They pity me. They know, they see how I look at him, but they say nothing. They all care too much to be responsible if we tear each other apart. I can't say I blame them.
Every day it gets harder. I know I hold on too long when we hug, I know I sit too close, I know my small, lingering touches don't go unnoticed, but I can't stop myself. Since he and his wife split up I've been braver. Hopeful. When he needs comfort, I'm there, to wipe away his tears, to wrap my arms around him, tell him it'll be okay. It's become possessive. I can't stand to see the way she hurts him. These feelings are destroying me. My heart aches while I try to heal his. But I'll gladly do it if it means that one day, he comes to love me too.
Tonight he came home shaking. I took him upstairs without a second thought.
"She wants to take my son," he whimpered. "There's nothing I can do. She has full custody. She can do whatever she wants."
He sobs into his hands, curling up so small on the bed.
"I have nothing left."
I want to scream at him. Or her. Anyone. I feel so helpless, so lost. I can't make this better, and it's killing me.
"You have me," I whisper. I grab his hand and pull it away from his face. The tears won't stop coming, but I wipe them anyway. I feel like an exposed nerve. My heart is beating in my throat, and I wish I could move my hand away, but it's already cupping his cheek. His expression is unreadable, his eyes wide but holding no clue as to what he was thinking.
Then I kissed him. Softly, tentatively. I could feel his grip on my hand relax. I took it as a good sign.
It felt like an eternity before I finally moved back.
"I love you," I said.
He looked so sad. Another tear slid down his cheek. I kissed him again.
"I love you."
His eyes were overflowing.
"Why?"
I felt my heart drop. Why was he so unhappy? What have I done?
"I don't know," I admitted, feeling useless once again. "But whenever I'm around you, I feel this tug in my heart. I want to make you happy. I want to make you smile."
He kept quiet.
"I know it's real. I know it."
Tears of desperation clouded my vision.
"Say something! Please! I need to know..."
He swallowed hard and looked at me. I still couldn't read him.
"I..love you too. But this isn't.." He paused to take a breath.
"This isn't the right time."
"Then when is?" I challenged. "When she's done breaking you? When you've been completely stripped of everything? Then you'll want me to pick up the pieces? I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of watching you suffer. I'm here for you now, and I can help you get through this if you'll only let me."
He was quiet once again.
"Just...let me.."
Feeling brave, I trailed my fingers up his arm. He shivered, but still didn't look up. I pressed my lips to his again, this time more forcefully. Before I could stop myself I was on top of him, licking inside his mouth, touching him everywhere I could. He held on to me, as if he were afraid. Ironically, the source of his fear was also the only one who could bring him comfort. We made love, desperately, apprehensively, uncertainly. He didn't let go. I didn't want him to.
I held him in my arms that night, thinking to myself as he slept. He looked so peaceful, and his body felt so warm pressed against mine. It was perfect. It was everything I could have hoped for.
Neither of us would have troubled dreams that night.

I still want you by my side

Just to help me dry the tears that I've cried
And I'm sure going to give you a try
And if you want I'll try to love again

I need to stop listening to Sheryl Crow.
Also I suck at first person.