Forbidden Desires

Sierra was surprised to see the way Sky had decorated the room that previously belonged to Chris. He had turned it into a pillow fortress. Hanging large white sheets from the ceiling held up like parting curtains to circle the bed. He had mounted all the little pillows for where he seated her. A small table set in the middle that had a single plate and the entire room lit up with scented candles. It was a child’s version of a date and yet something about it was adorable.

She watched him enter the room, the soft light of the candle dancing against his face. He had a tray held in his hand as he walked wearing nothing under the apron. The tray along with the plate of food held a tiara.

He placed it in front of her before taking the tiara and putting that on her head.

“Well my queen. I thought we could do an ȧduŀt version of your childhood fortress. I am sorry that Queen Bianca could not join, so she sent me. With the orders to please you as you may see fit. And I, your humble servant am dressed to please you”

“How did you know?”

“Bianca told me of your little prince in the fortress fantasy.”

“I am surprised.”

Sky leaned in again, exactly as he had before with the sad whisper,

“Have I been so cruel?”

She read in a book and could relate to it when the protagonist said, “It depends on what kind of torture you prefer.”

She did not want to speak about the nights she shared his bed only to be spoken to her belly. She honestly felt like his personal uterus or a way of communicating with his daughter. She did not wish to take the attention and love that Ruth received but sometimes she did wish for a millionth of that affection.

And tonight for some unknown reason she had it and she decided she was going to enjoy it.

Sky sat beside Sierra and dipped the spoon into the rice he had prepared for her, holding it out against her lips as he said, “Let me feed you…”

Sierra parted her lips letting the spoon enter her mouth so as to taste the red colored rice. It tasted hot and sweet at the same time, making the soft texture melt while the vegetables crunchy. It was a very confusing and yet delightful blend.

“What is this called?”

“It’s a Chinese dish I learnt long ago from a friend in college. It’s not authentically Chinese according to that friend of mine. He said it was an Indian blend of it. Anyways, it’s called schezwan rice. I sort of made held back on the chili. You should have seen Yogesh. When he made for me the first time, it was so hot that tears ran down my eyes my tongue burned for like an entire hour.”

“Who was Yogesh?”

“Right, so he was my roommate back in Harvard. A real annoying human being if you ask him. And so weird. He would skip lectures to watch cricket, apparently he was crazy about it and always said you aren’t an Indian if you aren’t mad over cricket. And I swear I would have starved to death was it not him. He was a phenomenal cook. But, fuċk everything he made was so hot. He found our food so bland. He always complained about it. Don’t even get me started on his morning singing. He’d walk around the room waking me up with his horrid singing. Sorry! I am talking a lot.”

“No, no tell me more about your college days.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But I want to.”

“So he was an econ student. Gifted writer but his parents did not believe he could earn much with a Ph.D. in literature or sell his work in general and damn if there ever was a human who hated econ more than him. Every time he had an exam he would have levels of stress. It’d start with smoking weed and walking around the dorm like a lunatic. Then, he’d try to write my papers, bribe me into writing his instead of him. Then, he’d call his girlfriend, Ayesha over to teach him. And she always tried, no one could fault her for not trying but this was Yogesh we were talking about. At the end of it he’d always be resting his head in her ŀȧp and telling her how he was going to quit. That was the last semester he was going to attend. Then she would leave giving him the importance for the exam. So now the paper was say at 9 am and this all crap would be going on till 2 am. He’d smoke another joint and stuff and then at 3 sharp like one of those conjuring movies he would bring on what we called Hurricane Katrina. Because this guy, whenever he studied would throw around everything in the room. Like there’d be papers and books thrown everywhere; somehow every time he managed to get the floor wet, the bed sheets would be thrown and the furniture would be moved and it would look like a burglary scene or something a complete chaos and if you ever asked him when he did all of that he never had a recollection that’s why we called him the midnight haunting. It would be really funny. Then, he would drink like not a beer and be done; no he would drink like his life depended on it and walked in the class giving the paper in a drunken state. And yet somehow he always mysteriously scored the most. But, it was fun to watch such a thing. God I miss midnight haunting now.”

“He sounds like that one whack job friend we all have”

“Yeah he was. But, trust me he was fun.”

“I would like to meet him someday.”

“I am sure you will.”

“Do you plan on going to college?”

“Can I read to you tonight?”

“Sure”

Sierra found herself nestled Sky’s arms, her head resting against his ċhėst. She could feel the oft rise and fall of his ċhėst, hear his breath whisper against her hair and his abdomen ċȧrėss her like an old friend. In one hand he held the book while the other splayed against her belly, rubbing in vertical strokes as he began.

“What can you say about a twenty five year old girl who died? That she was beautiful. And brilliant. That she loved the Mozart and Bach. And the Beetles. And me. Once when she specifically lumped me with the musical types I asked her what the order was and she replied smiling, ‘Alphabetical’. At the time I smiled too. But now I sit and wonder whether she was listing me by my first name, in which case…”

Sierra never really liked to read but the deep baritone of his voice and the passion with which he was reading the book so engrossed made her wish that she did. He had mentioned to her that this was his favorite book. He told her that it was the first book his mother ever gave him, etched on the first page of the tattered novel in cursive was her name, Ruth Wetherby. It was the first book he had ever read. It was the legacy he was going to pass onto his child when she would turn twelve and understand the depth of this novel. When she was ready to understand love and loss for the first time. He hoped to read to her as a bedtime story, he understood it was an odd thing to do but he would have it no other way.

She turned her head ever so slightly to see the sad hint of a smile curve his lips and the mystified recollection of childhood renew in his eyes. He knew what was going to happen, he knew he couldn’t stop it and yet he was so enchanted by the words that he read to her that he could not stop himself. His fingertips moved against the pages of the novel as if greeted his lover. Reacquainting himself with her.

And so Sierra closed her eyes. Letting his voice carry her away to a distant land where they did not matter. It was just Oliver Barrett IV and Jenny. She imagined herself as Jenny.

Slowly through the late hours of the night the story built. The words painting their love story, their difficulties and finally their pain. Sierra found herself laughing at the silliness, smiling at the cheesiness, frowning at the fights and finally crying when she died. It was beautiful.

Sky never stopped, he kept reading, engorging her reactions as he read to her the words that had once made his young mind believe in eternal self-consuming love. If there was one book he wished he could read again for the first time it was this.. He understood how ironic it was given that he no longer believed in the concept of love and courtship, if only Sky had known that deep down, under the many layers of himself there still existed that little light that held dearly onto his childhood, buried in so deep that even Sky did not know it still existed.