The Wharf
The world is blue-grey, cast in an artificial glow that suggests a vast underground city. Darkness permeates the space, yet visibility remains clear, as if the air itself carries a faint luminescence. A cavernous expanse stretches above and around, hinting at hidden depths and unseen boundaries.
I stand on a concrete wharf that extends into a still body of water fathoms below. It's solid and unyielding beneath my feet. At the far end, a fence of metal bars rises like a sentry. I feel drawn to it, compelled to go towards the place where I do not belong.
Your captors allow you through, and you approach, water beaded on your skin. Your bleached hair, buzzed close to your scalp, forms golden wet clusters, and your roots are beginning to show. Droplets of water trace paths down your alabaster body from the top of your head down your square jaw, down your shoulders and your chest all the way to the V of your abdomen and disappearing beneath the band of your briefs.
The angles are at odds with the almost soft and childish way you look back at me, a mixture of shame and fear in your eyes that I'm not used to seeing so prominently expressed. You look cold, a discomfort evident in the set of your shoulders, the tightness around your eyes. Yet you refuse to wrap your arms around yourself, bearing the chill with a stoicism I recognize all too well.
You struggle to meet my gaze at first, your eyes carrying unspoken regrets. But words aren't necessary. Understanding passes between us. Somehow, I convey that it's alright. That our past no longer matters. We're part of something bigger now, something that transcends our shared history.
Memories flicker through my mind. A car ride with you at the wheel, your lover asleep in my lap, the air thick with unspoken tensions. Years later, a mirror image: my lover holding your hand in the front seat while I fight to stay awake in the back, jealousy and rage twisting at my insides. The awkwardness of new relationships intertwining with established ones.
But this moment is different. You stand before me, open and real in a way I've never known. Gone is the shield of quiet intellectual superiority. The allure that once drew others to you has given way to raw vulnerability. Here is just you, exposed in your swimwear, the air too cold to let the water to evaporate off your skin.
I want to offer you something to wear, to shield you from the chill, but I have nothing to give.
As our eyes meet, relief washes over me. A long-held breath escapes, carrying with it the weight of unresolved history. In this moment, I know we're ready to move forward. The war between us has ended.
We turn towards land. I take the lead, guiding us up a stone trail that runs along a rock face. As we walk, we make polite conversation, carefully finding our footing in this renewed connection. Leading the way fills me with something like gratitude, a feeling of rightness, of pieces falling into place.
The trail leads us closer to something like a city center. Occasional passersby remind us we're not alone. We're headed towards a destination that, while clear to us, seems insignificant. Because we are moving forward together, stepping out of the dark and troubled waters and onto a path of shared purpose.
