Chapter 32 Beyond the Line - Chapter 3
Lia
The house was asleep — or at least feigning sleep. Because my body certainly couldn't.
Perhaps an excuse. Or maybe just the longing to be close to him without any further pretenses.
Or perhaps, just perhaps, I already knew he wasn't asleep either.
And indeed, he wasn't.
"Still up?" I asked, noticing him leaning against the balcony wall, cell phone in hand, a half-smoked cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth.
Relaxed. Too striking to overlook.
"I couldn't fall asleep," he replied, flicking the cigarette into the ashtray. "My mind just won't quiet down."
"I thought some wine might help," I offered, extending the bottle with a sidelong smile.
"You always do come up with good ideas," he remarked, accepting a glass and joining me on the wooden bench. The robe slipped slightly off my shoulder, and he noticed. He always noticed.
Or extinguish one that was already ablaze.
"What's on your mind?" I asked, after taking a sip.
He took his time to respond. His gaze was fixed on the dark garden, as if seeking an answer in its depths.
The messes we make... and the ones we yearn to make, but lack the courage.
But I was also full of secrets, and I knew the pain of revealing them.
I keep wondering," I continued, "if we become who we are because of our experiences... or in spite of them.
Both, perhaps," he said, giving me a sidelong glance. "You, for instance... have always been too strong for your size.
I chuckled. It was a brief chuckle, because it hurt more than it should have. He always used to say that.
Ever since I was a kid.
"You've always seen me as a child."
"No," he replied, now serious. "That was the issue."
Not always.
Silence.
"Can I ask you something?" My voice came out softer than I intended.
"Go ahead."
"Have you ever desired someone... you shouldn't have?"
He didn't respond immediately. He just took a deep breath, as if wrestling with himself.
"We all have our secrets, Lia."
The name rolled off his tongue like a caress. As if, in that moment, he wasn't my foster brother. He was nothing more than a man... and I, a woman.
"I ponder on it quite a bit," I admitted. "About how much we conceal behind what's socially acceptable. What's safe. What we've been conditioned to feel. But sometimes..." I turned towards him. "Sometimes my body experiences something different."
He gradually turned his face to me. Our eyes locked. For a few prolonged seconds, that was all there was: the silent dialogue of our unexpressed desires.
"What does your body feel?" he inquired, his voice raspy.
And I wasn't prepared. Not here. Not yet.
Instead, I slowly rose, allowing the robe to slip a bit further. The nightgown clung to my body in the warm breeze, exposing the curve of my breasts, the nipples outlined under the light fabric. I went to the edge of the balcony, gazing at the sky, feigning a search for stars.
He also stood up.
He approached me. Stopped nearby. Uncomfortably close.
"You shouldn't be so provocative."
"And you shouldn't appear that way."
"It's impossible not to notice."
The ensuing silence was deafening. An invitation. A challenge.
I closed my eyes. I could sense his presence behind me, his scent, the warmth of his body. Yet, he didn't touch me.
"Henry…"
"Hm?"
"Sometimes, I dream about you."
He didn't answer.
"Not as a brother," I added. "But as a man."
The sound he emitted was a sigh straddling the line between pain and desire. As if those words served as both a knife's edge and a soothing balm simultaneously.
"You don't understand what you're saying, Lia."
"Yes, I do."
I pivoted to face him.
Our proximity was uncomfortably close.
It didn't move any further. He was trembling.
"Do you think we're going to hell for this?" I asked in a whisper.
"I think we're already there," he replied.
And yet, he didn't kiss me.
Heavy breathing. Heart racing. Desire throbbing between my legs.
But it didn't happen.
He pulled away first.
"We need air," he stated, retreating back inside. "Time. Control."
I stood there alone, trying to decipher whether that had been a commencement or a conclusion. The door was still gently swaying in the breeze, as if the air was holding onto remnants of his presence. The warmth of his skin was still pulsating in my memory, as though the touch on my arm had left an unseen path smoldering beneath my skin.
The silence now was more thunderous than any word he could have spoken. Yet, there was something in that silence that bellowed truths that we both lacked the bravery to articulate. Not with our lips, at least.
Because the eyes communicated everything. The body implored. The soul had already capitulated.
I finished the wine in silence, allowing the beverage to glide warmly down my throat, igniting even more of what was already aflame within me. The bitter taste mirrored the wait: sweet, yet agonizing.
I picked up the glass with a calm demeanor, but each step I took seemed to bear a fresh certainty.
And there was no way to reverse course.
Not after the way he looked at me. Not after the vitality I felt under his touch.
I was prepared to take this leap. Even if it cost me everything.
My tranquillity. My family. My innocence.
Because, in that moment, a singular truth reverberated through my entire being:
Forbidden. Yet, he's mine.