Thanks for all the reviews! I'm glad you liked the first chapter.
Springs With You
During springs with you, we experienced a newfound freedom, a feeling of rebirth. Spring is the month of new beginnings, when the flowers bloom and the snow melts away. Everything seems so beautiful after the cold winter months. Like us.
We woke up to the sweet chirping of robins and bluebirds and went for walks around the park, marveling at the flowers in bloom. I remembered when I was a child, when I used to make necklaces out of dandelions, and I made one for you. You smiled indulgently when I gave it to you and wore it for the entire day, then surprised me the next day by giving me one of my own, which I dutifully wore. We matched. I always loved it when we matched.
We went for a picnic at Central Park, smiling as we watched the children playing on the playground. You put on SPF 60 sunscreen and reapplied it every hour, which made me roll my eyes. "It's not that sunny," I told you. "And you don't burn that easily."
You fixed me with your icy stare. "Yes, I do. I have fair skin. And I guarantee you that you're not going to want to take care of me for three weeks when I get second degree sunburn, listening to me moan about how much it hurts."
I realized that I probably didn't, so I shut my mouth.
We went for long walks every evening, even though it was still relatively cold. And when we got back, our noses pink from the wind, we would curl up in bed with our arms wrapped around each other, making beautiful, gentle love before drifting off to sleep.
I made us lemonade and we sat at the window, just watching. Birds in New York are so fearless; they'll come right up to you and eat your crumbs with such an air of defiance, and people barely notice. When we went to Ottawa to visit your aunt (forever ago), they stop their cars to let ducks or geese cross the road. Here, people would just kill them and be done with it, and I guess the birds got smart, because they know better.
I bought you flowers every week, which you thought was a waste of money. "What's the point in getting something that will only last a few days?"
"Shh," I told you, pressing my lips to yours to muffle your protest. "I'm doing something nice for you. Appreciate it, say thank you, and move on." And after I said that, you did.
We spent April inside because it wouldn't stop raining. It came down by the bucketful and didn't stop for an eternity, and we wondered if it ever would. I made us hot chocolate and we curled up on the sofa, buried in blankets, reading or watching television. Sometimes we didn't do anything at all, just sat there together, taking comfort in each other's presence. You'd lay your head in my lap and I'd run my fingers through your silky blonde tresses. I loved being so close to you.
We went on long bike rides around the city and I tried in vain to teach you to skateboard. The third time you fell flat on your face, you gave up and stomped back up to the apartment, where I gently applied Neosporin to the cuts on your face, so they wouldn't get infected. "Olivia Benson, you are masochistic," you growled as I put away the ointment.
"No," I corrected you, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek and grinning. "I'm not the one who lacks balance and falls on my face while trying to skateboard."
You pouted, then folded your hands demurely in your lap. "Never again," you swore, but then the week later, we were back at it. We tried and tried again until you finally learned.
We took a trip up to your parents' "cottage," which wasn't really a cottage at all. It was about eight times the size of our modest apartment and my mouth dropped open when I saw it. "Wow," was all I could manage.
You made a face. "Close your mouth. You look like a fool."
"That's my Alex," I replied sarcastically. "Always so sweet."
You laughed. "There's a pool in the back. Let's put our stuff upstairs and then we can swim."
I'd always been uncomfortable in bathing suits, feeling an illogical sense of shame at the scars that marred my skin. They weren't my fault – they never had been – and I knew that in my head, but that didn't make it any easier.
Now, though, it was just the two of us. You never asked, never stared, never made me feel uncomfortable. I told you anyway, though – or at least, you told me I did, crying one night after having a few too many drinks, pouring my soul out as we lay together in bed, with your strong arms wrapped around me. I told you everything and when I woke up in the morning, I didn't remember a thing.
Sometimes I wonder if that night really happened like you said it did. Sometimes, I think that maybe you, with your smile that could melt a heart of stone and your piercing blue eyes that can read right into my soul, are some otherworldly being, an angel maybe. Sometimes you know things about me, things I didn't even know about myself. You can read me so well, and that's how I know that I chose right.
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