Page 34 of No Greater Oblivion

He watches me as I ride him, lifting and lowering my hips at a slow and steady pace. Not the rough fucking I’m sure he expected but he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he wraps his arms around me, conscientious of where he places his hands, and kisses his way across my jaw. Each kiss is gentle, reverent, soft. He kisses below my ear and down the column of my neck. Across my chest and between my breasts, everywhere he has access to. Then he lifts his hips and meets me thrust for thrust, the depth of each plunge inside me stealing my breath.

He fills me so fully, so completely, stretching me as far as I can go. My body responds to him and the walls of my sex contract and expand, molding to the shape of him. There’s a buzzing in my veins and a ringing in my ears. It’s so achingly slow that when the orgasm finally hits, I wish it hadn’t. I wish it had gone on for longer, that I could’ve stretched every second out into an eternity.

Alejandro pulls out of me and sets me down on the bed. My breaths come in short, labored pants, still coming down from the high as I watch him zip up his pants and buckle his belt.

I reach out and touch his arm. “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing.” He takes my hand and kisses the inside of my palm. “I have to go. Abuelo’s expecting me.”

“Take me with you.”

“It’ll be boring, I promise. I wish I didn’t have to go.”

I sit up and adjust my dress. “I’m worried about you.”

He won’t look at me but the glimpse of his profile is all I need. “I can’t talk to you about it.”

Ever since I came home from the hospital, he’s been off. I can’t imagine what’s caused such a monumental shift in him. Losing the lounge has nothing to do with it, although I know it must break his heart to know his father’s place is beyond repair. I myself haven’t had the opportunity to assess the damage but from what I’ve gathered from overheard conversations, very little can be done to save it. A renovation will be tricky when the integrity of other surrounding buildings is also at play.

But I know it isn’t the lounge. I can feel it. He’s been cold and standoffish with everyone. Last week for Diego’s birthday, he sat at the dinner table for two hours and didn’t utter a word. On Sunday, Doña Ana went to bless him before he left the house but he walked right past her. Granted, neither of us thought he was paying any attention to his surroundings, but that’s exactly the problem. He’s so detached I wonder if he’s even existing in his own body.

And his hands…he refuses to let me take care of him but yet, won’t permit me to leave the house. I’ve done so twice, both times on a Sunday, and it was in a wheelchair.

Does he even know he’s suffocating me?

“If you can’t tell me, tell someone else. Diego, Lettie, Abuelo.”

“I’m taking care of it, Dahlia,” he responds, more sharply than I’d like. “That’s all you need to know.”

He moves to get out of bed and I place my hand on his shoulder, stopping him. “Don’t push me away. Please. It hurts. I’m just trying to help.”

“I know, mi amor, I know. And it’s not you. It’s never, ever you. Te amo, te adoro, eres lo más importante en mi vida.” He turns to me and kisses me all over. Featherlight touches on both cheeks, the tip of my nose, my forehead, each corner of my mouth. “If something ever happened to you…”

He cuts himself off, swallows hard, then shakes his head quickly.

I whisper, “Is it because of the fire?”

“Dahlia—”

“You don’t eat. You don’t sleep. You’re short and curt with everyone, even Doña Ana. Why won’t you talk about it? Why won’t you tell me?” I cradle his face between my hands and he lets out a deep, shuddering breath as his shoulders tremble. He closes his eyes. Rests his forehead against mine. “What happened in there, Alejandro?”

He shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut tighter.

“Why don’t you like it when I change the gauze on your hands?” Gently, I caress the side of his face. “Alex, please. Talk to me, lean on me. Let me help you.”

“I—” His voice catches. “I can’t escape it. I close my eyes, and I can see it, feel it. The fire everywhere, the smoke in my lungs.”

“Nightmares? Is that it?”

His jaw tightens. “No, I don’t sleep. I can’t. I have to make sure you’re breathing. You weren’t breathing when I found you.”

Understanding dawns on me. “Alejandro, it was an accident. I’m okay now.”

“Si algo te pasa, me muero. Me muero, Dahlia⁠—”

I put my hand over his mouth. “Don’t say that. I hate it when you talk like that.”

I have no idea why he’s convinced something’s going to happen to me and the thought of him dying if something ever did makes my heart seize. We haven’t spoken much about the fire. For one, he hasn’t been around enough to have a conversation about it and second, it was an accident. One no one could’ve predicted or prevented and save physical injury, we made it out okay. Because I hit my head, I don’t remember much and so my brief encounter with death is nothing more than a faded memory. It had never occurred to me that for Alejandro, who went into a burning building and dug me out from under the rubble, the experience would’ve impacted him differently. I feel so stupid for not having realized it before.