making love to me, and my dressing gown and nightgown disappeared somewhere onto the floor, as I abandoned myself to him, knowing full well I shouldn't. But it was hard to remember anything as my body sang at his touch. It was a song I knew I would long remember. It would be something to dream of, after both Peter and Paul left me. Just one more memory of a time of madness.
And as I gave in to him completely, he held me in his arms and I could feel him preparing to soar into the air and do one last quadruple flip with me. I smiled as I felt it begin, too transported by him to resist it. It felt as though we were suspended in midair forever, and as we prepared to land gracefully, as we always did, I felt him move only slightly differently, but just enough to change both our velocity and our direction, and before I knew what had happened to me, we had bounced off the bed, hit a chair, and crashed into a table, with arms and legs everywhere, a foot suddenly near my ear, and as we fell like a meteorite falling to earth, I heard a crash and saw his head at an appalling angle. I wondered, as we lay there, gasping for air, if I was finally going to see him with his head off.
I tried to sit up, but he was lying on top of me, and I couldn't. ‘Oh shit, what happened?” I could hardly get the words out, and wondered if all my ribs were broken. “Are you okay?” It was a useless question. The chair was on top of us as well, and he looked as though he were eating my nightgown. The sound of whatever it was he was saying to me was muffled. I pulled the nightgown off his face, and realized he was going to get a black eye from the chair leg. “What did you say?”
“I said, are you okay?”
“I'm not sure yet.” He grinned sheepishly at me, and propped himself up, wincing, on one elbow. “I think I moved wrong.”
“Maybe I did.” It wasn't like him to miss it. “Would ice help?” I actually felt sorry for him, as much as his wires, I suspect he had bruised his ego. He was definitely not as agile as he had been. Maybe it was the vodka. He was used to bourbon.
I went to get him some ice, and a snifter of brandy. I knew that sometimes he liked that. And there was no Yquem left. He took a sip of the brandy, and I put the ice gingerly on his neck and shoulder. It made him seem almost human.
“Steph …” He was looking at me strangely as I ministered to him, and I propped him up on pillows. He looked so sweet and vulnerable, and I suddenly panicked, wondering what Peter would say if I broke him.
“It's a hell of a note to end on, isn't it?” Maybe it was a sign that it was truly over between us.
“We'll have to try again sometime,” he said, looking at me, a little glazed from the brandy.
“I don't think so,” I said sadly.
“Why not?” He was so damn persistent, it must have been something in his computer.
“You know why.”
“Because of him.” I nodded, there was no need to say it all again. I had already said it. Before he tried to kill me with his failed quadruple. “He's not worth it.”
“I think he is.” That I was sure of.
“He doesn't deserve you.” He looked wistful as he said it.
“Neither do you.” I smiled at him. “You need a nice Klone like you, with a strong back, and a better computer.”
“Did I hurt you, Steph?”
“I'm okay.” It was going to be an odd life now without him, and I already felt nostalgic thinking about it. In spite of myself, I knew I would miss him. Who else would wear red spandex and lime green satin, not to mention the leopard G-string? There would never again be anyone else like him. Not even Peter. But even as I lay beside the naked splendor of his Klone, all I could think about was Peter.
“Why do you love him?”
“I just do. It feels right.”
“Does it?” He was watching me, as he handed me the brandy snifter, and I sipped it. It seared my throat as I took a tiny swallow. “It feels right to me too,” he said