These Quiet Times
Time.
It's a funny thing.
Some moments can be fleeting, gone within seconds. You can lose a whole day before you've even realised it.
Sometimes a day can drag on for what seems like years. You convince yourself that the clock has broken because it seems to be going so damn slow.
It always seems to be relative to mood, you've noticed. If you want a moment to last forever, it will flash by before your very eyes. If you want nothing more than for a moment to flash by before your very eyes, it will last forever.
This moment? This is a mixture between the two.
As a man, you never have been very sentimental. It's not really your thing. You're a player, a ladies' man, a bachelor. The fact that you're nearly forty now has certainly never stopped you.
That's another thing about time. When on earth did you reach forty? Inside you still feel twenty-one, struggling through med school with what you're pretty sure now must have been a constant hangover.
The last twenty years have passed you by, and although you would never wish to go back to your immature adolescent self, part of you craves the comfort of youth; knowing that you had years to sort your life out, years before you had to worry about settling down and having kids.
But in this moment, on this warm summer evening with the setting sun just about to disappear behind the skyline of London, it's as if all the past years have just come crashing down over your head.
Because you told her that you loved her.
You're not sure what you'd expected her reaction to be.
Laughter? Pity? Anger?
God knows what made you say it. You're not that drunk. Neither of you are. But it was such a beautiful evening and when you'd walked back to her apartment with her you hadn't wanted the day to end. You'd wanted it to last forever. And so you'd followed her inside without invitation, an action that wasn't unfamiliar to either of you, and then – just as she'd passed you a beer – you'd told her.
Told her that you loved her.
After dancing an elaborate dance around the issue for the past eight years, it had finally just felt like the right time.
Time.
It's a funny thing.
But now she's staring at you, her eyes filled with tears and a hand pressed to her lips, and you want to break the silence but you don't want to ruin the moment by saying the wrong thing.
"Please, Nikki. Say something," you murmur, the hint of desperation evident in your voice.
She clears her throat quietly and whispers, "I ... I don't know what to say."
You'd kind of gathered that. Perhaps it wasn't the right time to have told her after all. Perhaps she wasn't in the same place as you were. Although, how that could be true after all the time you've known each other, you don't know.
You sigh. You've done this all wrong. You've put her on the spot, and now she's just trying to work out how to let you down gently. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything," you tell her, standing up and heading towards the door.
"No! Harry, wait!" she calls after you, and it's not until she whispers, "Please?" that you finally stop and turn around.
She's standing, silent tears sliding down her cheeks, her arms wrapped around herself protectively.
"Please," she says again. "This is – this is massive. Just give me a minute."
It's the longest minute of your life. In fact, it's probably more like twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of you both standing there in silence, and she's crying and it's heartbreaking because you can't do anything to comfort her. Because you caused this. She needs time to process it, you tell yourself. Just give her time.
Time. It's a funny thing.
It's cold all of a sudden. You wish you were wearing more than just a t-shirt. But it had been so warm outside, before all of this.
"Look," you say eventually, because the silence is the loudest silence you've ever experienced and you feel like if you don't say anything soon you'll be driven to insanity. "We can forget this ever happened. We'll pretend I meant it in the same platonic way that I write it in your birthday card and move on."
She looks shocked that you've spoken, and even more upset by your words. "I don't want to forget it ever happened," she tells you.
"Right." You're not sure what else to say. What does one say to that?
"Kiss me," she whispers.
Scratch that; what does one say to that?
You're worried that you've misheard her. That your clearly screwed up brain is hearing what you want to hear, rather than what she actually said. You heard 'kiss me'; she probably said 'get lost'.
"What?" you ask weakly.
She doesn't reply, which doesn't help clarify the situation. But then she slowly walks towards you, and there's such fire and determination in her eyes and she looks so stunning, so beautiful.
A hand gently comes to rest on your chest, then another, and it's as if everything is moving in slow motion, as if time has slowed down around you.
Time. It's a funny thing.
She's gazing at the neckline of your t-shirt, unable to look you in the eye, and so you place a finger on her chin and gently tilt her head up.
Your eyes lock and it's like the world stops moving.
You can see the lingering apprehension in them, the fear of the unknown, of what's going to happen after this moment. Somehow, you doubt that either of you are going to regret it.
But she's full of insecurities. You know that, because you know her. You've seen her let down time and time again. She's an expert at the fall, and she shouldn't have to be.
And you want her to know that she can trust you implicitly, that she's the axis your world revolves around, that you would never ever hurt her. But you don't know how to tell her.
You tuck a stray, soft blonde curl behind her ear, letting your thumb linger on her cheek.
Of course she trusts you. The same way you trust her. You've built up this incredible friendship over the years. You know things about each other that no one else does. She knows you so well it scares you sometimes.
So often you bury yourself under your troubles. You hold people at arm's length. You shut everyone out. And it's suffocating and you almost crack under the weight of the burdens that you're bearing.
And it's like she saves you. She's that breath of fresh air that saves you from breaking completely. She keeps you whole and complete and a better man than you would be without her.
Her fingers are tracing small swirls and circles across the thin fabric of your t-shirt and the shiver crawls up your spine unbidden.
There are tears rolling down her cheeks again, and you wish they weren't there because they're giving you doubts that this is the right thing. But then you realise that perhaps they're not tears of despair, or tears of regret, but tears of ... contentment. And so you stop wasting time and kiss her.
Her lips are soft and warm and a small noise of surprise catches in the back of her throat that you just find adorable. Your hands are on her waist and she steps forwards and presses herself against you from knee to chest. She smells so familiar and it's as if you've been away for a long time and now you've finally come home.
You only realise that her hands have moved once you feel her fingers buried in your hair, and you instantly know that you're going to spend the rest of your life with this woman. And suddenly, everything you've been worried about since you were twenty-one years old, disappears into oblivion.
You break apart to catch your breath and she murmurs your name, her forehead resting against yours. And you murmur hers back, because you're not sure what else to say and yet you want to reassure her that you're not going anywhere. Ever.
And she's crying harder, and she sobs as she tells you that she loves you and grips your t-shirt tightly in her small fists.
You kiss the top of her head and she cries into your chest, and this time it's not even contentment that's making her cry. It's relief. And an overwhelming sense of love and security and trust.
It's a moment that you want to last forever. But, like all moments, it's fleeting. In fact, you will soon discover that there are many more moments that may even be better than this one.
But this moment, this moment when your world stops completely and nothing else matters except for you and Nikki – is your favourite, and you suspect that although it is fleeting, it will never really leave you.
I am on a ROLL this weekend! ;)
I know this one's a little strange and rambly, but I started writing it whilst I was sat in Starbucks this morning and couldn't stop. I didn't even look back over what I'd written until I'd completely finished it, something that I don't normally do. But I didn't want to overthink it, if you see what I mean.
I don't know.
Thank you soooooo much for the reviews on In These Arms and the last chapter of Death and All His Friends! It really does mean the world to me.
xxxx