Waiting for Rebirth

It’s QueerBlogWed! Picking up right where we left off on Monday, here’s a little more of Christopher experiencing his new reality in ‘Waiting for Rebirth’.

“That’s enough,” Damian said. I blinked and turned to look at him. He sat in front of an easel on a stool. A splash of blue paint stained his white shirt. He didn’t seem to notice. He kept looking from the easel to me. A small, private smile played across his lips. “Let’s go home.”

I helped him pack up his paints, the tools I was only seeing for the first time. A gazebo stood nearby, so quiet and unobtrusive, my eyes slid from its sides when I tried to look at it. Damian kept his artistic supplies hidden under its flowered roof. For some reason, he didn’t feel safe with his things in the Navel.

“I trust Gabrielle, but the Navel is her Place of Power, not mine,” he’d said, as he moved his canvas carefully out of view. Everything had a specific place in the box. The unfinished painting would rest upon the bench in the gazebo turned on one side.

“Aren’t you worried?” I asked. “Anyone could come by here and take your things.”

“Not any more.” He glanced at me, almost shyly, from under lowered eyelashes. “This place is ours.”

My heart started beating a little faster at his words. I felt my breath catch in my throat, when his hand brushed against mine. His beautiful, pale hand, dotted with green, red, and blue dabs of paint. Blemishes he couldn’t will away with a glance, not here. They clung to his skin, drawing my eye to the curve in his wrist. I almost couldn’t see the faint speckle of white against his flesh.


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