All My Truths & One Lie

by Fabiola Francisco

  “Thank you.” His breath tickles my neck. I lean my head back on his chest, searching for constellations. The sky is so much more visible here, away from big cities. The night is clear enough that the twinkling lights are visible.

  Matthias places his hands on either side of me, holding the railing. His body cages me in. The comfort of his proximity makes my heartbeat race. It’s a contradiction I don’t bother analyzing.

  “That’s Orion’s Belt,” I point to the three stars aligned.

  “It is.” Matthias’s voice sounds lighter.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure?” I tilt my head back further on his chest until I can see his face, a smile breaking out on my lips.

  Matthias laughs. “Positive.” He reaches down to kiss my lips. “Thank you.”

  “The stars always remind me that there’s something greater out there than the bullshit we live.”

  “You’re right,” he agrees.

  “It reminds me that no matter what, I’ll return to stardust. When I do, I want to be rid of the baggage.”

  “They’re just challenges we chose so we can evolve.”

  “Why did I choose certain things?” My voice is a whisper.

  “I don’t know.” I watch him shake his head.

  “At least we get to admire the beauty above from here.” I look back at the sky.

  “You and I were born from the same star,” he whispers, his breath tickling my ear. “And we’ll return to it once again.”

  Matthias’s arms wrap around my chest, holding me close to him. I close my eyes as his scent surrounds me. Home. That’s what he feels like. As if all the roads I’ve been lost on finally led to the destination I didn’t even know I was seeking. As if I was never really lost, but simply on a journey to get to this point. Meeting Matthias is more than romance. It’s more than being in a relationship. This is something so deep, words can’t describe it, and most people don’t believe in.

  Every worry escapes me as I feel this man’s arms hold me. We were split from the same source, sent on different paths that mirrored each other until we were ready to meet again.

  My arms curl around his at my chest, lacing our fingers. This is a sensation I want forever. This is someone I can’t lose. He deserves for me to be fully present with him. We’ll bring things out of each other, but only so we can clear them.

  When my body begins to shiver, we go inside and lie on the couch, watching reruns of the shows Matthias used to love. I settle in front of him, his arms never leaving my body as he tells me about the episodes in between yawns, until my eyes close.

  My eyes blink open in the dark room. I look around. When did I get to my bedroom? I place my hand over Matthias’s arm, still wrapped around me. He must’ve moved us at some point in the night.

  He stayed.

  I remain still, as to not wake him, and enjoy the sensation of waking up next to him. My legs tangle with his as his soft breathing fills the silence in the room. I have no idea what time it is, and the closed blinds on the windows won’t reveal the exact time as they block out all light.

  When my bladder can’t take it anymore, I sneak out of bed and make my way to the bathroom. Matthias is still sleeping when I return. This time I lie facing him. His lips are parted, and his wavy hair is covering part of his face. I brush it away and lay my head on his chest. His arm finds my waist again and holds me to him.

  My eyes close once more and I sleep until light touching on my arm wakes me. I blink away sleep and stare into blue eyes.

  “Morning.” I clear my throat.

  “Good morning, beautiful.”

  I smile and hide my face in his chest. He lifts my chin and brings his lips to mine. “No hiding.”

  “Have you been awake for a long time?”

  “A few minutes.”

  I move closer, hugging his body, and place a kiss on his chest. Just sleeping with him, feeling safe, is so different than the loneliness I used to feel, as if I was missing out on some grand secret others knew about. Waking up next to Matthias, his arms around me, my legs knotted with his, is definitely a feeling I’m glad to uncover.

  My body tingles as he moves his fingers up and down the back of my neck, sneaking into my sweater and moving over my shoulder. He continues the same trail, each time building my awareness of his hands on me.

  He’s a slow antidote to the venom I’ve swallowed, and his cure is worth the patience of time.

  Our eyes remain locked as his fingers graze my skin. I reach the edge of his hair on his neck and run my fingers through it. I used to think I was wasting time by not finding the person I am meant to love for the rest of my life, that I’d meet him too late and miss out on so much. I stopped searching after a while, knowing the pressure would only push him further away. However, the small fear that I’d meet him too late would creep up. I wanted to feel him all around me as soon as possible, so we’d have years to love one another.

  Now that I’ve met Matthias, I realize that what I feel is so much stronger than I could’ve imagined. It takes away the mentality of limited time because suddenly I understand what people mean when they say love is limitless.

  Love.

  I’ve never believed in this, in meeting someone and knowing right away he’s the person to fight for. I’ve never been one of those people who has searched for butterflies in my stomach and the feeling of hearts and flowers in my life.

  My cynical self is rolling her eyes at the thought that Matthias is so much more than a man I met recently, but my soul is whispering the familiarity I’ve longed to discover.

  Matthias’s face dips down to mine, his lips hovering over mine. I tilt my head up to meet him, brushing our lips together. Once. Twice. His hand no longer brushes my shoulder. Now, it tangles in my hair, keeping me close to him so his lips can explore mine unhurriedly. The tip of his tongue touches mine, and I open for him, desperate to deepen the kiss and needing to continue this lazy exploration.

  I arch my body up to kiss him deeper, my tongue dancing with his, our legs a tangled mess. Matthias reaches for my hip, squeezing before pulling me to him and placing me on top of his body, our lips never missing a beat.

  I moan into his mouth, feeling his body beneath me. The hand in my hair tightens its grip and I know he’s holding back. Feeling his lips on mine, the sensual kisses we’re sharing is making it hard for me to remain in control. His lips abandon mine and move down to my neck. My skin pebbles and my hips press down against his. A growl escapes the back of his throat and he stops his lips.

  “Not yet,” his voice is hoarse as he looks at me. I nod. “We’ll get there.”

  “I know.” I brush my lips against his. “I want to take our time getting there.”

  He hugs me to him, and I place my head on his chest, his heartbeat drumming to a beat that is uniquely his. I feel a kiss on the crown of my head. Being in his arms, held by him, feels safe. Yet, I feel the lingering monster waiting to strike and destroy this.

  It’s there, biding its time.

  “Want to get breakfast?” Matthias breaks the silence.

  “Yeah.”

  We sit in a small café I’ve never been to before. Matthias drinks tea and I drink coffee.

  “How did you start writing?” he asks.

  “Oh man.” I look up at the ceiling. “I won’t even pretend that I’ve been writing since I was a child and a book lover since before then. Truth is, I hated reading growing up. It wasn’t until I was in college that I appreciated books. As for writing, it wasn’t something I sought. I was in middle school, I think you call it secondary school here. I was thirteen and my literature teacher assigned a poetry project to finish our poetry unit. We had to analyze some poems and then write our own. I can’t remember how many poems we had to write, but it was a decent amount. I was so upset about the assignment.” I breathe deeply.

  “Poetry isn’t just something you sit and write, you know? It’s born from somewhere else. I
wasn’t Shakespeare. I wasn’t a poet, and I thought poetry was so…” I search for the right word. “Stupid.” Okay, so it’s not the best word.

  Matthias laughs at my honesty.

  “I was thirteen,” I defend.

  “So, what happened?” He leans on his elbows with rapt attention.

  “I had to write them. I couldn’t fail an assignment that would count for so much of my grade. I can’t remember the first one I wrote, but one was a love poem, and I remember using the name Trevor. I have no idea why I picked it except it rhymed with the verse.” I roll my eyes. “Anyway, as soon as I started writing, a flood was released. Every pain I was swallowing ripped from me onto paper without meaning to. I wrote about pain, suicide, confusion, depression. To this day, I say I owe my life to poetry. That assignment gave me something I wasn’t searching for. It allowed me to express what I was hiding from the world. It gave me safety.”

  “Do you still write poetry?” His curiosity peaked.

  “Yes. I had stopped for a while, especially when I started writing novels. Poetry comes and goes in my life when I need it. I’m now learning to write it as something more than pain medication.”

  “When did you start writing novels?” His eyes are trained on mine.

  “A few years ago. While I lived in Spain, I wrote a wedding scene that always stuck in my memory, but writing books wasn’t in my plans. I didn’t think I could ever write so many words and develop a plot. It just happened one day,” I shrug.

  “It’s fascinating.”

  “Not really. I don’t know. Maybe it is to someone on the outside. My friends tease that I write a ton of books in one day. It’s a joke between us because I get so focused on a story, I won’t stop until I finish it. I’ll get lost in words for hours a day, living in fantasy land. What they don’t know is that I get lost in the words to keep my sanity. I use it as an escape the way an addict uses drugs to forget their ghosts. Writing is my addiction. I hate calling it that because it’s something so beautiful, something so significant to me. But I use it like I would any other substance.”

  “Maybe, instead of an addiction, it’s your purpose. That’s why you get so lost in it. You enter a different world. It helps you sort through your own struggles, even when you write what you call silly romances. If you can witness your characters overcoming their pain, you can overcome yours.”

  My eyes water as I hear him speak. The pressure in my chest is holding my air hostage from filling my lungs. I gasp for breath, willing my force of life to move through me and rub my eyes.

  “Maybe. Right now, I want to work on my other book. I want to share what I’ve learned from life, in hopes that I can assist someone in their own journey. Maybe help humanity in some small way.”

  “You will.”

  I wish I could be as confident as him. I’ve put so much pressure on myself with this project that I’m afraid I’ve created a barrier between my mind and my heart. Right now, all I know for certain is that Matthias and I are stardust lovers whose paths have merged, creating both chaos and peace.

  “I always wanted to live where the fairies were. My favorite Disney movie is Sleeping Beauty because of the fairies.”

  Matthias looks up at me from the book he’s reading—yup, still mine—and wrinkles his eyes. “What about them did you love?”

  “They can fly. Fairies are gorgeous and magical beings. I don’t know, it was always a feeling. Was there ever anything magical that you loved growing up?”

  He bookmarks the page and closes the book, letting it rest on his lap. “Maybe aliens? Although I don’t know if I’d call them magical, it always intrigued me, wondering if there was life on other planets.”

  “And?”

  “We’re definitely not the only existing race in the entire universe.”

  “I think so, too.” I turn my attention back to my laptop, feeling content with the small tidbit of myself I shared.

  Matthias followed me home after breakfast, making it known he’d be spending the day with me. When I told him I was going to write, he didn’t mind, he just reached for the book that was waiting for him on the coffee table and began reading. We’ve been here for hours, in the same space.

  I stretch my legs out, my knees aching from being bent in the same position for too long, and sigh. How great would it be if beyond the depth of this world lay a magical one? This town is kind of magical in its history and mysticism.

  I focus back on my document, typing out the connection I feel to my roots, no limiting beliefs, just feelings.

  “Would you have preferred a German?”

  “What?” I look at Matthias, his interruption confusing me.

  He points to the book. “Would you have preferred a German?” he repeats.

  “No.” I shake my head in case my words are mute to his ears. “Why do you ask that? He’s just a character.”

  “No character is just a character. You pulled him from somewhere.”

  “I don’t prefer a German,” I emphasize. Matthias and I have fallen into a comfort level in a short amount of time, as I stare at him lounging on my sofa. “However, you do remind me of him. Maybe I wrote you long before I met you. Maybe it was a way of my soul calling to you.”

  “I’m not like him. Not at all. I’m flawed.” His nostrils flare.

  “Maybe in my eyes, you aren’t.” I lift a brow.

  “Don’t look at me with those eyes, then.” He stands.

  “Where are you going?” I put my laptop on the table and stare at him.

  “Nowhere.”

  “Then sit,” I demand.

  He begins pacing as he reads the page he has open to himself. Something has riled him up. I know better than to interject. I watch him as he continues to pace and read. Finally, he drops to the couch and places his head on my lap.

  “You’re not the only one experiencing emotions you’ve drowned beneath the sea of your memory.” I brush his hair in silence. “Meeting you, all of this, it’s been so quick. I haven’t had time to process what seeing you in person has awoken. It’s a beast I’ve tamed, but eventually, even the most well-trained monster betrays his master.” He takes a few deep breaths, closing his eyes. I don’t stop stroking his hair.

  “It’s as if I’m seeing and feeling the things I lived through all over again. After years of releasing it. It’s a movie in my mind, except it isn’t fiction.”

  I reach for his hand, holding him. “I understand. I’ve been feeling the same. Things I had thought I was done with have poked into my being, reminding me what it felt like to be afraid and confused. To not understand why it was happening. You can hate the person, but I can’t, because I was a product of someone else’s abuse,” I voice for the first time. “I’ve never been able to hate because what was done to me was what was being done to him. It’s how he learned what love was. It’s not right or wrong. It just is. I had accepted that. Until recently.”

  At some point, Matthias opened his eyes while I was speaking. My own are staring at an ugly painting on the wall next to the television that I wish I could remove. I look down at him and shrug. “It is what it is. He didn’t know it was wrong because he was told it was right. The person that hurt you was different. I know of those kinds of monsters, too. We all picked a role in this life, and that’s a hard pill to swallow. To accept that we chose to experience certain things. Many people don’t get it. They don’t believe it. It’s easier to judge and point fingers than grasp the idea that we needed to live through things so our soul can evolve.”

  I swallow loudly and finally make eye contact with him. “I hate it. I hate you lived through that. I hate that I’m the person that is stirring it awake. I’m sorry.”

  He turns his head toward my body and kisses my stomach. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault. This is part of the process. Part of being human.”

  I bend my body down to kiss his lips. “We’ve only just met, yet I feel like it’s been an eternity.”

  “Because in a way, it has.”
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  I smile, the tension still rolling around the room. “I want coffee,” I announce.

  Matthias laughs and sits up. “Let’s go get some.”

  I don’t argue. I stand, put on my shoes, and wait for him by the door. His smile lightens his face, and his body is much more relaxed. We walk down the steps and into the cool evening.

  When we reach the coffee shop near my house, we take a seat and order our drinks. As always, Matthias with his tea and me with my coffee.

  As soon as I decided to stop writing this perfect version of what a book that deals with spirituality should be, the words started to flow. I want people to connect to the words I want to share with them; therefore, it should be far from perfection, since none of us are perfect.

  I was comparing myself to others. I was comparing what I wanted to share to how others have shared their own knowledge. I can only be myself. I can only do what I do. Being truthful will be the only way to do this. No more fiction. No more pretending I don’t have the wisdom to share.

  I hold my journal tighter in my hand as I cross the street. After almost an entire week without working, I was happy to see my clients today. My purse weighs down on my shoulder with the new crystals I bought. I should’ve left them at work, but I wanted to cleanse them after using them with people today.

  I take a seat on the bench in the park. The afternoon called for some outdoor time with the sun shining down, creating a shimmer on the damp ground. I cross my leg and place the journal on my lap, opening to the page I was working on early this morning. I get lost in the free-flowing writing.

  So many times, I don’t speak up. I quiet myself because I’m embarrassed to talk about topics that I assume others don’t have a clue about. I want to help humanity, but I don’t dare express what will help it. For a long time, I silenced my voice. I didn’t want people to know what I was feeling or who I was. I hid my self-expression, replaced it with that of others, like the chameleon I am.