An emotion of great delight

I’d always seen religion as a rope, a tool to help us grow nearer to our own hearts, to our place in this universe.

I did not often believe in men, but I always believed in more.

I looked up then, searched the sky.
When I found the moon I found God, when I saw the stars I saw God, when I let myself be inhaled by the vast, expanding universe, I understood God the way Seneca once did—God is everything one sees and everything one does not see.

Still, I felt a burgeoning hope when I thought of him, felt it push through the pain. I felt, for the first time, like one of the raging fires in my life had snuffed out.

I would never again let her hold my feelings hostage. I would never again let her dictate the terms of my life.

But then—even as I felt the cold lash of guilt cool my feverish skin, I grew tired. Tired of this feeling, tired of owing Zahra a tithe of my happiness. My guilt was tempered by a realization, an awareness that nothing I’d ever done had been enough for her. I knew that for certain now. So many times I felt like I’d been strapped to the tracks of our friendship, Zahra the train that repeatedly ran me over, only to later complain that my body had broken her axles.
I was tired of it.

This, here, today, just now—I’d crossed a line, turned my back on the ghost of my best friend. Even after all this time, after all her cruelty, I felt punctured by sorrow. I’d wanted so much more for us.

I didn’t know how but my back was suddenly against a wall, my bones trembling under the weight of him, his body pressed so hard against mine I thought it might leave an impression. He touched me desperately, dragged his hands up my body, braced my face as he broke me open. His lips were so soft against mine, against my cheeks, the tender skin beneath my jaw. I tried to hold on—pushing myself up on tiptoe, twining my arms around his neck—but he froze, suddenly, when my body moved against his, our jagged edges catching, tectonic plates striking. He stilled and seemed to stop breathing, our bodies fusing together.

Tentatively, I pushed my fingers through his hair. He thawed by degrees, his eyes closing, his breathing ragged as I drew my hands away from his head, trailed my fingers down his neck, pressed closer. Gently, I kissed the column of his throat, tasting salt and heat over and over until he made a sound, something desperate, something that shot pleasure through my body even as he tore away, took a step back. He dropped his face into trembling hands, let them fall to his sides. He looked into my eyes with a depth of emotion that nearly split me in half.

I felt like I might sink into the ground.

My hands were on his chest. They’d landed there and I’d left them there and I loved the feel of him, his heat, this racing heartbeat under my hands that proved he was real, that this moment was real. Slowly, I dragged my hands down his chest, down the hard lines of his torso. I heard his sharp intake of breath, felt a tremor move through him, through me.

We both went suddenly still.

I was staring at his throat, the soft line of his neck, the hint of his collarbone. I watched him swallow. His hands tightened around my waist.

I looked up.

He said nothing but my name before he kissed me.

It was heat, a blistering sun, a pleasure so potent it felt closer to pain.

It was time, I realized, to close the book of our friendship.