay?”

  “Yes. I feel,” Josephine opens her lips to savor his mouth, “I’m wonderful.” She inhales deeply. His tongue brushes her lips and she rubs her fingers through his hair, locking him closer. She says, “I can feel it. I’m wonderful. It’s wonderful.”

  “Um… um…not to sound callous, Josephine,” Carissa stutters, “but…uh… you don’t seem very well… after … what you just told me about someone dying. Maybe, a little detached, one might say. So —

  “Uh huh…” Josephine inhales swiftly and presses against him. He responds the same way, wrapping his arms around her, stroking her back. He tries restraining himself so she can speak. Josephine picks up on it and speaks as fast as she can, “Carissa, Drake was a bad man. Stole people. A drug dealer, wanted, and died. The end.” The phone slides from her hand and landed wherever it landed.