Grave Refrain: A Love/Ghost Story

by Glover, Sarah M.

  He thought the phone would ring many more times. That she would make him suffer before answering. She picked it up in one.

  “Andrew?”

  The phone hung trembling near his mouth. The card lay crushed under his heel.

  “Where are you? Tell me and I’ll be there,” said Emily.

  “No. I deserve the rain. I love you. Are you…are you all right?”

  “Andrew, Andrew are you there? Andrew?”

  “Home.” It was all he said. It was everything.

  “Yes, home.”

  It was one a.m. Emily knew this because she sat staring at her watch, huddled in her robe on the stairway and waiting for him to return. When the sound of the cab finally came, her heart stopped. Up until that moment she didn’t believe he would really come back to her. She bounded out the front door.

  He stood there on the sidewalk, unmoving. She gasped at the sight of him. It was horribly real. Soaked, muddied, and stained with blood, his wet clothes were plastered to his bruised skin. His cheek was swollen as though pummeled, one eyebrow was split open, and he was drenched to the bone.

  She flew from the steps and threw her arms around him, squeezing him as fiercely as she could, the rain soaking her robe. He cringed in pain, and she immediately pulled back, afraid she had hurt him. He was shaking, his teeth chattering.

  “My God. You’re hurt! You’re freezing!” She rubbed his arms, trying to warm him.

  “Yesss.”

  Lifting up his arm so she could slide under it, Emily bore his weight as best she could and hobbled him out of the storm and into the foyer. Despite his terrible condition he could still walk, but once in the house he wavered a little. She clasped her arms about him, his skin icy and trembling. Shivering herself, she closed her eyes for a heartbeat and tilted her head up into his soaked shirt, tightening her hold. With a cough, he bent his head and rested his mouth against the hollow of her throat, as if to find warmth; the stubble of his chin grazed her neck as her pulse hammered against his frozen lips. If she were not clenching him with both arms, she felt sure he would fall.

  She tried to ask him what had happened, but he wouldn’t respond. When he did speak, it was halting, a result of the intense cold he was suffering. “I am so sorry. So bloody sorry. I’ve treated you horribly. I don’t know how to make it right. All I’ve ever wanted is you…not anything but…you.”

  His words cut off as though he wished to say more but had lost his way, his teeth still chattering. Without another word, she gathered him to her and led him up the stairs, afraid for a moment he might not be able to climb them. Once inside her apartment, she quickly found a blanket and wrapped it securely about his shoulders. She asked him if he wanted food, but he shook his head.

  Fearful he might faint onto the floor, she led him to her bedroom. He hesitated before the door, his body seeming to quake from cold or nerves, she didn’t know which. She gently opened it and took his hand, only letting go to turn on a small lamp on her bedside table. He remained leaning against the door as though he wasn’t sure he would stay. She sat on the edge of the bed, heart hammering wildly, ready to grab him at any moment lest he slide down the wall. It was a long time till he spoke again, his voice bruised.

  “I was terrified to tell you. To let you in, because I thought…you wouldn’t stay. You’d never believe me…you’d be horrified.”

  He closed his eyes. She saw the cuts and contusions on his face and swallowed, wanting to tend to him but powerless to move, knowing from the tone of his voice he would push her away until he was done saying what he had to say.

  “How could I explain to you that by some miracle, I found my muse—in that club, close enough to touch. And everything I dreamed about her was true. It was real, after I traveled halfway around the world to find her. I chased her, Emily—but I fell in love with you. You. No one else. I’m not mad, I’m not. Or maybe I am. I don’t know anymore.”

  He stepped toward her, the blanket sliding to the floor, and leaning down, rested his forehead against hers. Her hands trailed up his arms and touched his face tenderly, brushing over the gashes and bruises; he closed his eyes, turning away not in pain but battling something, as though it took him lifetimes to utter these words. “Emily, I wanted to run. I’ve wanted to run away from everything, from my mum, Neil, from all the lies. Even from you. And from myself most of all.

  “I’ve run from myself most of my life. But I couldn’t this time. Because I can’t leave you. I know I’ve lied to you. I know you’re scared. You have every reason in the world not to trust me. But I love you. Strip everything away, and there is only that. That is who I am. God, I’m…I’m so cold.”

  She reached down, taking his freezing hands in hers. Searching for his eyes amidst the shadows of his face, she whispered, “Stay.” She raised his fingers to her lips, speaking to him as softly as she could, “It’ll be all right—we’ll make it right.”

  He looked down at her, his eyes imploring. “Please. You need to understand. I want…forever.”

  “Yes.”

  “I want…never to be apart from you.” His lips pressed against her forehead.

  “Yes.”

  “I want…” His voice was so exposed, so full of yearning. She nodded, pushing back down her tears. They stood there for an inexorable moment, staring at each other, before Andrew whispered, “I want to love you.”

  He lowered his lips, and with a restrained breath, he brushed them against hers. Sighs of sighs of sighs passed between them.

  He trailed his lips tenderly to her brow, her eyes, her cheeks. She could feel the trembling of his mouth as it ghosted against the curve of her jaw, his teeth grazing her skin as it came to rest against the hollow of her throat.

  “Emily,” he asked, his voice full of uncertainty. “Please…”

  A wayward lock lay fallen upon the crease in his brow. Understanding, she raised her hand and brushed away the curl from his eyes. They narrowed slightly as she let her chin drop a fraction of an inch and raised it back. “Yes,” she whispered one final time.

  He slowly reached out with his hands and with stilted tenderness tried to undress her, but she stopped him.

  “Your face, your eye? What happened to your hands? Oh, Andrew.” She hesitated.

  He shook his head. He let her kiss the cuts on his hand until he sighed. Still terribly worried about him, she took heart that at least his tremors had calmed down and his breathing had evened.

  With a fumbling determination he tried to sweep away her robe, but she took his hands away and slid it from her shoulders. She wore nothing beneath.

  “Home,” he whispered, his voice as tentative and hopeful as the word. “My home,” he went on, placing feathery kisses down one side of her neck.

  She knew instantly what he was speaking of, what he needed above everything else in the world. She was the only thing he could ever hold onto. No world was safe, real or fantasy. Both were dangerous. But she would embrace his world of consuming love, curses, and ghosts, because he was in it. Overwhelmed with emotions, she could only reach out and pull him to her. All the fear and horror of the past days dissolved as they fell into each other.

  “Home,” she breathed back into the icy skin of his neck, tears finally falling from her eyes.

  Andrew’s breath caressed her shoulders as she undressed him; he cringed as she slid his shirt off his arms. It fell to the floor with the rest of his clothes, slick and cold. They embraced tenderly, his breath echoing her heartbeat until he gasped as skin met bare skin, warm skin to freezing.

  “Andrew?”

  She saw the savage bruises on his chest in the ghostly light. She recoiled at his injuries, her mouth open in alarm. His finger pressed her lips in silence, pushing her gently into the bed. With a sigh, he delicately trailed his finger down to trace the outline of her jaw. “I want to remember,” he told her. “I want to remember this when I’m old. I want to remember what you looked like, how I had you, had you to myself in this bed, your eyes, your
mouth. I don’t want to let this go.”

  She raised her hand and touched the strong muscles of his neck, the icy skin of his chest, then over the cuts and scrapes, making tears rise in her throat. His heart pounded against her fingers as she searched his face, trying to make him understand how deeply she was his, how she could no longer exist without him, how they were inextricably tied to each other…how it seemed they had always been. The storm pelted against the windows, and she felt the power of Andrew’s long sleek body naked against hers despite his injuries.

  Nuzzled underneath his chin, she breathed him in, and reached up to kiss his face. In a tentative way she began to explore him, her fingers shaking as they felt his cheeks, his neck, and his shoulders. It terrified and thrilled her all at once to be this close to him. His breathing faltered as her teeth nipped his neck; she felt strangely powerful in that moment, as though she were healing him. Her hands massaged the firm muscles of his biceps, pressing him down into the softness of the blankets.

  Rapturous, their bodies laced together. Twisting and turning in each other’s arms, they would have cried in joy had they not been so consumed by the wonder of it all.

  “I promise, I’ll never…never leave you.”

  “I won’t let you.”

  His head fell, and he laughed. He ceased to care that she was tiny or vulnerable; he consumed her, ravaged her with his lips, unable to deny himself. Grunting huskily, his long, muscled leg snaked around her, pressing his naked body into hers. Caught between the exquisite pleasure and pain it caused, he bit down hard on his lip. Emily drew away and forced down her desire, her body strung taut like a wire.

  “We need to get you to a doctor.”

  “No. Come here,” he demanded.

  His arms twined about her, the wet curls of his hair brushing against her forehead. His touch flamed her in warmth, and blood coursed through her. His kiss, no less urgent now, brushed against her lips, parting them.

  His hand explored the hollow of her neck and smoothed down her sides, his fingers caressing the line of her ribs as he pulled her to him. He lowered his mouth to taste her, his breath warm and fast as he took each nipple one by one into his mouth in hunger, twirling his tongue and grazing his teeth over her till, in exquisite agony, she arched her back again. He sucked deeply, making her nearly come from the raw need of his mouth. Then without warning, he softly bit down, his smile teasing her skin as she called out, aching in bliss.

  Satisfied she would no longer protest, Andrew’s hand slid its way down the damp skin of her back. He drew a breath and stared at her, his muscles strained and quaking. His eyes forbade her to look away. She dropped all pretense; all her walls tumbled down, and she lay there helpless, burning and sweaty against his thighs. His knees wrenched her open to him.

  “Emily,” he spoke through clenched teeth, clenched arms, and clenched body, pinning her to the bed, his weight trapping her. His hand claimed her lower back, and his cock pressed against the wet and aching want of her.

  She nodded, transfixed.

  Then with a violent growl he yanked her to him one last time, his eyes never leaving hers, hypnotizing her in their blue fire. Her body quaked as he took her, as though with that one thrust she would come undone, screaming. She twisted her head against the pillows as he held her captive beneath him. Andrew hissed, his lips near her ear, his breath warm and damp. “Always.” His body drove each blessed word slowly and wickedly into her, owning her as no man had ever done. “You…are…mine…always.”

  Emily flailed underneath him, driven into the soft bed by his assault. Andrew moved in her like a man possessed by the very thing he wished to capture. It didn’t matter that the fates were against him, denying him happiness—he had it now. It passed beyond that, as if years of withheld joy were being lavished upon him. He thrust within her, each time repeating the glorious, uncontrollable desire to laugh, to shout if he could. He would not leave her, he told her fiercely. He would not dare tear his body from hers. He was bound to her. He needed to make her understand what roared inside him—exhilarant, wild, and awed.

  “Do you know?” his voice and his body demanded. “Have I shown you what you are to me?”

  His lovemaking became more erratic, rough and untamed, yet still achingly tender. She was trembling so close to the edge that she could only whimper now and beg him with words so obscene it made him impale himself into her. She held her breath and arched her back, trying desperately to hang on as she cried out loudly, buckling beneath him. In that moment she felt the call of countless generations, lifetimes of souls from the past. They cried their own lovers’ names, their rapture magnifying hers, having finally found what they had long lost, all gloriously, rapturously together. Each desperate and terrified of the loss to come.

  Andrew dragged her ever more fiercely to him, his burning skin and the sharp stubble of his chin rasping against the flesh of her cheek. He buried his face into her neck and cried, coming hot and savagely inside her, his body contorting in exhaustion. In that last euphoric moment, he cried out one word, falling heavily onto her as though claiming her soul for his and his alone.

  “Home.”

  20

  * * *

  In that first night.

  She wraps the last blankets around

  Your body,

  Your hands reach

  Her face,

  Unable to, unable to breathe.

  And she whispers sounds for you.

  Sweet, sweet, sweet

  sounds.

  You surrender,

  To her, her breath, to her,

  To her last first night.

  Night,

  Andrew Hayes, 2009

  SOMETIME IN THE NIGHT, Emily awoke. The rain still beat against the windows, their bodies burrowed beneath the covers making a refuge of their bed. Andrew’s solid forearm lay curled across her breasts, his face nuzzled within the nape of her neck, his breath now warm and steady. Having felt her move, he tightened his hold. Not wanting this to be a dream, she slowly turned to face him in the silent ballet lovers do, scared he would disappear if she couldn’t see him, and pressed in drowsy sleep the full length of her naked body to his. In the darkness, she drew her hands softly across the definition of his muscles, memorizing him. Then she remembered his injuries, the cuts on his face and the bruises on his ribs. She heard him inhale, his chest rising at her touch, and she stilled her hand, afraid she had hurt him. In turn, his hand reached out in the blackness, his fingers encircling her wrist.

  “I’m still asleep,” he murmured.

  “If you won’t go see a doctor, then you at least need to have a shower or a bath.”

  “Only if you join me.”

  “Are you ever going to tell me what happened to you? Or are you going to let me lie here and wonder if you took out your frustrations in a biker bar?”

  Andrew groaned with that, and she knew whatever his story, it wouldn’t be pretty, so she forced a lightness to her voice, hoping to cajole the truth out of him. “As long as you don’t tell me you beat the shit out of Neil, I’ll live.”

  He didn’t respond.

  She turned to face him. “Oh, Andrew.”

  “I believe that was what is referred to in the music business as a career limiting move.”

  Her hand stayed glued across her mouth as he described to her what had occurred at Neil’s. He seemed miserable in the retelling, draping his arm over his eyes at the description of it all. In an attempt to turn a horrible situation less dour, she told him about his mother going to stay at a bed and breakfast and tried to convince him that it was a positive thing, that she wasn’t leaving for good. Andrew was quiet for some time, and Emily let him be, knowing he had to work this out for himself; no one else could do it for him. The rest would right itself—it had to.

  “I’m so sorry Andrew—I never should have eavesdropped on your conversation. I had no right to invade your privacy like that. It was a shitty thing to do.”

  “I love you,” he re
plied before she could utter another word. “There is nothing to forgive. I should have told you myself.”

  He lay in silence for a little while longer. When he spoke at last, his face looked soft, like a young boy’s in the faint light. “My father loved my mother. Worshipped her. He loved me. That is the truth. There is nothing in the world he wouldn’t have done for her. And she cared for him through his illness. He was her friend; they were content—never argued, never raged, always the pinnacle of decorum and respect. But I knew she never loved him. There was no fire. Nothing of what exists between us.” His eyes rose to hers, and the passion she saw there made her breath come up short.

  He rolled onto his back and groaned, sore and aching, and scrubbed his face awake.

  “You’re hurt.”

  “Kiss me.”

  “But your hands, your face. You could have broken bones.”

  “I think I would know that by now. You have amazing healing powers, Emily. Please? The bed is warm. I am warm.”

  “We can do this the hard way or the easy way. Now let me see your hand.”

  He made a fist and extended his fingers, but he winced a bit when he did so.

  “You know, if you don’t do it yourself, Christian and Simon are going to haul you kicking and screaming into the emergency room. How are your ribs?”

  “You tell me.”

  “Not a chance. Now talk,” she ordered him. “Where were you yesterday and how did this happen?”

  He flexed his hand again, testing his fingers, no doubt. “I didn’t know what to do after I saw Neil. I ran into S.J., then I ended up on campus.” He told her of how he licked his wounds in the practice room, how Nick had spoken to him. The fight on campus came as an afterthought.

  Andrew watched Emily’s face. Her chin rose and her body tensed. Legs still entwined, their toes barely touched.

  “I’m so sorry they hurt you. I could kill them.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind next time.”