034/100 aka 174/365

LUNA MOTH
Word Count: 444

She dreamed of having wings, though that is not unusual her psychiatrist said. “People who have an extraordinary fear, real or at least real to them, tend to dream of escape from the thing or person of which or whom they are afraid. Flight is one common method.” He imagined her with the pale luminescence of a luna moth fluttering above him as he lay outstretched and naked on his bed.

“Do you trust me?” he asked her. “You must trust me completely before you can react with other people.”

She nodded but would not look him in the eye. She wanted to trust him. She wanted to be healed.

“Take my hand, Larissa,” he said. He reached beyond the halfway point between them when he noted that she’d lifted up her hand from beneath the security of their fold. He edged up in his chair, his knees brushing hers for an instant before she pulled herself back within her bubble. “Sorry,” he said, “that was not intentional.” He sat back a quarter of the way he had moved forward. “But you didn’t cringe. That’s good.” He was holding her hand in both of his.

She was breathing in fluttery little breaths. He watched the in and out of each, imagining the full white warm breasts in his hands, the dark nipples hard like pearls rolled between his fingers.

“Larissa, what are you feeling now?” he asked. “Are you afraid?”

“No,” she said and met his stare. He had eyes of such intensity she swore he found his way through her corneas, her optic nerves, between the tangles of her veins and muscles and bones directly to the marrow where she imagined him riding through red blood cells like a steamer. The thought aroused her and she wondered if she should tell him that.

“Do you trust me?” he asked. “May I come closer?”

“Yes,” she breathed. Her eyes closed with the waiting. His were focused on the second button of her blouse which gripped its buttonhole in desperation, her blouse peeking open in between.

He sat beside her, never letting go of her hand. He let his own hands slowly settle to rest in her lap.

“Is this all right, Larissa?”

She felt the heat from his leg against hers, the pressure of his shoulder leaning into her, the weight of his hands in her lap. It was the heat that overtook her, the flame of him that licked up her side. She could not resist it. She wondered if this was the bright light, the breakthrough he had promised.

“Larissa?” His breath was hot on her neck.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes.”