The Window

I watch you watch me from my spot at the window.

The blue of my jacket has caught your eye, and now, the muscles in your face strain to memorize my expressions through the haze.

The rain pelts down hard, cracking like thunder, while droplets cling to the glass like spiders.

I can tell, through your hardened eyes, you're waiting for something.

The shock that set in when you saw the mark. A faint, white line across my abdomen.

The muscles in my stomach tightened as your cool breath washed over my skin, our moment forgotten.

My button down hung loosely by my sides as your trembling fingertips ghosted over my scar.

Words cannot express how sorry I was…how sorry I still am as you burst into tears.

Your sobs shook the bed, and I pulled myself into a sitting position as you shook your head, over and over again.

I saw your red lips form that single word relentlessly: why?

I asked myself that so many times.

That expression-falling into someone's arms-doesn't even begin to describe the quick, startled movements your body made as you clung to me with pale hands.

Then you apologized!

Like this was your fault!

Standing here, staring out at the rain, my lips contract in a snarl.

Days later and I still can't get your face out of my head.

I feel the weight of my hand on that place near my hip, and tears roll down, marking the beige carpet.

Windows and mirrors are so similar. As I watch my reflection, I see the boy I used to know.

Locked away for quite some time, he screams to get out.

His eyes, a color I know, plead for me to let him go.

Startled, I feel arms wrap around my waist.

I turn, a smile playing on my lips. But it's not you, it's me!

My younger self holds me, dark, warm eyes searching mine.

My heart pounds in my chest, his does the same. I can feel it.

I'm too scared to move, too shocked to think.

This only happens in those movies.

I crane my neck to stare at my reflection in the glass, only to stare out into nothingness.

I can't even see you anymore.

Are you there?

My younger self or subconscious or something slaps me back to reality, and my fight or flight response kicks in again.

He wants me to let go, I think. But how do I let go when he's holding me?

That's when I see you at the door, and you smile as if this doesn't faze you at all.

I can see you clearly now; unafraid, and you nod as if to tell me it's okay.

I see you for you, finally, but can I see me?

Know this wasn't my fault?

The boy pushed me into the case and sharp fragments of glass flew every which way.

Tears burned my eyes and a sharp pain ripped at my flesh.

Students screamed as their shoes slid on the scarlet glass.

My hand instinctively clutched my wound and my fingers came back wet and red.

I choked on my fear, I thought this was it.

This time would surely kill me.

And then blackness surrounded me.

I realize as I look at myself, face myself, for the first time in years; it wasn't my fault.

Something you knew all along, and part of me, the one screaming courage, needed me to understand that I was afraid.

I locked the fear inside me but it overcame itself.

Now, as I watch myself fade away, you walk towards me.

Your confident steps leave light footprints in your wake.

This is what you were waiting for, you were waiting for me.

This time I fall into you, and we stare out the window.

Together.