Even Stars Die - 12. Chapter 12

Alex's skin has turned gray and his clothes are wet from sweating. He's seated on the bench outside Coach's office, wringing his hands, rocking his body. I stare out the window, taking in the view of the campus steps, students milling about, and the whiteness of the clouds forming mushroom heads in the distance.

'Kinetics?' I mumble. He couldn't have heard. Too soft.

'No. Psychokinetics. I move things with the power of my mind.'

I turn to face him. He's looking directly at me. 'I should have told you.'

'You should have told me many things. Now, I'm thinking, what next? Alex, you lifted Marx at least 7 foot into the air. If I didn't stop you...'

'He would be dead now. I was protecting you, Keegs. You're the only thing that matters to me, everything falls to the wayside. It's all you.'

'I...I can protect myself, Alex. I have done ever since I can remember.'

'I know. I...I saw how you laid into him before the meeting with coach.'

'You saw that? But, you weren't here, you were supposed to be waiting for me in the car.' Then I remembered, Marx had seen him. 'You were there, weren't you?'

'Yes. I...I...'

I step closer to him, taking his wrists and squeezing, 'Wait a minute. I...I could never face up to Marx. He's too big, too powerful. I'm a weakling compared to him.'

Alex nods in agreement.

'It was you! I've never felt such overwhelming power. It...it was you?'

His gaze meets mine, and his mouth forms the word, 'Yes.'

I stare into his dark brown eyes and whisper, 'Alex, who are you? What are you doing?'

He lowers his chin, stares at the floor, 'I...I'm so tired, Keegs.'

I feel he is trembling, it begins as a vague tremor, then suddenly he's shaking from head to toe. I take him by the shoulders and draw him into me, holding him tight.

'C...can...w...we go...go now.' His teeth chatter. I hoist him up to his feet and help him out of the sports complex, towards the car.

It breaks my heart to see him so weak. Like a car battery with not enough spark to turn the engine. Compared to a few hours before, he's putty, soft and pliable, a shadow of his former self.

Before we reach the car, he laughs, 'Keegs. I...I can't drive. I need some time. About half an hour.'

'Cool. Let's move into the shade then.' I help him to a close tree, and rest him against the trunk. 'Thanks.' His eyes find mine, and there is a profound sadness in them. My grip relaxes. I sit beside him, our arms touching.

'Tell me about this psychokinesis.'

'What's there to tell? It happens.'

'I'm curious. It's an interesting subject.'

'I will it. I can lift anything, from rocks to cars. When it happens there is a tremendous power that engulfs me. And when it's over, this is how I feel. As you can imagine, I don't do it too often. Takes too much out of me.'

'How does it work?'

'It's just the ability to move material objects with one's mind. There are others like me. Not too many, but they exist. It seems to come from an outer source, but in reality, it's just my own mind. I've never killed anyone, if that's what you want to know.'

'I wondered about that, you were about to kill Marx.'

'He deserves nothing less.' He turns to face me, 'are you afraid of me, now?'

'Nope.' But, deep down I am. I can't let him know that. I feel that he's reading my mind, and although we've known each other for two weeks, I feel he knows my whole life. That scares me. 'Just try to warn me when you do those things. I don't like seeing you like this. In fact, my man, I think you need to get into bed.'

'And you? Your parents will worry. We have to tell them about Cape Town.'

'I'll text my mom. You need attention, and I don't see any nurses hanging around your house.'

    * * *

I lead him into the bedroom, now swathed in late afternoon sunshine. Colour has returned to his face, but his eyes have taken on a dull luminance.

He sways slightly and I catch my breathe, lunging out to save him from collapsing onto the floor. He falls into my arms and gently I place him on the bed, unbutton his blue shirt, remove his shoes, socks and trousers. Folding them neatly, I place them on the chair in front of the window, and gently turn the duvet over him. Retreating to the kitchen, I boil a warm pot of milk, find a tin of anchovette, mush it with onion and vinegar; he needs sustainance. I return to the room and the gentle heave of his chest, the slight groaning, tells me he's asleep. Setting the milk and plate of anchovette's on the bedside table, I wonder what he's dreaming about.

I watch him from the doorway and gasp. He's beautiful when asleep.

He's beautiful when awake.

I don't understand his gifts, but I do understand that he's come into my life for a reason. The advice, the protection, the love, is all so overwhelming. I take his hand in mine. So soft. My fingers run the length of his stubbled face. So endearing.

The things he did for me today, no one could do those things. If not for him, I would have been beaten to a pulp by Marx. If not for him, my life would have changed for the worst. I realise, for the first time, that this is the man I have sought all my life. This is the man. I want to give him all of me and there's so much to give. I want his love more than anything else in the world.

I undress, remove my prostheses, as he would want, and climb into the bed beside him. My fingers trace a line from his head, down the length of his body to the fine black hair covering his legs, and back again. I place my hand under his shoulders and pull his head up under my chin, kissing his hair, his ears, the soft flesh of his neck. Yes, this is my man. Every inch of him, mine.

I want to whisper my love for him, and a tear drops from my eyes onto his shoulder, because I just can't bring myself to say it. 'It is so beautiful, knowing that you care.'

I must have dozed off with him in my arms. I am suddenly awake and to my amazement, he's not in the bed. I leap up, the room is dark, I don't remember turning the light off. As I lunge forward, my head brushes against something. I realise it's his arm. He's seated on the edge of the bed, staring at me.

'Hey, big guy. You're awake.' He smiles.

'You should be in bed.' I tell him. 'Is that music I hear in the background, or is this heaven?'

He takes my hand and kisses each finger. 'I'm fine now. Thanks to you. You're in heaven, and that's Nessun Dorma playing. It's as beautiful as you.'

With both hands I reach up to find his face, he adjusts himself on the bed and gazes into my eyes.

'I was worried about you.'

'I told you, it takes a while. This has been the worst. But, enough of that.' He places his hand beneath the duvet and covers my manhood with the full length of his palm, and with a gentle touch of his lips to mine, my entire body trembles as he pushes me into paradise.

Releasing my lips, he asks, 'Did you mean it?'

'Did I mean what?'

'I heard your words. You said it's so beautiful that I care?'

'Every word.'

And then he brings me to the heights of sexual heaven as Nessun Dorma ends. Heights I have never known, or will ever know again.