A Veil of Glass and Rain

by Petra F. Bagnardi

  I want to slap my hands over my ears and lock the words out, but I have no strength, no weight, and no limbs. I am an insubstantial creature.

  When I open my eyes, I don't find myself on the cold floor, but in my bed. Eagan's strong body is curled around mine, keeping me warm,

  As I stir, he cups my face in his palms and turns my head, so that I'm looking at his bright blue eyes.

  “I found you on the floor. By the door. What happened?” His tone is calm, but I detect an urgent undercurrent.

  “I heard,” I rasp out.

  “What?” He urges.

  “Enough.”

  I slide away from him and he lets me. I stand by the bed and force myself to stare at him; he seems weary and his blue eyes are moist and glum.

  I am not good for him.

  “I'm like my mother,” I confess. “She was so sad when my father wasn't home. I had to let her follow him, because she was fading away in front of my eyes. You remember? You came to help me.”

  He nods. His lips part. He begins to utter words, but I shake my head sharply.

  “You deserve better. You're not like me, or my mother, or your parents. You're not needy. You're strong and bright. And I'm not.”

  “Shut up.” His voice is a biting hiss. He leaves the bed to stand before me. His fingers are folded into hard fists.

  I step away from him, and I turn toward his desk and his lap-top. The screen-saver represents a peaceful ocean; I wish it were real, so that I could swim away.

  “Your friends are right. I'm not good for you,” I insist.

  He circles his arms around my waist from behind, tugging me back against his taut chest. His breathing against my neck is heavy and labored. He grinds his penis against me with possessive force, until it becomes turgid and swollen. Then he quickly fumbles with the button and zipper of my jeans, so that he can slip his hand under my panties.

  When his fingers find me ready, he groans.

  “Say yes, Brina,” he growls.

  “No,” I whisper.

  His pained cry vibrates throughout his body. He jerks his hand away from my mound and rests it on my abdomen.

  He nuzzles into my hair, then he trails open-mouthed kisses across my jaw and my cheek, his tongue and lips create soft and wet sounds.

  I gradually melt against him.

  “You promised. No more running away from me,” he rumbles against my skin.

  “I'm too selfish. I can't let you go. I need you too much,” I reveal.

  He nibbles and licks my neck, before telling his own truth. “We're alike, Brina. I'm just like my parents. I'm desperate and lost when you're not with me.”

  “Earlier your words hurt me. You should make it up to me,” I murmur.

  “Undress,” he demands.

  Our gazes fused, we take off our clothes.

  Eagan stretches out onto the bed and prompts me to straddle his chest. Then he seizes my waist and draws my sex toward his mouth.

  He makes love to me with his lips and his tongue. As I writhe and squirm above him, Eagan fists and strokes his shaft, so that we dissolve into cries of ecstasy at the same moment.

  Afterward, he cradles my trembling body against his chest.

  He waits for my pulse to quiet down, then he asks for a kiss. I frame his handsome face with my hands. I brush my lips across his mouth once, twice, three times. Then I push my tongue between his lips and caress his tongue with tiny, teasing touches, meant to heal our troubled hearts.

  “We will be fine. I'll make everything good again,” Eagan promises against my mouth.

  I want to believe him.

  I try to believe him.

  I fail.

  Part 2

  Eagan and Brina

  19.

  Eagan

  My name is Eagan Sherard.

  I have to hold on to what I know. Otherwise I'll go crazy.

  I left the radio on. Songs keep playing. They're like background noises. I'm not really paying attention. But I need them to crush the quiet.

  One week ago, I took my girlfriend, Brina, to the airport. Before kissing me good-bye, she gave me a gift, a DVD.

  During the weeks preceding her departure, she shot a short film. Ivan and Alessio helped her. I was glad about this new project of hers. I didn't suspect the true reason why she was making the movie, though: Me.

  I watched the DVD as soon as I got home. It gutted me.

  The film is a about a young man who finds a broken guitar and decides to repair it. Then, he learns how to play it. After a while, he begins to travel the world to let more people experience and appreciate his tunes. Eventually, he becomes a famous musician.

  A simple and easy plot.

  What was painful for me to listen to, was Brina's voice-over telling an entire different story.

  A tale of a girl walking down a busy street full of stores and people. The girl is sad and lost. She glances at the windows and at the passersby, but she doesn't really see anything. Then she meets a boy. The boy shows her a beautiful garden and the girl begins to truly notice and feel things. When the boy leaves her, though, even for a brief time, she ceases to feel all at once. Everything around her disappears. The girl is so scared, that she decides to leave the boy and the garden behind. However, it's not a permanent separation. She just needs time to learn how to sense the world by herself. After six weeks, she returns to the boy with new knowledge. She confesses to the boy that reality seems brighter when he's beside her. But now she also knows how to use her perceptions when the boy is not with her.

  My girl wants six weeks away from me. Because we're too clingy and too needy. We don't breathe when we're apart. We forget about the rest of the world when we're together. We resemble our parents. And we both don't want to.

  I keep repeating these words like a song in my head. My temples throb. Violent rushes of blood in my ear make me dizzy.

  I know that we have to be better and more open than our parents. Our greedy love can be dangerous. I'm aware of all that.

  But I ache.

  I'm twenty-five years old.

  I met Brina when I was fourteen.

  She wrapped herself around my soul when I was sixteen.

  It was very early in the morning. The annoying buzz of my cellphone woke me up. I wanted to destroy the damn thing. I stopped when I saw the caller ID.

  “Hey, fur-ball. What's up?” I tried to stay calm. She was calling from the other side of the ocean. Normally we sent each other messages or emails, or we talked over the computer. Something was definitely wrong.

  “A need a friend.” She sounded small and fragile.

  I didn't hesitate. My parents were somewhere in China, working. So I called my British grandparents. They helped me book a flight. The next day I was at Brina's place.

  At first she didn't want to talk. She didn't even hug me when she opened the door for me.

  I respected her silence. I dropped my backpack to the floor. Then I sat on the couch beside her.

  After a while she spoke. “I had to let my mum go. She was too sad, here, without my dad. It's fine. I can do this. They hired a housekeeper. She will take care of the house, and of me.”

  “She's a nanny,” I told her.

  She lifted her chin. She gave me a stubborn stare. “I don't need a nanny. She's a housekeeper.”

  I smiled. “Right.”

  “Anyway,” she went on, “My mum was sorry to leave me, but she was also so relieved. She needs my dad so much. I don't understand all this need.” She looked at me, seeking an explanation.

  I tried to give it to her. “My parents are the same. They can't stay away from one another. They're photographers, you know, like your parents.”

  She nodded.

  I continued. “When I was your age, I noticed that every time one of them went away, working, the one who had to stay at home with me was very sad. So I told them that they should work and travel together like they used to, before I was born.”

  “Who takes care of you
when they're away?” Brina asked.

  “My grandparents, and aunts and uncles, and even some friends of my family.”

  “You're lucky. I only have my parents. And their only friends are your parents.” She shrugged. She was trying really hard not to cry.

  I wanted so much to hold her. But she seemed so frail. I was afraid to crush her.

  “You have me, fur-ball. You'll always have me,” I promised her.

  She threw herself in my arms then. I clutched her trembling little frame against my chest. I became her fortress. I became her shelter. I became her family.

  I must cling to what I know. Otherwise I'll go mad.

  I was born in New York city.

  My father is American. My mother is British.

  My dad's parents died when I was a kid. They were very old. They went to sleep, holding one another, and they didn't wake up.

  My father is older than my mother. But I'm sure that when his time comes, my mum will go with him

  My British grandparents are different. They're rational and resilient. Of that I'm grateful. I need people like them in my life. And so does Brina.

  Yellow is my favorite color. It's the color of lemons. It's the color of the sun.

  Brina, the most important person in my life, smells like lemon and a day spent basking in the sun.

  The day Brina wrapped herself around my heart, she was wearing a yellow sundress. We were in a park. She thought I was asleep. She kissed me.

  I remember the humid grass underneath my back. And I recall the smell of sweat and exhaustion drenching my clothes and my skin.

  Suddenly the unpleasant odors faded away, replaced with the bitter scent of lemon. Then I tasted sweet caramel across my lips, in my mouth, on my tongue. She was kissing me. Her small breasts and her hard nipples brushed along my arm. Little mewls of delight escaped her throat. I felt that tentative and yet sensual kiss everywhere. I had to force myself to remain still and quiet.

  In the end I failed. I issued a small grunt. And Brina ran away. She left me behind with the hard-on from hell. The little minx.

  Everything changed then. Not only because of the kiss. Nine months later David died. It was April. David and I were in the south of France.

  The car accident stole his life and crashed my existence. Surviving was both a gift and a curse. I was grateful. But I also had a huge responsibility. I had a life to live in the smartest way possible.

  I turned into Mr. Judicious. I began to plan everything in advance. No more rush moves. No more rush decisions.

  I started to outline my future with Brina. I wanted her back for good. But I had to move carefully. She was still too young for me. I was ready to wait for her, of course. The other women weren't appealing anymore. She was the one I craved.

  Then Neal and Felia Medwin, David's siblings, entered into my well designed picture. They messed up all my programs.

  My goal was to attend a college in Rome. I had already found out about a couple of good American universities located in the eternal city. It was perfect. But Neal, David's older brother, called me and told me that he needed help with his little sister, Felia.

  At the time, they were both living in London. Neal was finishing Drama school. Felia was studying music and hanging out with the wrong crowd. She spent her nights drinking and partying. And she spent her weekends traveling across Europe to drink and party in all the main European cities.

  Her parents didn't know what to do, so Neal took control of the situation. He dropped his courses, asked his rich family for a ridiculously large amount of money, and began to buy all the clubs in Europe his sister loved, along with small apartments.

  It sounds crazy but it's true. And in a way it worked.

  Felia went on with her crazy partying, but at least she did it in her brother's clubs. And she slept in the apartments her brother owned. She actually seemed to like the idea. Probably all she wanted was to feel cuddled, protected and loved.

  I decided to finish my studies in London because David's siblings needed me. David was like a brother to me. I became a brother to them. But living with the Medwins was like sharing a stage with two experienced comedians. Neal and Felia wore masks made of irony and detachment every day. They were their unbreakable shields against pain and memories. They never took them off, not even for me. I understood their reasons, but at the same time I was hurt. I was always there for them, and I never hid my emotions from them. Neal and Felia needed me. But they never really let me in.

  Even when I was taking care and worrying about David's family, I never stopped thinking about Brina. Even when she was avoiding me. Even was I was mad at her. I never stopped wanting her. I never stopped loving her.

  At some point the Medwin siblings had to let me go. Neal's father, a famous businessman with a lot of connections, helped me find a job and a place to live in Rome.

  Neal and Felia reluctantly supported my decision. And they resented Brina.

  My girl knows about all this.

  I told her the entire story. I had to. I had to make her understand.

  Brina overheard my conversation with Neal and Felia. She heard their harsh comments.

  We fought. She was so hurt. I wanted her forgiveness and I wanted to heal her. I fucked her with my tongue and my mouth. I needed her surrender. I needed to posses her essence. She gave everything to me.

  Later, we talked and she forgave me. Our life together went back to normal. I thought we were fine. I was wrong.

  I am a very responsible guy.

  Every year, though, on the day of my best friend's death, I let myself go. I get drunk. I fuck nameless girls, and then I forget about them.

  My purpose is to avoid memories and sleep. Because the nightmares come, when I fall asleep. It only happens on that particular night, it only happens once a year, but it's enough to destroy my sanity.

  In those horrible dreams I'm the one driving the car. Davis sits in the passenger seat. And Brina sits in the back. Our lips move, but there are no words and there are no sounds. At first, I don't look at the road in front of me. The moment I do, I hear the sounds and the voices: The loud noise of metal bending and glass shattering, and deafening screams. I close my eyes then. When I open them, I find myself in the middle of a green field. I'm surrounded by broken dummies. I walk toward them, and I realize that they're not dummies, they're real people. They're the broken bodies of David and Brina.

  Fucking nightmares.

  This year, on that damn day, I was with Brina. And I used her. I lost myself in her body. And she accepted my harshness and my desperation. Then she gave me her love. And she healed my soul with her voice and her music.

  Her scent, her moans, her cries of pleasure still linger in our home. The memory of her soft and warm cunt squeezing and kissing my cock makes me groan.

  Another hard-on from hell.

  I pay attention to the radio. It hums bitter-sweet blues tunes.

  The rain outside beats a slow tempo.

  I lay on a garden of deep-purple sheets and yellow pillows. I draw in the scent of lemon, cinnamon and sweat. I lick my dry lips. I swallow the taste of restless sleep and the memory of Brina's musky essence.

  I miss my friend.

  I crave my lover.

  The dread of being left behind, of being forgotten for good, claws at my entrails.

  I'm mad at my friend.

  I hate my lover.

  I gave her my heart and she sliced it. I gave her a beautiful garden and she refused it.

  The falling rain and the deep-purple sheets evoke the thought of a flower with dark-pink petals and of intimate folds unraveling with wet arousal.

  My lips part on a muted groan. My hips buck upward as my hand grasps and palms my cock.

  My climax is an agonizing release. My cry is tainted with defeat.

  She needs silence. She needs time. All I need is her. Six weeks sound like an eternity.

  I wanted her to go to Berlin, sample the unknown, meet new people. But I planned to b
e a part of that experience. And I will be. I'm not giving up. Still, I'll try to give her the distance she asked for. I love her. I'd do anything for her.

  It's been eleven days since she left. It's time for me to man up. I will not disappoint her.

  Brina wants me to have huge arms and embrace the world. She's working to achieve the same goal. Because a beautiful and closed garden is not enough. We have to be better than our parents.

  My phone is crowded with text messages from Clém and from Enrico, my colleague and friend. Clém invites me, repeatedly, to see her theater show. Enrico wants to know if I'm still alive.

  Well, I miss Brina, my breath, my love. But I'm still here. And I need people, friends, voices. They keep me sane. They will not allow me to crumble.

  I call Clém and accept her invitation.

  Then I call Enrico.

  “Hey, man. Do you want to go see a theater show tonight? The director is Clémentine, Brina's friend. Do you remember her? Yes, she's still single. Yes, my friend, I'm still alive.”

  My name is Eagan Sherard. I'm twenty-five years old. I'm a good guy. I'm also an architect.

  At night, and whenever I can, I design the house I'm going to share with Brina. I don't know where we will build it yet. But I do know that it will be our home, our refuge, our cradle.

  20.

  Brina

  I miss him.

  Brina, in Italian, means “frost”.

  My parents chose the name for me because, on the day I was born, a thin veil of ice coated the windows, while the flowers and leaves in our garden were covered with frozen drops.

  My parents, Margherita and Jean, met when they were in their twenties. They were both orphans. Their bond was immediate and strong.