Silence and the Word Read Free Page A

ad nauseum, then I’d live happily ever after. She’s read too
many romance novels. She’s fixed up the problems with her boyfriend
since we talked yesterday, which means that she’s even more
convinced that True Love(tm) will conquer all. If I swear monogamy
to Mark (or Peter), then all my problems will be solved. No more
disappearing bits.
    Even if that were true, it wouldn’t be worth
it.
    “That’s not an option. I love both of them… .
No, Kat, I can’t tell you which one I love more. I don’t know… .
Well, I’m not you, am I?”
    She eventually gives in on that one, but then
shifts her attack. Surely I can at least stop bringing pretty boys
and girls home for a night? Sure I could, but why should I? What
can that possibly have to do with this? We argue for hours. Usually
she’s less persistent than this—after all these years, you’d think
she’d have given up entirely. But now she has new ammunition. We
argue until I am ready to weep with frustration. Finally, I just
hang up. She’ll understand. I’ll call her back next week and
apologize; I just can’t cope with any more right now.
    There is work waiting for me, but I can’t
look at it now, I can’t. I just can’t.
    I call Mark.
     
     
    I meet Mark at the airport; he’s bought a
ticket and come out early, two whole weeks before my scheduled
trip. I feel better as soon as he arrives; stronger. Solider.
    Nothing had disappeared in the few
intervening days, but I’d been looking a bit translucent. My
housemates had mentioned that I seemed pale; one of them made me
dinner last night, out of the blue. She kept trying to get me to
drink carrot juice. I’d started staying inside; in bright sunlight,
I could see the veins and arteries through my skin, the blood
pumping away, the muscles stretching and flexing. It didn’t seem to
be dangerous—my hands could still type, my legs could still
walk—it’s just unnerving. I’m so glad to have Mark with me.
    I slide my arm around him, hold him tight.
Definitely better. I don’t mention it until we’re home, until the
bus has deposited us down the street and we’ve walked up the last
few blocks to the house. Luckily, he travels light. We slip inside,
dodging housemates; he’s not the gregarious type, and lately, for
all their kindly concern, they weary me.
    “I think you should spend more time
alone.”
    Mark doesn’t usually give advice, even when
asked. He must be actually worried.
    “I feel better. Now that you’re here.” It
sounds appallingly mushy, but he’s used to that from me.
    “I can’t fix it for you.”
    “Shh…I know.”
    We talk for a while, and then go to sleep. No
real answers yet. Difficult to have answers when you’re not sure
what the question is. Is the doctor right? Is Peter? Am I stretched
too thin? And if so, is there anything I can do about it? Is there
anything I’m willing to do?
     
     
    In the morning, I wake to sunlight coming in
the window, and tentatively hold a hand up to it. I can’t see
through, even a little. Totally solid and normal. Relieved, I turn
to wake Mark up, but he looks so peaceful…he hates being woken. At
least I can make it a pleasant waking.
    I slide further under the sheets, slip down
to gently breathe on his hip, his thigh. If I do this just right, I
can get him hard without waking him. Once, I even made him come in
his sleep; that was satisfying. I’m not particularly interested in
trying to repeat that, though—my nipples are sore and my thigh
muscles are tight. I want him, and I want him awake. I breathe in
deeply; the scent of him always turns me on. I blow gently on his
hardening cock, I lick down the length of it, I rub my thighs
together as I take the head in my mouth…I rub my cock against his
leg…what?!
    He’s awake. I’m very awake. We sit up; I yank
back the sheets, and there, below my belly, nestled in a little
nest of fine blonde hair, is a pale cock just like his, shocking
against my dark skin. I can’t help