Tea Time

Her mouth traces up to my neck, trailing that same heat cold of the sea with her. A stop at my chin, she studies the shape a moment before moving to my lips. Another blessing I am unworthy of, but I have it. I have her taste of nothing at all, the same vacant scent of her filling my head. Bone dry, her mouth is bone dry. Her tongue still explores my mouth with its restrained curiosity.

She takes another finger in me, touching me, spreading me, playing me with. I am just another song for her to stroll through. I am the harp, the notes, the songs, the urge deep inside of her to create. And she does it so well.

It comes. My end comes from her in the final moments of her rest. A grand crescendo, that's all this is. Another shock through me to underscore the line, but that's all I need to start the pull of my muscles down to something deep and primal and simple. All the scars have been wiped away. All the marks blotted out. I have bled for her and stained the pristine wax so that she can make me whole. A bit of pressure and it is all over for me.

I don't think. I can't think. There is nothing in me that could do something so complicated. I just am. And it is glorious. It is splendid. It is everything I can think of. It is all I can think of. I am tense and loose. It all is in me, it all is so gloriously numbing to think about nothing at all. There is nothing to be in the endless sea of wax.

My hands come to something soft and smooth. The end has faded enough to give me back my sight and it's the Lady's arm. Strong, dense, but with enough give. It's hardened wax, just like the rest of the world. I take my hand away, but she takes it back. I am on her chest, feeling the same sensation in the round swell. It's the same.

Her eyes guide me down, the endless numb finally coming back to the warm and the cold and everything else my body can feel. My hand flexes and clenches, the new one. Its first real sensation, its first real act against the world is to cup the breast of the Lady. I gingerly take it away and she lets me this time.

I am back to normal. Everything is warm and cold and thumbing along as it should. I am fine. I will always be fine. I have the Lady and the sea of wax.

"You're feeling better," she says. I nod and take a deep breath. All just a bad dream.

"Good," she continues, "I will let you know when I need you again."

Her hands, her smooth, soft, flawless, incredible hands, go to my face. My lips purse and I kiss the palms as she shoves me under. My lungs fill with wax. Everything goes dark.

---

I wake with no memory in my mind. My body has some recollections. There is a dull numb on my left wrist, but a few twirls and pops later, it's all fine. It's all good and fine and dandy. It's past noon. I can tell from the way the sun woke me up. It's only that mean after the morning. Anyone still down for the count at that point is a no-good ne'er-do-well who deserves whatever punishment is meted out. They deserve brimstone and fire and all of the hexes that solar power can muster. I turn over and put my head under the pillow.

There are other sensations in my body still lingering with no mind to recollect them. Cold and hollow, that's the big one, with a gentle itch over some of my skin. There are no scars. There are never any scars. The Lady sees to that and all that it entails. I am made whole by her and through her. I smack my lips as my hand, the one that is now whole once more, gropes for something to drink. There is an awful taste in my mouth and it doesn't seem to be going away.

A moment's hesitation, but I have to gamble on my find. And it is water. Warm and tepid, but it is water. And it washes away the film on my gums. I sigh and find the glass empty after too short a sip. Terrible, simply terrible. I blame the sun. It stole the one solace I had. I wish it would go black forever. The next eclipse, the moon better win.

I keep trying to burrow under my blankets. They are too thin. There is not enough weight to keep me pressed down into the mattress. And it is still too hot. My skin sticks to everything. Terrible and it's all the sun's fault.

It is a short trip to my floor and the wooden planks shock my system until I am upright and moving and shaking out all the little bits of my most recent encounter. I do not like the look of the world like this. Too flat, too bright, not enough of the shadows to give the world its rightful texture. I scour the pile for a pair of pants to wear. I'm hungry and I need pants to actually leave my apartment.

They are good pants, with deep pockets. And it seems the Lady took into account our recent conversation about funding. She was amenable to it. A job deserves payment, and although I was hesitant to ask for more, she gave it willingly. Coins and bills fill my hand, and I sigh. It's all sorts of money. Yen and Pesos and Euros and Florins and what I think are Rubles. The last coin seems to be an Ostmark and I do not know how long she was sitting on that one. But there are a handful of things I can use right here, right now. And I might be able to change them all out to something more liquid. Or keep as a souvenir in a way. The Ostmark coin has a fun portrait. I check the clock. It is not quite as late as I thought and I have a decision to make. The coin comes up heads, so I am headed out for breakfast instead of lunch. This is a good coin.

A harsh noise shatters my building excitement for coffee and eggs and pancakes. It is my phone, hidden underneath the blankets and pillows. It goes silent as I am searching for it, only to start it is klaxon when I think it's all over. I don't like the number that's calling me. I don't like that I just called me. But I have to answer it, because it will keep calling me, again and again and again until my ears bleed and the noise drives me mad. I take a deep breath that refuses to calm my nerves and answer it.

"Hi mom," I say, holding the phone a few feet away, just in case.

"7 times," she says. She does not yell. She never yells. There is just that same even tone that never falters, never waivers, never does anything other than state the blunt simple truth.

"I called you 7 times," she says again.

"I was asleep."

"At 11:30 on a Tuesday? You said you finally had a job."

"I do have a job. It's just the night shift. Mom, people can work nights. Things happen at night. And I just got a raise. Doesn't that count for anything?"

"Anne. Anne. You can't keep doing this. I know you don't want to talk about this but Shawn is from a good family. He can provide for you. You can even get a job when you're married. That's common nowadays, and it's a smart move in case something happens. I don't know what you're trying to prove by living like this but it's not doing anything for you."

"I'm not trying to prove anything. That's what you can't seem to understand. I don't want to prove anything. I just want to live my life. And I don't like Shawn. I don't want to be with him. I just want, I just want to be left alone."

"You belong back here with us Anne. That's not a bad thing. We're your family."

"Mom. Stop. I have a job. I got a raise. I got it handled. I can sleep till noon if I want. I'm an adult now."

"7 time doesn't sound like you have it handled. I want what's best for you and I'm not sure what you're doing is that. I'm just saying, Deborah got married recently and she's happy. Don't you want to be happy?"

"I do and I am. Mom, I have to go. I have things to do."

"Ok. I'll let you go. But we're not done talking about this. I love you."

"Yeah, sure. Bye Mom."

She hangs up a little too soon after the last sound is out of my mouth. I stop my hand from throwing the damn thing out of the window. The Lady might be amenable to more services, but I would have to explain what a phone is and what a phone plan does and I'm not really sure about the latter.

It's gone. She's gone. My phone is silent and my stomach is not. I can go outside and see about something to eat and then I will see about a way to while away the hours until the night. I might just go back to bed. If she was so upset at me being asleep at 11:30, then she might like me being asleep at 2:15 a bit better. We all have messed up sleep schedules anyway. My weird nocturnal jaunts actually make more sense than a 9-5 every weekday, making up those lost hours on the 6^th and 7^th, but then losing all the hours gained back to menial tasks that any household needs to keep functioning. I'm doing great. I'm doing wonderful. It takes a bit to dig through my laundry pile, but I find a good enough smelling shirt and a pair of socks and I'm good. I'm great. I'm simply fantastic. I kick aside the pile of mail slotted through my door to its respective pile and step out into the summer heat. Still not to my tastes, but there is a diner two blocks south. I can walk two blocks no problem.