A More Deserving Blackness by Angela Wolbert Read Free Book Online Page A

voice. 
                  I resist the urge to cover my ears against the screaming because I know it won’t help.
                  He doesn’t apologize, even though I’m sure he can see the blind terror splashed across my face from the trickling glow of the nearest porch lights.  He doesn’t ask if I’m okay because he already knows the answer to that, and certainly by now knows I wouldn’t respond, anyway.
                  He just stands there, studying me, and then I can’t care anymore and I sink down onto my knees in the dirt, barely catching myself with trembling arms, my shaking body giving in to the pull of the attack.  I feel like my chest might explode.  I’m breathing so fast I think I might be having a heart attack but I know better.  This is just how my broken body deals with stress. 
                  So much for normal.
                  Through my frantic gasps for air I suddenly feel a presence next to me and jerk away, landing on a rock or a stick on my hip and only dimly registering the pain.  I stare in shock at the emotionless face before me as he holds his palms up and out for me to see, his head dipped slightly and his eyes open wide, almost like he’s asking for something.  I can’t think what it is though because my lungs are about to burst with the need for air.  Black spots are jumping around in front of my eyes and I know I can’t pass out.  Not here.
                  Moving carefully and slowly, watching me the whole time, the guy reaches down, lifting my hand from where it is braced, clutching at the dirt like the world is trying to dislodge me from its surface.  He studies my face as he lifts my hand and I let him, because he seems to be silently asking permission.  I feel my hair slide across my bare arms and realize distantly that somewhere along the way it must’ve slipped free of the braid I’d carefully gathered it into only hours before. 
                  And then he surprises me, because he turns my hand over and presses it against the center of his chest between the open plackets of his coat, the metal zipper cool against my wrist.  He splays it until my fingers are spread flat against his warm shirt, holding it there with both of his.  Instinctively I want to pull away but don’t; his hands are firm but aren’t imprisoning me.  He keeps my gaze with fixed brown eyes and slowly and methodically breathes in and out, letting me feel his chest move beneath my palm, inhaling and exhaling, never taking his eyes from mine.  Inhale, his chest moves up, expanding, and then exhale, down, and I feel the steady drum of his heartbeat from under his ribs.  Inhale, up, exhale, down.  Inhale.  Exhale.
                  Slowly, I realize two things.  One is that my heart rate is slowing, my breathing slipping painfully into a rhythm that nearly matches his, inhaling and exhaling in time.  My vision clears, and the screams subside.  Second is that this guy is touching me, and I am touching him, and it doesn’t bother me.  It doesn’t bother me at all.
                  When he sees that I’ve stabilized he shifts slightly, just slightly, and I can’t help it, my fingers flinch against his chest, underneath the warmth of his hands.  I don’t want to lose the contact yet, afraid I might descend back into oblivion without the feel of him, solid beside me.
                  He seems to sense this because without smiling, without any change in his expression at all he enfolds my hand in one of his and shrugs the opposite shoulder to dislodge the jacket there.  Then he switches, grasping my hand with his other as he slips the jacket fully from his body.  He uses his free hand to swing it up and around my still shivering body, encompassing me in a blanket of warmth, all without ever letting go of my hand.
                  He returns the free hand