The Brink of Destruction

He stood like a ghost on the track, and I couldn't tell if the expression on his face was defiance or despair. One thing was certain--he was locked in a struggle with demons that were tormenting him beyond his endurance, and he meant to settle the score tonight.

My sneakers crunched on the rocks between the rails as I slowly closed the distance between us. "So what are you saying?" I asked cautiously, not sure I wanted him to answer. I was trying to sound casual, but the tone of his words was unnerving me. "Because I know damn well you're not a quitter. You've never given up on anything in your life. You're too fucking stubborn."

From far away, I could hear a low rumbling that couldn't have been thunder. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. Billie glanced over his shoulder again, then back at me. Hands gripping his elbows, he started back toward me, looking down at his feet. As he passed me, he reached out and stroked my face tenderly, looking so deep into my eyes I could feel him inside my head. The rumbling was louder now, getting closer, and far down the track, between the dark lines of trees, a faint glimmer of light began to creep around the curve.

"Poor kid," he murmured. "You didn't know what you were getting yourself into with a loser like me, did you?"

"Bullshit!" I shouted, grabbing his sleeve. "You're anything but a loser! Don't tell me you're blaming yourself for what happened to Bat, because it had nothing to do with you."

"I wasn't there for him," he said flatly.

"When? The day he died? Okay, fine then. You're absolutely right. You should have had a moment of clairvoyance or ESP or whatever the hell you call it. You should have gone running over there as soon as you sensed he was sick. Maybe you could have sat up all night watching him breathe, and then you could have saved him. Damn, Billie, you were a son to him! What more could you have done?" It hurt to see his pain, but I was getting frustrated with him now. It was insane for him to feel responsible for something so unpredictable.

Suddenly a blast of sound threatened to burst my eardrums, and as I turned, I saw the high-mounted headlight of the huge diesel engine rounding the curve not a hundred yards away. Billie stood smiling placidly, backing off the tracks and onto the pavement of the crossing. His hands were on his hips, and he licked his lips in anticipation.

I had no idea what he was planning. His mind was running down roads I'd never been, and wasn't sure I wanted to go.

He motioned me over to him, and slid his arm around me. The engine was almost in front of us now, and the sound of the enormous wheels on the steel rails was deafening. It was a freight train, long and slow-moving, box cars and flat cars and tankers lined up for what seemed to be a mile or more. He watched the lumbering metal mammoths intently as they rolled lazily by us. After a moment, his arm released its hold on me, and as his head slowly pivoted from side to side, following the motion of the train, I could hear him counting. His feet backed up a tentative step or two, his body tensing like a leopard ready to pounce. Horrified, it began to dawn on me what he meant to do.

Before I could reach out for him or call his name, his legs pushed him forward like a shot, and he hit the pavement of the crossing in a tumbling roll.

Laughing like a maniac, he disappeared under the roaring train.

The train whistle drowned out my screams as I searched frantically for some sign of him. The line of cars rolled on endlessly, blocking me from getting to him or seeing where he was. It seemed as if all the air was gone, and some gigantic fist was crushing my chest so I couldn't breathe. Finally the rattling, rusted caboose slid by, and I rushed forward, dreading what I might find. I braced myself for the worst.

He stood on the other side of the track, both middle fingers lifted defiantly to the sky.

"Take that, you heartless bastard!" he bellowed. "I'll show you who's boss! You can't even take me out with a fucking freight train!" His mad, cackling laughter echoed down the street, and in the building nearest us, a light switched on.

"You son of a BITCH! You--you--could have--" I was so mad I was speechless, and yet the relief was overwhelming. Just to see him standing there, pissing me off, was the greatest joy I could imagine, and I didn't know if I wanted to slap him or kiss him.

So I slapped him.

Then I kissed him. Hard.

His amazingly strong arms wrapped around me and lifted me off the ground, holding me against him so tightly our bodies seemed to blend into one. The rush of adrenaline was a high like I'd never had before, and as I wrapped my arms tight around his neck, hungrily tasting his sweet, sexy lips, dizziness rushed through my brain like a swarm of butterflies.

Breathing hard, I gripped his shoulders tightly. "What the fuck were you thinking?" I panted, still shaking like a leaf in a storm. "I thought you were dead!"

The satisfied grin on his face made me even madder. Didn't he realize how stupid he'd been? Or how devastating it would have been if he hadn't made it?

"You think this is funny, don't you?" I said, anger rising in me. I slid my feet to the ground and pushed away from him. "Do you even give a damn what you just did to me? Billie, if something happened to you--"

"But it didn't!" he said. "That's the point! I kicked death right in the balls, and I'm still here to laugh about it!" He pulled me roughly against him and kissed me again, and I was surprised to feel him growing hard against my belly.

"You're insane!" I spat, trembling with the aftershocks of terror. I could taste the coppery fear in my mouth, and every hair on my neck was standing straight up. Palms flat on his chest, I pushed again, staggering back from him as I glared at him in disbelief. Two minutes ago I'd thought he'd done the unthinkable. Now he was staring into my blazing eyes, his smoky with passion, lips soft against his teeth, as if nothing had happened.

"Why? Because I stood up and took my life back? Because I needed the rush of almost dying to feel alive again?" He was following my backward steps, closing the distance between us again. "I can't live in the shadows, half living and half dead," he said, voice husky and rough. "It has to be all the way or not at all. The same way I love you."

How had his face come so close to mine without my realizing? I tried not to close my eyes, tried to keep my head from falling back to meet his kiss, I willed my heart to slow, but now his damned arms were around me, those rock-hard arms that made me feel safe from everything. His tongue was gliding over my lip, soft and sweet, and I was pulling him closer, both hands plunged deep into his tangled hair. In the cool night air, his warm breath caressed my cheek and the heat of his body bathed my skin like firelight.

"Please, Billie, please don't ever scare me that way again. I thought I was going to lose you," I whispered breathlessly against his neck. "I can take anything but that."

"Nothing can take me away from you, Genny. There's something between you and me that can't be broken, not ever. We're the same person, the same heart. I know you've felt it, ever since we met, just like I have. Even when you're not with me, I can feel you, burning in my veins and making me feel like I'm only half a man until I'm with you again."

Every sound was magnified; the whisper of our clothes against each other, the gentle hiss of the cold breeze in the pine trees, the soft thud of his heart and mine. He had such power over me, to melt my resolve and weaken my knees, and yet he never made me afraid of him. Just the opposite--holding himself back, keeping his passion in check--made me want him that much more. And I wanted him now, needed desperately to feel the fire between us driving away the chill of fear and death and sadness.

"Take me home," I breathed against his ear. Our feet fairly flew over the two blocks to his house, and as we tumbled through the door, we didn't even remember to lock it behind us. Warm now inside the apartment, his hands glided over the fabric of my shirt, and he bent to brush his open mouth against my collarbone. Breathing hard and hot against the skin, his fingers made quick work of the buttons, and now his lips and tongue swirled soft and moist over my shoulder.

His hands slid over my hips, and lifted me so my legs wrapped around his waist. Our lips never parted as he carried me down the hall, and his foot kicked the door closed carelessly as he pressed my body against the wall. His fingers laced through mine, pinning my wrists against the wall beside my head, and the skin of my neck burned with the heat of his mouth. I couldn't hold him close enough, couldn't breathe enough of the sweet scent of his hair. I was starving for him, and for the way he made me feel alive in every cell, every fiber of my being.

"Bring me back, Genny," he whispered rough into my ear. "Make all the pain go away."

And somewhere in the careless wreckage of the blankets, we got lost in each other's arms, and the pain faded until it was nothing but a memory.