Page 49 of Revive

We kiss until our bodies are dry, and the cold starts to seep in. We kiss out of the bathroom and into the bed, stopping for the small things that lead us to our destination.

I wrap myself around his body, head on his chest, arm over his torso. “Is this weird?” he asks, running his fingers through my hair.

I pretend to not know what he’s asking. “What’s weird?”

“I can’t stop touching you.”

Letting my vulnerability seep through, I ask, “Is that bad?

“This whole night has been unexpected, that’s all.”

I leave the admission alone. It’s not like I don’t agree, but I don’t want to hear doubt, or anxiety if the conversation persists. I would rather listen to my body, feel it through every kiss. Know within myself that this is a deviation from the norm, but it’s a good one.

It’s an unapologetic attraction where any walls between us become walls around us, keeping everything else out. Every time we touch or kiss, it’s like we’re abandoning the rest of the world, giving in to our most basic and carnal needs; letting our physical connection bleed into our emotional one.

“Tell me about your drawing.”

“When I was nineteen, I planned the trip of a lifetime.” With our skin so close, and his heartbeat in my ear, I share my most painful story. “I don’t have any siblings, and growing up, as sad as it may sound, my parents, especially my dad, were my best friends. They supported and encouraged me through everything.

“At this stage, I’d finished six months of University. I didn’t hate it, but I felt restricted. So, I said to my parents, ‘I’m going to hit the pause button, go travelling and come back to finish.’” The stroking of my hair continues, soothing me more than he probably realises. “As usual, there were no complaints or concerns, as long as I came up with the money for my trip myself. I worked my ass off, day and night, to come up with the money, but eventually, I had a perfect amount to know it was happening.”

“Where did you work?” he asks, interrupting with unexpected curiosity.

“I worked in hospitality. Swapped from front of house to bartending; I was a real jack of all trades, depending on what time of the day it was, and I was happy to do it, just to save more money. Plus it was a global industry. If I needed extra cash overseas, it would be easier for me to find a job anywhere, and keep it.

“Anyway, long story short, I saved for the trip, and me and my dad planned it together. Every flight, every trek, every hotel, there was nothing we hadn’t thought out. It was his holiday just as much as mine. Him and my mum had done a lot of travelling before they had me, and he was so excited I was going to be able to experience the same things as him.”

I close my eyes and count to five, mentally preparing myself for the next part of the story. “Five days before my trip, he dies. Heart attack.” My vision blurs as the tears begin to form. The time that’s passed seems so insignificant when I talk about the day he died. The ache and the shock always hit me as hard as they did the exact moment I found out. The tears start to fall, and I shift my hand to wipe them, but he stops me. His hand covers mine, keeping them both on his chest.

“Keep going.” His invitation to let my guard down opens the floodgates. A small pool of water now forming on his bare skin.

“He was the healthiest person I knew, not one single vice. And in a second he was gone.” He threads his fingers through mine, squeezing tightly. Empathy and sympathy evident in his actions. “I wanted to cancel my trip and my mum insisted it wasn’t necessary.”

“It was probably the grief laced with truth, and our biggest fight to date, but my mum rushed the funeral and had his body cremated in no time. Pushing me to go. She gave me ashes in an urn and told me to lay him to rest around the world, so there was never a corner of the earth that couldn’t feel him.” More tears fall, as I dredge up the hurt. “I wanted to be there for her, and she said she needed to be alone because she didn’t want to rush, and needed to be alone to say goodbye to the love of her life. Her words successfully pushed me onto that plane, and my holiday became a heavy-hearted escape.”

A surprise kiss to the top of my head gives me the strength to get through my next sentence. “I cried more tears than I ever thought possible as I left a piece of him and my childhood in every place I visited. It will always be the hardest thing I ever had to do.”

“For the sake of the story I have to admit to you I am a huge Phil Collins fan, and my favourite Disney movie is Tarzan, because the whole soundtrack was sung by him.” His chest rumbles in soft laughter underneath me, and a small giggle leaves my mouth in following. “When I was younger, my dad had this cassette tape of Phil Collins live, and I listened to it ‘til it literally fell apart. The Christmas before he died, I bought him Phil Collins Live in Berlin on DVD, hoping to replace the one I broke.

“So, on my trip, I made a friend.” I feel him tense, and I smile to myself, secretly. “For me, it was puppy love at its finest. I followed him everywhere as he became my crutch in all the ways he shouldn’t. It was our last night together and I was in my room crying. Overwhelmed by the loss of my dad, my emotions just transferred. Shifting to me being unexplainably upset at leaving Dylan. Next thing you know, I’ve got a random playlist on, music blaring through my room, and I’m sitting on the balcony of my hotel and ugly crying, oblivious to the world.”

Lifting myself off of Hendrix’s chest I sit up, pulling the sheets up enough to cover me, and face the reason behind this whole conversation. He watches me as I focus on the drawing, getting lost in my own story.

“As I was crying, ‘You’ll be in my Heart’ by Phil Collins comes on. It was so cheesy and tragic, but it was so perfect. To say I was a mess would be an understatement, in that moment I lost myself to the hurt, but I also let go of it. I hear something from inside the room, and I turn to see Dylan standing there taking pictures.”

I look back at Hendrix. Transfixed by my confessions, his eyes don’t waver from my face. His attention on me, afraid to miss a thing.

“That moment was a turning point for me,” I continue. “Like the universe sent me a message from my dad in song lyrics and I needed to dust off my knees, get up, and keep living. Months after I returned home Dylan sent me the photo in the mail; he’d written the wordsThe Next Chapteron the back.”

Crawling over to my bedside table, I pull out the original and hand it to Drix. “It became the reminder I needed as I lived my life, and more and more years passed without my dad.”

“I moved into this place after I got my first full-time job, it was my next chapter. I sketched the photo on the wall while drinking a whole bottle of wine and listening to Phil Collins on repeat. For days and months after, I added the details to the drawing whenever life got a little bit too much.”

I glance over, and he’s still staring at the photo. My mind wondering what he sees when he sees it.

“The obvious point of this story is my dad is always with me, but it’s the message within the message that resonates more, the older I get—” I cut myself off waiting to see if he looks back at me. He does expectantly like he’s waiting on bated breath for my wisdom.

“It’s not that inspiring,” I warn.

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