Peachy

In her complexion there lay a latent rouge which would emerge if she had been running for the train, or he told her she was pretty. In truth, she was very pretty, but she moved slowly and with the languor of a young teenage boy. All her elegance was in her face. Her eyes and brows were dark, and clashed broodingly with an otherwise pale disposition. Her Cupid’s Bow rose aggressively, but with a certain symphonic grace that moved around the rest of her face like a swirling wind. She had it in her to bite with a single look. On other days though, usually when the sun had brought out her freckles and kissed her skin, she would let down her guard and a downy innocence would bashfully emerge, like a peach. He often told her as much, immediately after having paid her some compliment deliberately devised to illuminate her cheeks. ‘Like a peach, that’s soft and sweet the whole way through – no stone’ he would say.

'I think I have a stone,' she replied, in a tone that made him arm himself. 'Maybe that’s why people don’t like me so much after a while.'

She paused, and swallowed gravely. She was looking at his chin now, and a rogue strand of hair had fallen from her temple across her face, like a tawny vine, until it met the blue pillow.

'They bite away at the fruit, but they crack their tooth on the stone.'

He turned away from the ceiling onto his side, and as a reflex slid a right arm under his pillow, which then covertly snaked across the border until his hand found the back of her head, where it began to play furtively with her hair.

'Well, I always like finding the stone.' An impish grin eked its way across his face. 'And you know half my teeth are filled anyway – there’d be no great loss.'

'Yeah,' was all the reply she could muster, and as she did so a strangled giggle emerged from her mouth, where her lips formed a brief smile. As quickly as it had escaped though, it was drawn inside with a sniff. It was like someone within her had heard what he had said, and enjoyed it, but was hurriedly hauled back in and smothered. Her eyes were now descended fully, as if she was trying to find her own chin. They lay in silence for at least a minute, or in any case a long enough time to stir a panic in the audience, in someone who wasn’t privy to the frequency with which their conversations yielded to their surroundings, like they were waiting for a car to pass before walking to the next street. The rain smattered the skylight above them like far-off machine gun fire. He was still playing with her hair.

'Do you love me?'

His face betrayed the dismaying incredulity that the question stirred, though he tried to hide it; his voice did the same, and the result sounded inadvertently flippant.

'Do you think all those times I say I love you, that I’m doing it for my own satisfaction? Like a great mangy cat playing with its food?'

'Well, I don’t know.' Her voice had now retreated to a softness that matched her skin, and cracked slightly as she finished. 'Even if you do now, will you keep loving me?'

'Yeah, I think so. To be honest, I don’t think I’d ever have it in me to stop.'

The words hadn’t seemed to penetrate the shroud under which she had retreated. He steeled his whole body, in the hope it would galvanise his voice with the sort of resolution required to register wherever she had gone. His face was inches from hers now, and had her eyes not still been held to the floor he would have been staring right into them.

'I don’t really know what you want me to say, and if I did then I’d have told you a thousand times already.'

He was conscious of sounding exasperated, which wasn’t how he felt, and the result was a slightly strangled authority.

'I’m sorry,' she murmured. A single tear had escaped down her cheek, with gravity exerting the same force on it as on the hair, such that it looked like a gentle breeze was rolling its way across her face.

'No, I didn’t mean it like that,' he said. 'It’s just that if you could look inside me you would see that I love you. And need you. Same way we can see how we need air, or water. I just wish you could see that, is all.'

His forehead now met hers.

'You know I think you’re the best thing about me, and I’ve a pretty big head so that’s saying something.'

Though he couldn’t see it, he could feel his attempted humour had achieved some degree of success, by the slight upward shift of her eyebrows. This settled him some, even if he wasn’t sure the true sentiment had beaten her guard.

'So yeah, I do love you, and I’ll be with you as long as you’ll have me. Okay?'

'Okay,' she replied. Her eyes were now closed, and several more tears glistened their way across her face like glass comets.

Sensing that he had said all he could, he brought his head up, placing his lips quietly on her forehead in a passing kiss, dutifully placing the loose strand of hair back behind her ear as he did so, before guiding her head into his chest. He enveloped her like a cloak, and with one hand moved inside her hoodie, and began to draw faint lines on her back; it was as if he was trying to bring his fingers as close to her skin without touching her, but they failed to resist the final millimetre. His other hand remained on the back of her head. He was still playing with her hair.