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where memory and fantasy have met, where they are
meeting still.
"You can stay," he says. "I have the room for another few
hours."
Kyros nods and Holden feels him settle again. He settles
himself, too, and again beside Kyros, he floats...
* * * *
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He doesn't remember dozing off, but he awakens. Kyros is
still asleep beside him and Holden wants to lie here, just
watching Kyros sleep, but he knows it's dangerous to indulge
himself like that. So he gets out of bed, doesn't kiss Kyros,
just gets out on his side of the bed and lays out his one
change of clothing before going to shower.
Done lathering and rinsing, Holden stands under the spray
for a few extra minutes, letting it wash over him, relaxing
himself, relaxing with himself. If anything, this night has
raised more questions than it has answered. Instead of trying
to reason it all out, he meditates on the heat itself.
When he comes out of the bathroom, towel wrapped
around his waist, he finds Kyros awake, sitting on the bed,
already dressed. Holden asks if he doesn't want a shower,
and Kyros says it's all right, he'll have one when he gets
home. Holden nods and goes over to his clothing. It seems
strange to be shy now, after all that's come before, but he
doesn't know if he should drop the towel and get dressed in
front of Kyros. Stalling for time, he pretends to rummage
one-handed for something in his mostly empty bag.
Then Kyros gets off the bed, comes over and takes the
shirt out of Holden's hand, and starts dressing him. Kyros is
not nearly as deft at dressing Holden as Holden was in
undressing him the night before, with awkward catches and
hitches as he moves Holden into the clothing, missing some
of the helpful physical cues Holden is giving him.
Holden realizes that Kyros isn't the doll. That he, himself,
Holden is the doll. That Kyros never played with dolls or other
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children, that he doesn't know how to, that he's afraid of
breaking, not of being broken.
Holden smiles, chokes on it a little; choked up and smiling,
he lets Kyros dress him.
When he's done, Kyros smoothes Holden's shirt, his lapels,
and steps back to give him a once over. Then he turns to the
vase of roses and draws out an autumn damask. He snaps
the stem and slots the dark pink blossom into Holden's
buttonhole. "There," he says with a touch and small smile.
The walk out is wordless. As they wait for the car, Holden
breaks the smiling silence to ask Kyros if they're friends. He
doesn't know, they haven't talked about anything, and he
really, really doesn't know what anything means or is
anymore.
"No less than we were before," Kyros says, and Holden
swallows his sigh, feels it against his lungs. He came here
because they weren't friends, after all. Then he rebukes
himself: he'd carefully planned everything about this trip not
to break his own heart, so why is he asking questions now if
he doesn't want the answers?
The car arrives and they look at each other, and Holden
smiles as best he can. "Well, I guess this is goodbye."
"Bye, Holden." Kyros gets the door for him.
Holden realizes he's been caught hoping again. He's been
telling himself not to hope, trying to tamp it down so he can't
get hurt by it again, but when Kyros says goodbye, Holden
feels how high he'd gotten on hope by how much he sinks
now into his own belly. He gets in the car without another
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word, because what word could there possibly be? He pulls
the door shut
But there's resistance; it doesn't close. He looks up and
Kyros still has his hand on the door, holding it open. "I don't
know how long I'll stick around here," he says. "So write to
Daphne again. If you want."
"I will." Holden smiles, feeling Kyros' words in his blood,
his blood warm in his heart and in his veins, his skin blood-
warmed.
Kyros drops his gaze, drops his hand and lets go so Holden
can shut the door himself.
The car pulls away from the curb and Holden is still
smiling. He tells himself not to look back, don't look back.
Don't ruin it by looking back and seeing that Kyros is already
gone.
Holden brushes the petals across his lips. He turns to the
rear window and looks.
And Kyros. Kyros is looking back at him.
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Contributors' Bios
Winnie Jerome
Winnie Jerome lives in Northern California. She grew up as
a perpetual dreamer, aided by her voracious reading of
comics and fantasy books while she was growing up. She
spends her spare time writing, and has published "Yuppie
Blues" (Torquere Press) and "A Special Dessert" for the
Iridescence: Sensuous Shades of Lesbian Erotica anthology.
Lazuli Jones
I'm a resident of Ottawa, Ontario and work as director of
an GLBTQ theatre company. I am a published author in a few
other genres (namely folk stories and science-fiction) and,
although this is among my first attempts at a short story
erotica, I have written some erotica already in play format;
"Sextual", "Sextual II", and "Jewelry Box" were presented as
first-person erotic experiences and featured diverse
characters, including gay, lesbian, bisexual and
transgendered characters.
Mallory Path
Born in Manhattan and overeducated in Los Angeles,
Mallory Path now lives in the Bay Area. Mal's fiction has seen
the light of day with Torquere Press, Lucrezia Magazine, Yaoi
Magazine, and Forbidden Fruit. She also has the distinction of
being the first non-Australian author published by Gay eBooks
Australia, in the anthology Queer Hearts.
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Election Night Hell © 2008 by Winnie Jerome
Of All the Gin Joints © 2008 by Mallory Path
Worship © 2009 by Lazuli Jones
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