I have the freedom to enjoy this thing called life

Eden doesn’t know Cain’s full name. She doesn’t know where he lives, where he’s from, what he does for a living. All she knows is that he earns his keep. In one way or another, everyone pays their dues.
But she also knows that there are some that can never be paid off. She’s paid hers so many times that she feels she is owed a debt. A debt that can never be repaid. She gives so much of herself to others that she wonders if there is anything left for her.
Freedom is priceless.
Cain is alone. At least, from what she could see. Eden knows belief often ensues with sight, but she also knows there are things that cannot be seen: the most essential things.
Like his girlfriend. The infamous ex who is a liar but whose eyes betray the storms that brew within. She’s a smoker who can’t kick bad habits, who moves like a panther, stalking her prey, whose touch was as lovely as lethal. Cain doesn’t give her the time of day, but he could’ve changed his mind. Maybe she’s here, enjoying drags of a cigarette and men who light them.
Cain seems like that kind of man. The kind who strikes a match and holds it out to light the tip of a joint. There’s something about the way he moves, the way he holds himself, that says he’s done that countless times before, for countless women. Maybe he was born to be a source of light and warmth, even to the most hardened of hearts.
Eden looks down the bar, but Cain doesn’t look up. He swipes at his phone. The screen isn’t particularly exciting to her, but it must be to him since he’s engrossed despite the bustle. She considers approaching him. Instead, she stirs her icy soda. Walking over isn’t hard in her head. She can picture it: a daring variant of herself breaks free from the prim and proud pretense, and saunters to claim this stalwart Adonis. Fantasy always beats reality. It’s perfect but human, the portrait version whose tactful angle and glow manage to look flawless in spite of a slight blemish. She’s got nothing on the girl next door, all that sun-kissed skin and airy peals of laughter. Her beat is like an actress defined by a star power that shines like tarnished gold.
She imagines walking over, his eyes rousing hers before they fell to relish in appraisal; how easy the words will flow, the likeness, and he’d show her his phone until she was absorbed in kind; and he’d smile, the kind of smile that would make her heart take a dive. When they speak, there’ll be things to notice. Neither admiration nor artifice. He will make compliments of things so unique in and of themselves.
The hard lights will cast an immaculate glow that clears her complexion, then wreathes her body as pendulous with shiny and silky hair; and his gaze will proffer a curious admiration, almost bemused, as he fits together her poise and personality, musing upon the pairing — does it make sense? Well, not really because she always somehow, someway falls short. She overshares and overthinks, sputters random albeit fruitless anecdotes. But even then, he will go with it because he’ll realize that her pros outweigh her cons. What time trickles between them will drive this home until his hand finds hers. Their fingers will thread as she rambles, then his will strum a hushed assurance along the backs of her hands. Then, their gazes will meet and hold.
Cain will look at her like she matters.
The way she thought John looked at her.
Eden has a thing for hands. They have a coarse, carnal quality and ministrations which are not finite. Endless possibilities lay between the palms, within the grasp, under the perusal: a perpetuity in which she could feel precious. Cain will take hold of her, draw her lips to his and pour himself into her, clasping her as he gives her his everything; and even if that everything is nothing, it’s still everything she wants. When he catches her lip between his teeth, she will bask in his cold sweat and aftershave, then muse upon the stubble that chafes his cheeks. Cain will grow to love her — deeply, definitively — and his cock will throb its respects.
All the things he would do.
Say.
Feel.
How many times will they come until the heat would efface them?
What songs will come to mind?
What stories would they tell?
Whatever happens, Cain is a force to be reckoned with. His words are like honey. Not a mirage, but a mist that spreads to charm. Each utterance holds a world of meaning that left her in a state.
Even now, the glow of her screen reflects on her face as she stares at his profile. The sharp lines of his jaw leap off the screen and each pixel illuminates the contours of his face, casting a spell on her. They agreed to meet after a week of trading messages. If anything, she must oblige him out of courtesy.
To hell with her insecurities.
“Cain?”
He looks to her. “Eden?”
When Cain says her name, Eden is transfixed, as if she gazes at a distant star, inclined by its luminous beauty. Her cheeks burn as she lets herself smile. When he reaches out a hand, tremors of hope take hold. She knows she shouldn’t let herself hope too much, if at all; but there’s something about the way he looks and talks. It makes her believe there may be a chance, an avenue to allure and accept in spite of herself amidst the promise of what could be.
Then, Eden thinks of John.
Her mind drifts to his warmth and grasp, the precious pair they had been, and the kisses she misses.
How he says he wants to see her happy, promises to be her friend and forever treasure the love she gives, but he nonetheless makes himself scarce.
How Eden tries not to breathe too much of John in because she really doesn’t want to know where he’s been.
Or who he’s been.
Who he’s been with.
If she smokes.
Eden reaches for her phone, makes light of checking it.
John hasn’t sent any messages.
Eden turns to Cain. She smacks her phone case shut, drains her soda, and dabs at her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Eden mutters. “Sometimes, I get a little teary and cry for nothing.”
Cain offers her a napkin. “It’s fine.”
“I’m sure you’ve seen a lot,” she sniffs. “I mean, you’ve travelled — ”
“I like what I see.”
Eden pauses.
“You’re like fire,” he says. “One that can’t be put out, but not for lack of trying.”
Except she doesn’t want to be fire. It’s too painful and tiresome. She just wants to melt, fall apart, have someone else pick up the pieces.
All the same, she refuses to be extinguished.
Something John banked on. Maybe that’s why he never thinks twice to leave.
Maybe that’s why Cain will leave.
Eden tries to find a smile.

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I have the freedom to enjoy this thing called life

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