Autopsy of a Mind

[Warning: Explicit sexual content up ahead. Read at your own risk.]

I felt three fingers enter me, working me softly and bringing me to the precipice. His mouth latched onto me and I dug my hand in his hair, thrusting my hips up to meet his greedy, hungry lips. 

I swore and paused abruptly, my hands flying to my mouth to stop the string of explicit words to hurl out. Working at the station had made me swear a little more, but I never really said anything in front of Sebastian.

"Hands off your mouth," he ordered. I widened my eyes and did as he said. He answered with a brand of his own, curling his fingers and lapping at the flesh.

I fell hard and fast, leaving the world behind to bliss. He rode me out for several moments, patiently waiting for me to return. I unscrewed my eyes and looked into his eyes.

They twinkled with delight as if my pleasure added to his own. Another thing to love about this man, I thought. 

He watched me, a grin that held secrets and dreams, and I gave him my own smirk. 

Adamant to give back, instantly, I scramble to sit up and push him back. I climbed onto his lap, my shirt was forgotten behind me along with my denim. I started on his mouth, returning his passion and authority he had shown me.

The thing about our relationship was that it was changing. It morphed into anything we pleased. He could push me to the brink of insanity and fight me to get better, take control and make me submit. Or, I could make him wait patiently as he lavished me with attention, bringing me to slow realizations repeatedly. In subtle glances at work and passionate banter at home, our love was true, full of the promise of stolen moments to come, of chaste kisses that spoke of his devotion.

He gave me butterflies any time he touched me. 

Whatever form of love we showed, it was ours—good or bad, gentle or extreme. It was ours. It's what kept us tethered together. 

And suddenly, I knew I was going to lose it. 

I didn't know I was crying until I felt Sebastian's hands on the side of my face, gently pushing me back so he could see my eyes. I tried to hide it from him. 

What a moment to break down. 

Yet I didn't have to tell him why there were tears falling down my flushed cheeks, or why my heady movements turned reverent. I didn't know what the future held for us. Despite his constant reassurances, I didn't know. 

Everything that had happened, the things that plagued us would catch up to us, and we might not be the same forever. 

My first love, the first person I had let protect my life… the prospect of losing it all… the prospect of utter devastation. 

"Marry me," he whispered, his lips at the shell of my ear. The words stabbed into my ear, raw and fierce. 

"I can't," I cried, wishing the rejection away with all my being. He knew this answer. I had told him before. We had spoken about this. 

He pushed my head back, leveling me with that defiant, completely heart-wrenchingly beautiful gaze. "Marry me."

"Sebastian." His name was spoken like a homage, a whispered prayer to the heavens. It hurt me to deny him. God, I wished I was ready to marry. Was I?

He kissed me on my lips, keeping my countless excuses and objections inside for the moment. He lay down onto the blanket, cradling me in his arms. The hurried abrasiveness from before melted away to passion and the need to just feel. 

His lips brought my skin alight, his hands kept my heart fluttering. I felt him enter me with a slow stroke and I flinched.

I bit back the movement and waited for him to resume. It felt like the longest time had passed until he started to move.

Finally, he moved. The depth of his movements as he pushed into me triggered the heat within to build. He was the instrument by which my blood moved, my heart beat faster. Science said that I could survive without him, but science also knew that I would rot from inside if he wasn't by my side. 

My back arched and I could feel him go deeper than before. It was new. But not enough. It felt like I just couldn't get close enough. 

His lips were on my chest, his breathing becoming disjoint. "Marry me, please."

Marry me… 

He would ask again and again until I said yes. He would say it when I was cooking in the kitchen, or going to bed, or getting on a flight to the opposite side of the world. Even when I was older and teaching students myself… he would ask. 

Maybe, when we were apart or on the phone when my tears would flow because my heart hurt and he wasn't there… I would regret not saying yes. 

No. Not maybe. It would hurt.

I was appropriately dressed for this outing. He had chosen the setting that would suit my clothes the best. Nothing that would require me to wear heels or uncomfortable clothes. Nothing that would require me to style my hair or put on makeup. He had asked me to marry him in the bare, only flesh and skin and my natural self. 

I could be like others and scoff at his proposal off as him being taken over by passion. But I knew him better. He had planned this meticulously. This was not a stir of the moment confession. 

He had ruminated over it in his head. Possibly written speeches of love and passion but ended up giving me the only thing he really wished for. 

I knew… in language, he could not explain his love for him despite his knowledge and eloquence. Some emotions were spoken little of. The less he told me, the more his love for me was. His reassurances and love showed in the small motions of his hand and the way he pulled me to the other side of the road, putting himself to the onslaught of cars if they were to break traffic rules.

Neither of us was young. But though we were older, we made one another giddy. Our passion hadn't faded, and I doubted that it ever would.

He took care of me afterward, giving me water to hydrate and food to replenish my energy. As I drank, he chuckled. 

"I've failed. The movie is almost over," he told me, his head jerking towards the screen. I glanced at it and shrugged. 

"And I still don't know what the movie is about," I replied. 

"You didn't watch it? Even the beginning?" he raised his brow curiously. 

"Of course not. Wasn't it your intent to keep me thoroughly distracted?" He gave me a shy smile, so unlike him. Like I had caught him in the act. 

"When did you plan on doing this?" I asked softly. He looked up from his perch, his hand hovering over my discarded shirt. 

"For a long time. Before we were officially a couple," he shrugged. 

"You had no guarantee that we would be together and still planned this?" I asked, bewildered. 

"If you were never interested in me, I would have gifted the ring to you, probably coming up with some stupid excuse. I am sure I would have found something or the other to convince you to take it." His eyes held a little sadness like the prospect might have crushed him. 

"Ring?" The shocked me. 

"Yes, the ring arrived a couple of weeks ago," he admitted. "It's in my pant pocket," he told me. 

He lifted the shirt and tentatively helped me put it on. He even buttoned the shirt and tidied the wrinkles he had helped in making.

The pant went on next and I watched with fascination. 

"Shouldn't you be putting on your own clothes first?" I asked. 

He shook his head. "Of course not. You get sick easily, so you are my priority."

What a foolish man. "Haven't you learned yet?" my voice was slightly raised. "It's madness to protect someone else before yourself. If you can't save yourself first, don't think about others, okay?" I demanded. 

He chuckled. "Yes, I'll listen to you." Despite his laughter, I could sense the hint of dejection in his voice.

There was silence.

"Can you show me the ring?" I spoke finally, breaking the silence of the forest. 

He looked up and nodded. He pulled out a small box and placed it in front of me. I opened the box and bit my lip to hide my smile. 

This man really knew my taste. 

There were no stones, just a yellow gold metal that featured two rows of hexagons to make the design tasteful but distinctive.

"Why did you choose this?"

He grumbled under his breath. "You can wear it any time you want and people still won't find it gaudy. It's suitable for work and it weighs little."

"Good choice." I mulled over what I should say next. "Put it on me," I claimed. 

He paused and his head jerked up to meet my eyes, shock evident in his. 

"What are you waiting for? Put it on me." I bit back the smile. 

"You want to wear it?" he said, his voice held confusion. I could see the wheels in his head turn. He thought that I liked the ring but didn't want to marry him. 

"I'll reluctantly marry you," I told him. "Not now. Later. In a few years. You will have a long engagement, Dr. Butler."

The information seemed to process in his brain slowly. It must have been hard to see my expression through the mist in his eyes. And I had to say, his features seemed a bit cloudy to me as well. I blinked, letting my own set trail down my cheeks.