She smiled slowly, tentatively, and in a moment, he was in her arms. Holding her small frame to his, his hands rooted firmly in her hair, he breathed her in. Her scent, french vanilla coffee infused with her rosemary scented body lotion filled the air and he felt it, felt her, everwhere. From the thrumming in his fingertips to the beating of his heart, to the happy, incessant flips in his stomach. As she burrowed closer to him, wrapping her frail arms around his torso and pushing against him as if they weren't close enough, could never be close enough, a feeling of elation filled him. And he knew, in that moment, they would never be lost.
...
He reached out his hand and it hung between them, an unanswered question, an offering . She gazed at it with hesitation. Her heart yearned to once again feel his strong, rough hand in hers, longed for that familiar feel of his thumb brushing the outside of her hand. She lifted her eyes to his now, his imploring and reassuring, hers uestioning and relunctant. She knew this was The Decision-that whatever she chose now dictate the course of the rest of her life. She could take his hand and choose to travel the long, stretching journey with the one she loved, or she could walk away and choose to be alone simply because it was easier, less work, less pain. His eyebrows raised, and his hand quivered before he slowly began to retract it.
And she stepped forward and placed her hand in her future before the chance slipped away from her.
...
"I'll always be here," he said quietly and he searched her face, willed her to nod, to acknowledge that she heard him. But her face remained emotionless, her eyes empty amd her lips a thin line. Her hands were wrapped around her torso, her fingers clutching at her shirt involunterrily. She stared at nothing, or it appeared to him nothing. He nudged her softly and her body moved in reaction, a dummy. He wrapped his arms around her shoulder, buried his face in her hair, slipped his hand into hers and willed her fingers to move. "Always."
...
She look wilted. That was the best word Beck could think to use. Wilted like a once, radiant flower wilts without water. She was that flower, and she had wilted under the weight of the world. Her eyes were sunken and empty, two brown pools of sadness. Her cheeks were hollow and pale, devoid of any color that connoted life. Her clothes swallowed her whole, her now too thin body hidden under her black garments. He didn't know how save her. How do you save someone who already deemed themselves gone?
