The town hummed with life, and for the first time in weeks, I allowed myself to fantasize that we could be part of it again. After the drowning loneliness of the villa—a home now tomb of horror and concealed peril—had forced me to beg Caspian to take me out. I longed to be free to feel the pulse of the world outside of the deadbolts and surveillance cameras, to remember that life was still full of moments of beauty, surprise, and hope.
We came out of the villa that morning into sunlight like a frail couple courting freedom. We strolled along as broad as boulevards, covered with trees as old as centuries, whose branches rustled beneath the gentle caress of wind that carried aromas of warm bread and distant salt of oceans. The town, whose boulevards were bathed in sunlight, and whose sounds purred, was unlike the stiffness that had colored our mornings in villa walls.
Caspian's grip on my hand was tight, yet tender—his thumb following the lines of my knuckles in slow, measured motions. Behind the sunglasses, his eyes roving over each face, every movement in the crowd, I could feel him sweeping the entire area, his need to protect never more than a step away, an unspoken promise that he would never stop looking out for me. And I clung to that promise as we kept moving further into the heart of the city.
We walked past a small outdoor marketplace whose breeze reeked of hot bread and spices. Rainbow-colored heaps of multi-colored fruits and handmade accessories overflowed in the stalls. I stood outside a jewelry booth, my hand tracing softly across tiny silver bands that shone in tiny, sparkling flashes. Caspian orbited my shoulder, a constant stability in the midst of turmoil. I slid on a thin silver band with green chip, simple ring which at this moment was a promise symbol. "Pretty," I whispered when I turned my palm to receive thr light.
Caspian's hand touched mine. He wrapped my fingers up into his mouth and kissed my knuckles slowly, sensually. The touch tingled through me, as if the kiss burned the memory of us together onto skin.
"Do you want it?" his voice a low, husky rasp that clogged up my breath.
I shook my head, smiling. "I just like to look," I told him, my voice unworried but the racing of my pulse giving away the passion that lay beneath the words.
He moved closer, his breath at the peak of my ear as warm as he drew near, "I like to look at you." His words fell around me like an lover's embrace, full and coarse within me.
I stepped back from him and gazed at him, and for a second the marketplace noice receded. His beautiful, intent eyes—behind sunglasses—promised something. I sensed the tenderness lurking behind his guarded eyes, the curve of his lips parted into something longing and protective.
I leaned forward on my toes and kissed the corner of his mouth.
He made a soft sound and pulled me closer to him, his hands covering my cheeks as if he was afraid that I would get away. His kiss then intensified, slow and wicked, with his mouth drawing slowly along the lines of my face. I lost myself in the heat of his embrace, wild, hungry the way he kissed me—it was like it was meant to erase all the horrors we'd lived through inside. "Let us get out of here," he breathed against my mouth, the words gentle but unyielding—a vow we could escape our demons of yesterday even for a moment. I laughed so hard I cried and zipped with him down the block. Reality disolved around us as we dissolved into the crowd, our laughter blending with the city symphony of sirens and subdued conversation. And for one brief moment, it was real—like we'd pilfered a slice of normalcy.
We also paused at a tiny gelato cart on a sunny corner.
The air was warm, the sidewalk wet from mere moments before, and I savored the sweet, searing candy as I sat on a bench.
Caspian sat beside me on the bench, his gaze gentle as he watched me savor the simple enjoyment. His fingers drawing slow patterns on my leg, I closed my eyes to the warmth of that touch. I allowed myself to dream at that moment that perhaps, for one day and all, the darkness that had hovered at our backs would recede. "I've missed this," I whispered, observing sunlight dance gold in his hair when he smiled at me.
His eyes twisted and he swallowed painfully with anguish. "Me too," he murmured, his voice rough and unspoken with unuttered feeling. I reached out to touch him, my hand trembling ever so slightly, and smoothed my fingers down his face—my thumb tracing the line of shadowy stubble along his jaw. "We can have this. We can be like this," I said to him, hope trembling in my voice. "I want to feel normal again, Caspian. I want to believe there's a life out there that isn't lived in fear."
He wrapped his hand around my wrist and pressed a gentle kiss in the center of my palm.
"I want that, too," he whispered.
"I want to be able to let myself believe there is more to life than the darkness that always prevails." His fiery, searching eyes met mine.
I caught a moment of the candour I so seldom saw in him—a bitter truth that made me replete with pained love and remorse. "Then believe it", I said, my voice husky with emotion. If only for a moment, anything was possible. We walked down city streets, enjoying the ordinariness of things—a mournful song on a battered guitar by a street musician, the bright colors of a mural on a red wall, the low hum of strangers talking. I loved every bit of freedom even though it was as ordinary as this, a revolution enjoyed in the rebirth of our lives from the jaws of fear. But even through that fleeting normality, there was a scurrying, loathsome hypersensitivity which raised the hairs on my skin. Occasionally, looking up momentarily from under the constant weight of Caspian's hand across mine, I would catch swift glimpses of a man alongside my eye—a shadow only touching the very edges of the area of sharp perception.
At first, I thought it an optical illusion of light or libidinous imagination fed by past horrors, but as we advanced, the shape persisted with unnerving consistency.
I remember the moment vividly: turning a corner behind a row of ivy-covered buildings, and seeing him beneath a faded awning—a black-clad figure, his face hidden beneath a brimmed hat. His eyes, unseen, appeared to follow our every move. I felt a shiver as I met the stranger's gaze , as if his eyes were a physical force falling upon me.
I tugged hard on Caspian's hand. "Caspian," I whispered, in a trembling voice, "we're being followed."