I kept my face a stone, impassive and hard. "What did you see, Allegra?" he asked me again. I shot a laser-like beam at Paul with my eyes, but he didn't look at me. He looked, instead, at the floor. I stood up, and walked to the door, turning my back on all in the room, and next turning the doorknow. But it wouldn't move. Conveniently, it had been locked. I felt my anger boiling inside me, and I gave the door a kick, and a punch.
"*&^$%#!!!!" I screamed at it, and started a barrage of punches from my fists. "OPEN, goddamit!" Before I could move again, Paul was behind me, with one arm already securely around my waist, the other slowly snaking around to grab my hands. But he had done this before, and I was prepared. I broke away from his grasp, and ran towards the window. It, unlike the door, was not locked. I wrenched it open, as I heard the footsteps of both Paul and the psychologist coming up behind me. Finally, with a frustrated sob I snapped the window screen open, and all was clear. I turned back around and faced Paul with steely eyes. "One jump." I said solidly to him, "one jump." Paul looked at me, apparently unmoved.
"Come on, Legs."
"One move, Paul, just one."
"Get away from the window, Legs."
"No."
"We can work it out."
"Only in dreams. Not when it's real."
"This is a dream, Allegra. It's a nightmare. And we can work it out. Right? Try to see it my way...." He began to softly sing. "Come away from the window," he said then, again. He started walking toward me, step by step his eyes left me and went to the floor. "I'm not even watching you. I don't even know where you are..." Slowly I got down off of the window ledge and watched him come closer to me. I saw his eyes slowly close, as if he were falling into a trance. And then, I made a mistake. I closed mine.
Within the period of a second, Paul's head had snapped up, his eyes open, and he had finally reached me by the window, with one long stride. His arms had encircled mine, pulling them helpless behind my back, and the psychologist dragged the window closed, locked it, and then helped Paul restrain me; pin me to the wall. It all happened so quickly that I had no time to fight back. I tried to pull away from Paul, but the grip he had me in was such that a move on my part created pain in my shoulders and wrists. I choked out a sob in anguish...and defeat. Paul winced noticeably, and I watched his face as it twisted into a grimace. I mercifully dropped to the floor and put my cheek to the rug, exhausted and emptied of both struggle and spirit.
Again, I closed my eyes, but this time I closed my body as well, and collapsed like a rag doll onto the floor. I didn't fight back when Paul picked up my limp form with the same two arms that had restrained me moments earlier, hurt me moments earlier, and, like a father with his infant daughter, curled me into a safe position and sat me down again, this time in his lap. I opened my eyes, and admitted that I had lost. I had lost the battle, and the war. Along with doing so I had lost my voice, my courage, and my strength and willingness to show sorrow. I dropped my head down, as I felt my eyes misting over with tears. But I refused to cry in front of Paul. Even more so in front of the damn psychologist, who had sat back down himself, behind his desk, and was watching me intently. I closed my eyes to avoid his penetrating stare. And then his calm, relaxed voice spoke up again
"It hurts, doesn't it, Allegra? That kind of pain doesn't go away. I wonder if you know that. Do you know that, already, Allegra? That you wer ehurt, and that you hurt. Or have you blocked that out as well?" I felt my anger building inside me once again. Piss off, piss off, I whispered to him, in my mind. Go away, go away... "How did you feel, Allegra? How did you feel?" The waves pounded inside my skull. If talking would stop the waves, then I would talk. I couldn't take the reverberations inside my mind anymore, it was only causing me more pain.
"I felt like I was going to die, all right? Are you happy now? I felt like I was going to die. Does that satisfy you?" I was whispering by now. "I feel like I'm going to die." I spat this out at both the doctor and Paul, and then buried my face in the latter's comforting shoulder. And then I finally cried. I finally, finally cried, but for the first time, it was in defeat and despair, not anger and frustration. I gave up, and relinquished the prize of self-esteem and confidence. Paul picked me up then, like a child; one hand under my legs, the other behind my back.
"Has she seen a doctor yet?" The psychologist was saying to Paul, quietly. My head dug itself a deeper crevice in Paul's shoulder, and his hold on me tightened reassuringly.
"No. No, not yet."
"You may want to take her to one...ah...just in case...."
"Yes, I understand," said Paul, and shifted me to a more comfortable position. As he said, "thank you, sir," to the psychologist, who name I never learned, Paul walked out of the room, carrying me carefully, like a china doll. And all that I could do was cry.
And I stayed in the same state of mind throughout the remainder of the day. Paul had driven home, with me lying down on the backseat of the car. Once there he stopped the car, got out and opened the back door, but I neither moved or opened my eyes. So Paul leaned in, picked me up, and gently carried me inside. He laid me down on the couch, where I stayed, still unmoving, eyes squeezed tightly shut. Pau got out his guitar and sat in a chair on the opposite side of the room, watching me silently. He strummed our chords absent-mindedly, idly picking out melodies one by one. The repetition of his played music lulled me to sleep.
But not forever, much as I would have liked to stay in pain-free oblivion. I woke up and the room was pitch black. I must have slept through the rest of the day and into the night. Standing up jerkily, I stumbled past the small table and made my way to the piano. Without seeing, my hands somehow found keys and began to play the low, soft, sad introduction to Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. As I played, I felt a tear run down my cheek. I was so wrapped up in the music that I didn't stop playing for the next few hours. I ran through piece after piece, song after song, until my fingers were sore and my wrists were tired. And then, thoroughly exhausted, I stood up again, returned to the couch, and sat down. On something. Something and soft and warm...something that was breathing. I yelped in astonishment, and switched on the nearby light. The body on the couch had a head, and the eyes in the head had snapped open. It was, of course, Paul. He sat up slowly, rubbing his head.
"Sorry, Legs, I....well, was tired..." How long had he been there, listening? Indignantly, I sat down in a nearby chair and stared at him. Paul chuckled softly. "You know there's room for two of us here." He gestured toward the couch pillow next to him. I glared at him. "Oh, that's right, you're still mad at me for today...well, yesterday." I picked my feet up from the floor and wrapped my arms around them, compressing myself into a ball.
"How about sitting down?" Paul patted the seat next to him. "Over here, I mean." Was he going to say sorry? Apparently not. I got up, still keeping on my defiant face, and sat down beside him, arms crossed. Paul grinned at me, "ah, you know, a sulk is not your best look." I rolled my eyes, and subconsciously smiled. "Much improved," stated Paul, and patted my hair. I pulled away angrily.
"Paul, I can't believe you did that to me." I spoke up. He looked surprised to hear my voice again. "I can't believe you made me go talk to that...that...I can't believe you made me do that. I thought that you were my friend." I was bewildered, no longer angry, only confused as to why he had turned his back against my pleas. In his beautiful, smooth voice he replied, quietly.
"I did it for a reason, Legs."
"Oh, yeah? Like what?" I asked, with a touch of sarcasm poorly concealed. Paul smiled sadly.
"Like...I care about you." And then, without any warning, he leaned forward and quickly kissed me on the lips. It was a kiss that was sweet and innocent, but nonetheless lit a fire of passion in me that I hadn't felt yet in my life. It was a feeling that I thought only existed in fairy tales and dreams.
I stared at Paul, amazed, and then put a finger to my lips to make sure that they were there; that I wasn't dreaming. They were there. I shook my head to double-check my awake state of mind. Paul laughed softy as my eyes changed from confused to blissful. I exhaled a little breath of pleasure, and then leaned forward and kissed him back. The same type of kiss: short and tentative. But before I knew it, Paul was kissing me again, and this time the kiss wasn't short and it wasn't tentative. It was pure love, and it was strong and yet gentle at the same time. His lips hungrily pressed against mine gave me the best feeling in the world. And I stayed there for several seconds, simply relishing the excitement and pleasure it gave me. But Paul wasn't through. His tongue, before unapparent, was now pushing through his lips, and then slipping easily through mine. His hand wrapped around my neck and pulled me close to him as his tongue circled the inside of my mouth. After only a slight hesitation, I found myself doing the same to him. Finally, however, we had to come up for air. I licked my lips self-consciously. Paul didn't. Without a word, he tried to get me to sit on his lap, as his hand tried to slide under my shirt...but I was too afraid to go any farther than I had already gone, lest the very same tragedy that I had gone through a week ago happen right again. Paul immediately recognized my hesitation and stopped moving as I murmured,
"No...no more, Paul." I breathed in the familiar smell in that cozy part at the base of his neck that needed nuzzling. He kissed me gently on the ear and I shivered with delight. "Ah...no more..." His arms wrapped around me, and I fell back onto him. With those words in mind, I found myself slowly but surely drifting off into, for the first time in a week, a pleasant, dream-filled sleep. And my dreams were all of Paul.