Chapter Six:
The Surrender
By Christopher Mitchell
They held the kiss until the lightning passed, and the rain slowed from a torrent to a trickle. They would have held it longer, had it not been for Buckshot whinnying in the stable nearby.
They broke apart, one unable to take eyes from the other, and Oliver pushed the cellar door open to a gray sky. He let Penelope pass in front of him, breathing in the jasmine she’d taken to crushing in her bathwater each morning, and he followed her out into the drizzle of the storm’s aftermath.
The property was scattered with dead branches and debris blown in by strong winds, and the Elm still smoldered even after the torrential downpour.
Oliver led the way, calling out to Buckshot and letting him know he and Penelope were safe, and that he was coming to let him out. Buckshot only chose the stable in instances of sleet or storm; no other. So, it was no surprise that the instant Oliver flung the bolt and slid the door open, Buckshot raced through and bucked with joy in the open air. The horse ran in circles, thrilled to still be living after a storm like that. His cry of freedom and survival caused Oliver to clap and laugh aloud.
“Ollie?”
He turned away from Buckshot. Penelope stood in the doorway to the stable. She looked frightened, her arms loosely crossed over her body.
“I love you, Ollie.”
It wasn’t a statement…it was a request.
He lowered his hands and approached her slowly. “I love you too.”
“I love you, Ollie.” Her eyes were wet, and her lips quivered. Her shaking intensified, and he longed to make them right. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” He repeated, getting closer, until finally he was able to place a hand to the side of her face, an answer to her earlier warmth when the world threatened to crash down around them. He used his thumb to wipe at the tears that escaped down her cheek and intermingled with the rain, feeling his own eyes misting at the corners, blurring her visage until only the outline remained. “And you belong here.” He whispered. “You belong with me now. And as long as I am alive, I will love you unconditionally, without reservation, and without pain or fear or guilt of whatever may follow.”
He took both hands and cupped each side of her face.
“And when I die, I will love you all the more, because you belong, Penelope. You belong, and I am yours…” He kissed her forehead and whispered. “…forever.”
She grabbed his hands and led him into the stable. And there on the ground, the two of them became one. Hands explored, sending little prickles of thrill through their bodies until each could feel what the other felt. Her breath was heavy in his ear, “I love you” whispered with his every forward movement, and a sigh of contented happiness with every movement backward.
It was heaven.
Oliver lost all sense of time and space in the intimacy of the moment, questing for just a bit more, just a few more moments, until, when he was no longer able to contain himself, he felt the rush of blinding light wash through him and escape screaming into the rain soaked sky, where his eyes were filled with the swaying of canopies, dancing and twisting and convulsing in celebration for this one magical moment.
A moment so spectacular that he took it into his mind, and placed it on the pedestal of his favored memories, front and center, right next to the one of his first ride on Buckshot, the wind whipping playfully through his hair as his mother laughed and clapped and told Occam to slow the colt down before Oliver was injured.
He wept. He couldn’t help himself.
And she held him. She didn’t say anything, only caressed his back as he sobbed into the crevice of her breasts.
For the first time in a long time, Oliver understood what true happiness was.
And it was overwhelming.
“It’s okay,” she cooed, letting his sobs shake her entire body. “Shh. It’s okay.”
Hours later, the pair emerged from the stable. Buckshot stood nearby, curious. His tail swished, and his ears flicked forward and back.
“I’m okay, Buddy,” Oliver said to the horse, waving to him. He took a deep breath and sighed contentedly. “I think I’m finally okay.”
He approached and hugged the horse around the neck. Buckshot’s head seemed to pull Oliver in, and Oliver found himself saying aloud. “Too bad people can’t be more like horses, huh, Buddy…”
He cooked for Penelope. Eggs, Bacon, some potatoes, and a few flapjacks. Penelope devoured them ravenously, evidently as exhausted as he was. He watched her devour her meal and felt a wave of possession course through him. She was his, and he would ensure that no harm befell her, and he would fight to keep her.
Fate or Destiny or curse be damned. She belonged to him.
No, he corrected himself. She belonged with him, not to him. She wasn’t a possession; some prize that he had to keep safe and sacred. She was a part of him. To make her his treasure and not an equal robbed her of her power base and made her less than what she really was…
A treasure to the world.
“I love you, Penelope.”
She was pouring syrup on her flapjacks and froze as he said it. She set the jar down, wiped her mouth and face, and stood. She pulled the table away from Oliver—the first time it had moved in almost five years—and approached him. She swung her leg over his lap and straddled him, throwing her arms over his shoulders and clasping them behind his neck. She leaned in and kissed him. Her lips moved to his stubble-ridden cheeks, kissing in successive little kisses until her lips were pressed against his right ear.
“I love you more.” She whispered, and she exposed him to the world, and he found himself once again lost in a canopy glowing with white-hot phosphorescence.
Thanks again for reading!
LIKE AND SHARE! Your support is SO appreciated!
