It's Nothing I'll Forget
by: Stoic Harleguin

Leonardo.

She said my name. At least, I think that was what she uttered in the back of her throat as our pants turned into more than just a reason for oxygen. I had no idea what I was doing; I can only recall the absolute pleasure I gleaned from it. I couldn't even look back and explain how we'd ended up in the throws of passion on the forested floor of some natural Central American jungle. The hows didn't matter much.

No words were necessary.

We both knew what we wanted. What we needed. What we craved. What I craved. Love was not something I was seeking and I can't even say that was what we shared outside of the physical. But I can tell you, the day I met her, she made me feel.

I felt.

It might have been as artificial as my mind could dream up. I may have generated what was happening between us. That didn't matter either. She realized I wasn't just an espíritu, as they liked to call me, when she could touch me. She felt too, though hers was against the fabric of my burlap robe. She was in my arms after a harrowing encounter for her, safe...comfortable. For me, warm...inviting. I wonder now if I took advantage of her willingness, I can't be sure. Distress and turmoil seemed to follow these people as if a disease, infecting them no matter their attempts to escape it. Their civilization anything but civilized. I would be the manifestation of their culture's derelict immune system, the hope they had at salvation.

I'm selfish.

I do it sometimes for her, because I know she'll come back and make me feel. I try not to admit it, even to myself. Those first few months in the jungle, alone, almost drove me mad. With her, I was fulfilled. My family believes me to be something I'm not, that is, not the way they see me.

Strong.

We were in the canopy of the jungle again, and again...we couldn't help ourselves. The massive trees, something I had not had the luxury of experiencing before, shielded us from the sun that merely dappled the ground, and our bodies, through the branches. There was so much hidden, yet so much exposed. All of this to fill the void of my missing family. I cared for her, I just didn't know that those lines - between selfish pleasure and and actual affection - blurred until it was too late.

Leonardo.

My name is Leonardo. It's mine. My name. If I have nothing else to claim as my own - I will leave this temporary plane of existence with my name. It belonged to an Italian Renaissance artist long before me, even an actor bears the same combination of letters and sounds to make up my name. Both are revered in their skill, their craft, their life. I strive to follow in their footsteps, if only to be the best at what I do.

I'm no hero.

I couldn't save her. She died in the forest - our forest. Like our interactions started with replacing an empty feeling in my soul, they ended with acute agony. At least I knew I was still alive, even without her showing me how much, as there was no mistaking that ache in my chest, dull and on going once the initial shock bled away. I guess I'm not the only ghost...

In the jungle.

::Author's Note::
This is a response to LJ's TMNT weekly drabble prompt. ((TMNT Tuesday)) This week's prompt was 'In the jungle'...above is our response. As always the title is borrowed from the lovely Alkaline Trio. Thank you for taking the time to read. We appreciate it.
- Stoic and Harley