"I'm trying," he whispered. "If it gets to be... too much, I'm fairly sure I'll be able to leave."
I scowled, right then and there. I didn't like the talk of leaving.
"And it will be harder tomorrow," he continued. "I've had the scent of you in my head all day," he said, pointing to his head. "I've grown amazingly desensitized. If I'm away from you for any length of time, I'll have to start over again. Not quite from scratch, though, I think."
"Don't go away, then," I responded, unable to hide the longing in my voice. "Don't... do that, don't start over, not quite from scratch."
"That suits me," he replied, his face relaxing into a gentle smile. "Bring on the shackles, baby; I'm your slave." But his long hands formed manacles290 around my wrists as though I were the slave. He laughed his quiet, baroque laugh. He'd laughed tonight more than I'd ever heard anyone laugh in all the time I had lived. It was musical, like the tinkling of chimes.
"You seem more... optimistic than usual," I observed. "I haven't seen you like this before... so sure that things will be okay... "
"Isn't it supposed to be like this?" He smiled. "The glory of first and only love, the glory of God... and all that? Isn't it incredible, isn't it? It's glorious, isn't it? The difference between reading about something, seeing it in the moving pictures, and experiencing it? You're experiencing it too, aren't you?"
"Yes," I agreed.
"For example"—his words flowed swiftly now, I had to concentrate to catch it all—"the emotion of jealousy. I've read about it a hundred thousand times, seen actors portray it in a thousand different positions. I believed I understood that one pretty clearly." He chuckled. "But it shocked
290. Male barnacles.