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I groaned and dropped my mouth to her neck, kissing down the long column and towards her soft shoulder. I stopped at her collarbone, resting there for a minute before moving again. She was panting, her lashes lowered and her lips slightly parted, all swollen and red from all the kissing.
“Move a little,” she said, one leg wrapping around myass and pulling me into her, deeper and deeper until I was fully seated. “Please, move,” she whimpered.
I slammed back in hard and fast, filling her completely. Her pussy fluttered, slightly squeezing my cock in response. She cried out, chanting my name and enjoying this with me.
“You feel so good.”
Her eyes drifted shut in ecstasy, her chin tipping back and mouth parting in a smallO. She released a long, charged breath, the feeling spreading across her features. Her legs went limp around my body, but her hands reached into my hair and tugged, then scratched my scalp. The move sent shivers down my spine. And I couldn’t hold it in.
I collapsed next to her, trying to catch my breath while staring at her perfect profile. She looked drowsy, a sleepy smile on her face. I kissed her cheek, then dragged her into my body in the tightest hold I could manage.
And then we both fell asleep.
When I woke up, the room was dark and quiet, but the panic never set in. I heard faint mumbling coming from downstairs, probably Lucía talking to the cat about something or other. Her steps faded, followed by the opening and closing of a sliding door.
I found my clothes lying on the floor, the slacks completely scrunched up by the window. Once I was dressed, I went down the stairs, leaving my shirt untuckedbecause I wanted to see her more than I wanted to be dressed at all. Maybe I could convince her to go back up to bed with me.
“What are you doing?” I asked. She startled at my words and stumbled from the counter, landing on her feet right in front of the cabinet she was trying to reach. Her delicate hands went up to her neck, probably as a reaction to hearing me behind her.
“Jesus,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
I smiled and waited for her to turn her body to face me. “You left,” I replied, using the same accusatory words I’d spouted just a day earlier when we finally discussed the inevitable. Her eyes shone with something, but it was gone a moment later, just a flash of lightning in her dark blue irises and a small blush rising up her cheeks.
She was wearing the dark blue sundress she had on earlier that left her back completely exposed, and her feet were bare, her toenails painted a barely-there pink. Her hair was up in a messy thing on the top of her head that bounced every time she moved even a centimeter. I grabbed her by the waist and moved her to the side, then stretched up to the tall shelf she was attempting to reach.
“Is this what you needed?” I asked, cocking my head to the side. “What is it for?”
She smiled and took the vase from my hand, then set it on the kitchen island and immediately put a candle inside. “I thought we could go sit outside for a bit, since it’s a little cooler.” She shrugged like that was just a casual idea, herbun following her movements. “It’s really hot inside today. Not sure why.” She lit the candle, then turned towards the back of the house, walking in small steps like she’d done dozens of times already, waiting for me to catch up and follow. She saw me coming this time, and she was prepared.
We sat in silence on the small loveseat by the back door, the wind moving the branches and the crickets chirping in the pitch black of the powerless night. The light of the candle flickered weakly between us, and it reminded me so much of those nights in the past, where the only light that would shine on us came from the hallway and through a small window on the hospital room’s door. It was harsher than this candlelight, making her look washed out and tired. Tonight, she looked warmer, happier, healthier than back then.
I’d gone back one night to find her, probably three weeks after Jazmín died, fueled by anger or desperation or a need for closure. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I had been desperate for answers, and I didn’t know where to find them. It was dark, darker than I would have preferred, because she was only working nights, and I needed to catch her during one of her breaks. I waited in my car in the parking lot long after everyone was gone, visiting hours well over by then.
I couldn’t drum up the courage to go upstairs and talk to her, so I just waited. I’d practiced a speech; I just wanted to know what had happened.
Lucía wasn’t there and my sister died, or maybe my sister died and Lucía wasn’t there.
And someone had to explain that to me like I was a five-year-old boy trying to understand death for the first time in his sad, pathetic life.
After three hours of scrolling on my phone to keep me distracted, I saw her come out the automatic doors, her steps hurried and her mouth pinched in what looked like pain. Her stethoscope was draped around her neck, one side longer than the other, and she looked… disheveled. Disheveled was the word, yes. Like she’d rushed through everything and was just trying to be done with it all.
I empathized. I hadn’t shaved in weeks. My hair was longer than I’d ever had it, and I was then on my last clean T-shirt, all my dirty laundry piled up in the corner of my bedroom.
I followed her movements from the inside of my car, only a few meters away from the entrance to the emergency room. Her arm grazed the side of the building, and she bumped her shoulder, the move making her stop in her tracks and close her eyes. It all happened in slow motion.
One second, she was walking along the perimeter of the building, and the next she was bent over and wailing, her screams of pain discernible even from where I was, all windows shut and doors closed. She couldn’t catch her breath, and my own caught in my throat. And the need to run to her, to find her in the dark, was overwhelming. Because Jazmín had died, and she hadn’t been there. Notbecause she was her doctor, but because I needed her with me.
Tears immediately flooded my eyes. My nose started running, and then I lost sight of her. I couldn’t figure out which direction she’d gone in, either back inside or deeper into the shadows. All the questions I had about my sister’s death vanished in a second, and instead they were replaced with feeling so painful, the only thing I could do was leave that place—and Lucía—behind.
The sudden nudge to my knee shook me from my memories. It felt like time had passed so quickly, but it had been years since the last time I saw her. And now she was sitting here, her lithe body stuck to mine, my mind escaping to thoughts of her consistently. I had avoided doing that like the plague since my sister died, but now the proximity made it impossible. A second chance.
“¿Qué estás pensando?” she asked, facing forward, one of her hands playing mindlessly with a lock of hair on the back of her head and her eyes closed. Her skin was flushed, no doubt from the heat of the day, a sheen of sweat covering the nape of her neck.
“Nothing,” I whispered back. But I wanted to scream at her. Because she’d been missing from my life for years, and I never knew she was what I needed. And now I was here and she was maybe mine, and we fit so perfectly and I had to leave her again.
She moved to lean her body to the side of the loveseat, her waist barely touching the arm of the seat. She looked sodelicate, her eyes still closed, enjoying the breeze that was enveloping us in the large yard.
“Did you know that if you look close enough, you can see Lighthouse Point from here?” She turned to look at me, then back to the mountainside, squinting her eyes so much they were barely visible. She lifted a finger and pointed to a peak, a bright star just touching it, exactly like a lighthouse on the shore.
