*****045:

It was hard to digest, even the watered down version he told me. I knew it was watered down, and I knew him to be an even better actor in that moment than Kell, because he made it all seem commonplace and inconsequential, while describing a TV scene to me. He kept likening it to detective and cop shows, and laughing like ---whatever--- and I couldn't picture it at all, because I don't watch those shows and neither does he. And that didn't matter, because he was very entertaining.

My blood pressure remained the same.

But my throat choking crying mechanism took a beating. I can't curl into anything, even my skinny husband. But oh, how I longed to curl into him the way we had before I got pregnant. I wanted to be held and cuddled and pet like a lap dog. I pictured myself panting.

"So, you're not giving Eli the imposter the necklace are you?"

"He's not an imposter. He was really just protecting you guys by infiltrating. We trust that he's the good bad guy. Okay? Keep in touch, send you a Christmas card, type of guy."

"I never want to see him again."

"Quit being mellow dramatic. It doesn't suit you." Rafe said holding my chin away. "And quit trying to crawl into my lap. I can spoon you if you lay down on the bed." He settled me beside him and did just that, even with my mom in the room. The tears rained down my cheeks. We were turned away from the door, and it did feel like he was in charge, he was the man, he was big enough to encompass me and keep me safe, and he could take all my fears and insecurities, and he-- I wanted to turn, be kissed, be more.

In that moment, I hated -- hated myself. This weakness, this blubbering mess. This isn't me. How can I be acting like this? I'm so fat. My stomach is ten sizes too huge, stretched, painful no matter what I did to it.

My legs were swollen a little, they just felt tight and stinging, and my back--never-ending back pain. But the tears and the thoughts, all the triggers made me feel out of control, and ---and---and I can't be out of control.

Rafe was whispering in my ear, the one pointed to the ceiling, as he pulled up my maternity shirt exposing the belly--- in all its glorious stretch-marked splendor. I squeezed my eyes shut as his fingers released the tension on the maternity jeans elastic and slipped them down my hips as far as they'd go. I felt his hands, soft, and suddenly lubricated massaging the massive tightness. I knew it was a mix of lavender and myrrh, with almond and castor--- the smell was of course, very distinctive, and I'd used it a thousand times myself.

"You are exquisite." He whispered as his hand circled the roundness. "You have put these children first the entire time, Aubrey, I'm so proud of you. You've kept them in by sheer force of will I think. It's okay to feel burdened, you are burdened. It's okay to cry, let it out, my love, my little love. God, I love you, Aubrey. If this is all the pain and depression you've got then bring it on, and if there's more, post-partum whatever, bring it on. I'm here, I'm very strong, as you well know, and I love seeing this side of you. I need this vulnerable side of you. Like air and water and fire and element--- I need this side of you, the self-pitying side, the side that needs relief, from life, from the cares of the world, and the cares of our household. We've created a monster, Aubrey. You didn't think two people as volatile and enigmatic as us would create anything less did you? It's the monster that will never let go. It will eat us up and spit us out again and again, cause us to ache with pain and need--- like this."

His breath was warm, so tickling sweet against my ear, and I felt my body relax like never before. He moved the maternity bra, and released my tightly stretched and milk leaking breasts, knowing they were sore, sensitive and aching. He smoothed the essential oils over my whole body, even moving back a little and reaching my lower back that screamed in relief as he did.

He went inexorably on. "Don't be shy about our monster. It's a big one, dynamic, and oh so needy, but in the end it is ours and we love it and it loves us, with a love that matches its hunger. It will never take more than we can give. And we will face it together, be in it together, actually we are it-- sometimes, like now, it feels like you separated yourself from it. Like it is in control, and it is trying to destroy you."

He took a deep shuddering breath as if he had experienced this phenomenon too. And he never stopped those long, knobby fingers as they smoothed and softly glided over my skin. The ever present baby rolly movement that sometimes hurt and sometimes thrilled me burbled to the surface.

Rafe took my wrist, the one on top, and moved it casually over my head. I had a feeling that mom was not in the room anymore, and was glad. I was exposed like I'd never been anywhere except home. As I'd thought his lips now dipped to sensitive skin, still moving in that lazy way that matched his fingers. Everywhere they touched seemed infused with peace and tranquility.

"You have to go back inside, Aubrey, inside us. Feel us? This is us, inside where the monster sleeps."

I was beginning to lose focus, as his voice slurred into non-words, and his hand became paramount to my existence. I sighed in pleasure. He kept massaging, slowly, circling the belly, calmly murmuring. I drifted.

"I love you Aubrey, more than all the tea in China, and all the waves of the sea. I love you inside and out, for the strength you show, the thoughtfulness, the stamina, the determination. You complete me, you breathe with me, your feelings are my feelings. I know you, I've always known you. I want you forever. With the deepest longing and love I've ever experienced. I'm vulnerable when you are. I'm insecure and anxious. About lots of things, but not about you, not about this...." He circled the round, round, roundness. "I'm strong when you feel weak, and I'm glad you're feeling angry and pitiful and sorry for yourself. This is hard, and it's supposed to be hard, and we are in it together!"

My arm started to ache, the one above my head. I moved it and he slid his hand all the way up it, laced our fingers and brought it down to curl under my breasts and lay against the babies. He was still up on his other elbow, whispering. I didn't know what else, just that all his words were mine, and I wasn't sharing him with anyone else at the moment.

"When you start to come alive again, baby, let's go home, okay?" He mumbled sleepily. "But not for a while, not till we're ready. This is perfect, this is timeless, and weightless, and----."

I heard the deep even breathing that accompanied his own loss of consciousness, as his hand slipped into absentia, and a weightless numb accommodated our need to get out of the world together for just a moment.

I gravitated toward this surreal nectar of forgetfulness.

Like a panda.

*****