To Call for Hands of Above Ch. 02: Time and Ink of a Ghost

Then he released his grip. She kept up his pace herself. It took her a moment to realise she was free. With that realization, her hips went out of control, moving almost on their own. Her lower body hammered against Cearbhall's pelvis, pistoning rapidly up and down so it seemed to blur. Flesh slapped wet against flesh. She let her voice out, her moans becoming a bellow of unrestrained lust.

Her face contorted with concentration. Eyes squinting. Brow twisted. Teeth clenched between pouting lips. Nothing in the world existed but the intense pleasure that emanated from her lower body. The sensation of her lovers' cock plunging into her, again and again. The steady grip of his hands on her ankles, anchoring her. Unmindful of how she scratched at his shoulders. Unmindful of the increasing harsh raggedness of his breath.

She orgasmed, the force of it hitting her in mid-stroke. She froze suddenly, her legs shaking, ass in the air. Then she dropped onto his cock, and up again, sending the waves of pleasure barrelling through her. His penis slipped out of her, and her legs shuddered and gave out and she collapsed into Cearbhall's embrace. His hands glided from her calves to her lower back. Holding her, loose and tender. She breathed hot wind into his chest. Sweat from her forehead clung to the scratchy hair that grew from his chest.

Snag felt totally satisfied. Lying there, on him, flesh clinging to his by their sweat. Her respiration balanced. She could have slept then and there. But Cearbhall hadn't cum yet. She felt his breath, above her, pushing her hair around. His penis, still erect, she felt it poking out from below her butt. Still hard against her. He wouldn't leave her hanging like this, she knew.

"One more," she whispered in his ear. She pushed herself from him. Giving him full view of her. "I know you're not finished with me yet. We can go one more time, can't we?" She wore a small smile and lidded eyes.

"Sylwia," Cearbhall said, hoarse. His brow was low. Eyes hooded. Anxiety crept into Snag's breast. Was he angry with her? Had she done something wrong?

"I - I know you're not finished," she stammered, "so, you want to finish, don't you?"

Cearbhall didn't answer. Snag felt her breastbone tighten. Then he bore his teeth in his favourite grin and swiftly took hold of her. He flung her on her back and loomed over her. "How I could ever say no to you?" he growled, splaying his hands on either side of his head. She smiled back at him, wide-eyed, relieved some.

He prodded at her vulva with his glans and she flinched, involuntarily. The pink flesh was raw and over-sensitive from her orgasm and a prickling, unpleasant feeling spread through her. She bit her lip and kept silent as he made his way inside her. Instead, she clung to her lover's wrists, linked her ankles round his butt.

He started moving. Not so fast at first, but he picked up his pace, pumping his lower body backwards and forwards, in and out and in. Snag felt strange. As he moved, the earlier discomfort disappeared, only to be replaced by the strangest feeling of numbness, spreading from her vagina to her head. A fuzzy sort of feeling, like her grey matter had turned to styrofoam.

A thought occured to her: "This is what the zjawa feels like when I float away." She had never imagined what the empty zjawa would feel like. Never imagined it could feel like anything, being empty. Only maybe it wasn't empty. The feeling was fascinating, and a difficult one to explain. Not like when she detached, but as though she was caught between states: half-zjawa, half luminous. Detaching from her body, but for some reason, incapable of escaping it to float away. A feeling unsettling as it was fascinating.

He stopped moving. "Don't stop," Snag complained, wanting to explore the bizarre sensation more. But something was wrong. Cearbhall's face was pained, teeth clenched, eyes squeezed shut. He had ceased all motion, suddenly and without warning, and a clod sweat poured from him.

"Cearbhall?" she said. No answer. "Cearbhall, what is it? What's happened?"

"It's - my back..." he croaked through grit teeth.

Her eyes went wide. "What do I - What do you need?"

He tried to shift his body and snarled at his failure. "I - Ice," he said, "get me ice. There's a machine - in the hallway."

His strong hands, on either side of her head, clasped the bed sheets, until the flesh went red and his knuckles popped white. He was on top of her. Still inside her. She pulled away from him, gingerly, afraid to touch him in any way. Afraid of hurting him, making it worse. His cock slid out of her, and she wriggled out from under him, rolling off the bed and finding her feet on the floor. Her mind whirled. She spotted a small bucket under the round table and grabbed it. She strode outside with it, snatching the room key on her way out. She fidgeted with it in her hand.

The ice machine was round the corner. She had panicked when she went outside and saw nothing. The anxiety only grew as she turned the corner and saw nothing still. It only quieted a little when she spotted it out of the corner of her eye as she as she all but sprinted past it. But she stopped in mid-step, foot in the air and whirled to face it. The machine was box-shaped, wrapped in light-blue graphic paper adorned with images of ice cubes and block lettering declaring it as an ice-machine. The cheeriness of the writing only made Snag's anxiety grow. She felt the urge to pull away. Detach from her body, leave the zjawa to do the work for her and allow her to calm down. But her anxiety was like a number of hooks that kept her earthbound. She slammed the ice bucket in the alcove in the machine, the perfect size for it and jabbed the white button with her finger. And nothing happened. She pressed it again, and again, each time with more force until she was almost punching it. She thought she was going to cry. Then the machine made the most ungodly grinding noise and spat out far too much ice, crushed to pellet form. The bucket filled in an instant and spilled over onto the carpeted floors. It touched Snag's bare feet and she flinched from the cold and the wet. Sniffing, she grabbed the bucket and paced back to the room.

It was much heavier than before, full as it was. The weight was somehow comforting. She passed a hotel employee driving a food cart on her way. A young man, a lobby boy, bony-cheeked and narrow-shouldered, but tall. Taller than Cearbhall, even. They exchanged glances. The boy's eyes went wide and his mouth gawked and Snag felt herself get angry. What was his problem? She paid him him no more mind and unlocked the room door with her key. She swung open the door.

Cearbhall lay face down on the bed, arms crossed in front, forehead resting on them. He looked at her from within this rest as she walked in. "Sylwia," he grunted.

"Hold on," she replied, keeping her voice from shaking. From the bathroom, she grabbed a hand towel and extracted a handful of ice from the bucket with it. The pellets crunched against each other like the sound of crushing glass. She folded the towel over itself and came to Cearbhall's side.

"Sylwia," Cearbhall grunted again, pained.

"Tell me where to put it," Snag said, her voice not quivering yet, but getting there.

"Sylwia..."

"Tell me where it hurts so I can put the ice on!"

"...lower back. Over tailbone."

She found the spot. Of course, she could see it well enough, like a splotch of red paint caked on his skin, inflamed and sore. She applied the ice towel with steady hands. "What now? What do I do now?"

"Now nothing. Let it cool down, change it when it need changing. Let it sort itself out. Sylwia- "

"But do you have any medicine, or anything? Any anti-imflammatory things?"

"No, I don't need that. Sylwia, look- "

"Then should I call a doctor, or an ambulance? God, what if it's actually really bad and you need surgery- "

"Sylwia!"

"What?!"

"Look. Down."

Snag looked down. She didn't know what she meant to be looking for. Her ribs felt too tight on her lungs. She could feel herself sweating now. Felt it run down to her bare feet from her bare legs and bare-

Oh.

All of a sudden, she felt guilty for getting angry at the lobby boy. Then she felt the blush rising. She brought her hands to her face and laughed despite herself. Cearbhall laughed too, blowing air out his nostrils, then stopped abruptly, grunting minutely.

***

Some time later, a noxious cloud of silence fell over the room. Snag sat in one of the chairs at the round table, wrapped in a dressing gown from the bathroom, and silently choked on the awkward fumes.

Cearbhall lay in the same position: stomach down, arms crossed in front, resting his head on them. The hand towel, wet from melted ice, running cool water on his recovering back. His face turned away from her.

As ever, her bones were too tight round her her lungs, and a hollow feeling bloated her abdomen, and a lump of hot pitch developed at the base of her throat. She sat with her legs together, back slouched and hands knitted together on her lap. Making herself as small as possible.

How desperate she was to escape. To detach from herself, like she always did when things were hard, to leave her body to go throught the motions of the ordinary people so she could waft to elsewhere. Wherever she wanted. Whenever she wanted. So easy. Only not now, because no matter how she tried, she could not detach now. She tried, and failed, then thought about how she could have failed. Then in doing so realized she had forgotten how she had ever done it in the first place.

She watched him, lying on the bed. Watched him to see if he would move. He did not. A kind of understanding entered her. He had his face turned away from her. She wondered why? Was he angry with her? Did he blame her? Maybe he was simply comfortable that way. But that was too simple to be true, she was not as naive as that. Why, then? Why did he turn his face away?

Snag rose from her seat. A sense of purpose filled her. She sat down by his side, gently, trying not to disturb him too much. He shifted his head slightly, but otherwise stayed the same. She said nothing for a time, staring at the back of his head, the hair, grey as gun-metal. His torso moving up and down with the rhythm of his breathing. "I'm sorry," she said, at length.

Cearbhall visibly bristled. His muscles tensed and his breath sharpened. He swivelled his neck and head round to look at her with furrowed brows. "Why are you saying that now?" he said, muffled slightly from the crook of his elbow.

"Because it's my fault you got hurt," she said, matter-of-fact.

"Don't be like that, now. It's not your fault," he asserted, with reflective eyes, "I hurt myself. Stupid old man, over-working myself. Thinking I could keep up that sort of pace at my age. What else am I to expect? You're not to blame for my mistake."

"But it was for me you did all that, I'm the one that made you go that far."

"You hardly held me down and force me to fuck you, did you? It was my choice. You aren't responsible for my choices."

"But you always do everything I want, even if it turns out badly for you. Even before we began seeing each other this way, you've always defended me. And now it's turned out for the worst."

"I do what you want?" he said, his grin returning. "I seem to remember, not so long ago, when you were doing exactly what I told you."

She smiled at that. She couldn't help it. She believed she felt the fumes clear a bit. But only by a bit. She inhaled a swathe of air. Bracing herself. "Can I tell you a secret?" she asked, in uncertain tones.

"Of course."

"It's not... usual."

"OK."

She inhaled again, eyes shut. Then she began. "So there's this thing I'm able to do. Actually, I've been able to do it since - well, a long time. It's - uhm - like... do you know - are you familiar with out-of-body experiences?"

"Not personally, but sure."

"Okay, well, my - ability, is something like that. In normal out-of-body expereinces, you can perceive your own body from some other, perspective. Like your soul leaving your body for a moment, but still connected to it. Normally, you could only achieve that state after an accident. A near-death experience, you know. Only, I can do that whenever I want. I - I can't really explain how I do it, I just can. I just have to kind of think about it and it's done.

"Imagine if the pilot of an aeroplane left his plane on autopilot to go walking around the plane. It's not complete detachment, you see. I'm still aware of everything that happens to my body. I hear with its ears, see with its eyes, and I comprehend the images.

But I don't feel it. Not like I would if I were in my body. It's like, when I'm floating above my body, I'm detached from my emotions as well. I don't have to feel anything like that. I don't have to feel anxious or angry or upset. I can be empty." She finished speaking and felt that the ball of pitch in her throat had evaporated, the hollow in her belly diminished.

"...So, that's the secret behind that face," Cearbhall said, contemplating.

"What face?"

"Yeah. The one you show in work. Like there's nothing hiding behind those beautiful eyes of yours. It scared us all silly, back when you first came in. Scared me, I'm not ashamed to say." Snag blushed.

"Do you remember our first night together?"

"I do," Snag replied. A warm feeling emanated from her breast. "Of course I do."

"Whenever I think back to then, it's always your face I remember first. You, kneeling on the ground under a streetlamp and crying. Not making a sound, just crying those eyes out. I'd never seen anything like it.

Even before then, I felt there was something more to you than a blank look. But I couldn't tell what it was, and it drove me mad." He paused for a moment. "Why were you crying, Sylwia? That night, you never said, what made you break down like that?"

Snag sat back. Looked at the ceiling, supported herself with hands flat on the sheets behind her. "I don't know. I don't remember. It was a lot of things I suppose. That night, I can't explain it, but it was like the whole world came flooding in through the windows and smothered me. Every problem I'd ever buried away came back to haunt me. Like I was at the bottom of the ocean and was being crushed by the pressure. I don't know what brought it on."

She stopped and thought for a moment. "Actually, that's isn't true. I know what brought it on." She turned her body to look him in the eye. "It was you."

"Me?"

"Ah, I - I don't mean, in a bad way!" she cried, waving her hands, "I mean - oh man - that sound really bad out loud - I'm sorry- "

"Don't apologise!" he barked. She blinked, flinched. "Don't apologise," he said, lower this time, rubbing his eyeballs with thumb and forefinger. "If there's one thing I can't stand, it's apologies. The day is yet to come when you need to apologise to me, understand?" His voice was softer now. Reconciliatory.

"...Yes, I understand."

"Finish what you were going to say. You said I made you cry, but not in a bad way?"

"Well, no, that isn't - do you remember what you said to me? That day, in your office?"

"Eh, vaguely?"

"I remember. You asked me how I was doing working in your office, and promised to help me with anything I needed. I remember you look so concerned when you said that, so genuinely concerned. I think about that all the time."

It was Cearbhall's turn to blush. "Couldn't have been that big a deal. Everybody says things like that, like padding space."

"But you meant it. I could tell that you meant it. And later, I kept on thinking about how you must have really, truly meant it. Because I knew, even then, that you wouldn't say things unless you really, truly meant them. And I couldn't understand why you were so concerned about me, and thinking about it brought up a lot of b-bad memories, f-from when I was younger, and-" and she caught her tongue at the light touch of his hand on her hand.

She composed her breath. "When I was younger - when I was small, I was a crybaby. I would cry and throw tantrums when I didn't get my way. But Mama and I were poor then, and she raised me all on her own. I finally realized how I was hurting Mama acting that way. That's why I learned how to empty myself. If I could empty myself, then I could be anything she needed me to be. I wouldn't cry, or get angry,or anything. And that was how I was for everyone.

I would do whatever was asked of me, no matter what it was. Any friend, any teachers, any b - any boyfriend." She paused, the message sinking in. "And I didn't mind, because it didn't feel like it was me doing it. It was always just my body, never me. I would be floating around somewhere, leaving my body to go through the motions. Leaving it on autopilot. But not with you."

"Not with me"

"Not you. Whenever you're near, I can't go empty. I can't detach myself. Like your presence keeps me bound to my body. It started maybe a month after I started working for you. I found that whenever I tried to detach myself, suddenly you'd walk by and I'd drop back into myself. It was so weird.

That night, I thought about you, and it was like I was feeling things I hadn't felt in so long. When I left the office, to the tram station, I managed to keep it in. But then I bumped into you, and out of everyone in the world it was you, and I couldn't hold it in anymore."

"So you cried," Cearbhall said, softly."

"So I cried," Snag confirmed and went silent. She had said all there was to say.

As if cleared of all toxins, the air and silence felt so much cleaner than it had. Snag breathed deeply, her bones no longer constricting her lungs.

Then she felt the tall man shift behind her. "Cearbhall?" she said. He was raising himself onto his side. "Cearbhall, you shouldn't be moving!"

"It's fine as long as I keep my back straight," Cearbhall replied, his face set with concentrating on doing just that. Easing himself on, he flipped himself onto his back, keeping his body otherwise stationary. "Sylwia, would you mind doing one last thing for me tonight?"

"Okay. What is it?"

"Could you switch the lights off? I think you and I both have earned ourselves a good night's sleep."

She smiled and did as he asked. The lights flicked off and the room was shrouded in darkness. In the half-light, she could the outline of her lover, lying flat on his back, fingers laced over his belly, shirtless, trousers still on and unzipped. She slipped off her dressing gown and lay down beside him, on her side.

"Do you remember what you said to me? On that first night, in the restaurant?" Cearbhall asked.

"I think so," Snag answered.

"You said I was fascinating. That you were fascinated by me. Me. Do you remember that?"

"I remember."

"It was the strangest thing that had ever happened to me, and it has yet to topped. And I hate to disappoint you, Sylwia, I do, but I'm really not as special as all that. I can't say I understand much about going empty, and I don't have the right to judge you on your past. But I do understand that living your life on autopilot is no way to live. I hate to imagine you like that. Hollow. I don't know what alternatives there are, but I don't believe that living that way is right."

"...I know."

"I also believe that you deserve better than you've been given. And I believe that sometimes the only way to get what you deserve is to fight for it." Snag didn't reply. "But it is your life. And whatever you decided to do, I will support you as best I can. I promise, now and always, I will support you."

Something fluttered in Snag's chest and she felt a sheen of moisture build in her eyes, threatening to spill over. Burying her head in Cearbhall's chest, "okay," was all she said. Her voice wavered through tears and the smile of someone who had forgotten how to long ago. And they lay like that for some time.