He looks like he did ten years ago. His stupid hair. His stupid lips. His stupid green eyes.
His stupid hair, matted with snow. His stupid green eyes, framed with thick eyelashes, little snowflakes holding on to dear life. His stupid lips, ruby red from the cold.
He is here. In this apartment.
His arms are rigid, tight with tension.
"Where are your bags?"
He doesn't answer me. He just starts crying.
I wish it was easier to watch him cry. I wish I could make him suffer just a bit more. We've said everything that there is to say. I've saved every single one of his letters- I can only hope he's saved every single one of mine.
"I'm sorry..."
It's so faint that I almost think I imagined it. A year ago, I would be furious. I would be livid. "How dare he. How dare he?" ...but the real me? The one who's living in the present? My heart is warm and tingly, my legs are springs, my lips are magnets.
I find myself in his arms, my hands tangled in his hair, his hands rubbing wide circles across my back. We're crying and kissing. His hands shift down to my upper thighs, instinctively I jump, wrapping my legs around his hips.
It is that easy, I learn. It is that easy to forgive the man you love. It is that easy to fall in love all over again.
We made no promises in our letters- there was no guarantee that I'd open the door. There was no guarantee that this would happen. But my mind was made up long before I received any letters. My mind was made up the second I saw him, ten years ago. He is the man that I love, that I cherish. He is not perfect, and neither am I. He is perfect for me, though. Every single fiber of my being loves him. I can feel it deep in my bones. He is my best friend, he is everything to me.
This is right. So very right.
I am a 27 year old woman, who has suffered incredible loses.
I am a 27 year old woman, who has been lucky enough to find the reason why her heart beats.
He starts to speak, and suddenly I need to sit.
We're on the couch, the couch. And he's talking and talking and talking. My hands are wringing in my lap. He occasionally reaches over to try and touch me. I flinch back. I've spent the better part of two years conditioning myself to hate this man. To hate him as much as he claimed to hate me- or as much as he seemed to hate me. Because that's the only way I can rationalize the entire thing.
But he starts talking, and I start sobbing. I am straddling his lap, his arms are wrapped around me, crushing me to him. As though he is trying to squeeze the sobs out of me, expel all the bad, all the sadness. My hands find their way into his hair, and I feel his breath on my neck.
My love, my Edward.
He shushes me, rocking us back and forth. I breathe in his scent, and I feel safe. I am at home.
My sobs calm, and I start hiccuping. He chuckles. I pull away from his chest, searching for his eyes.
I pull my hands away from their place in his locks.
The sound of the slap echoes throughout the entire apartment. His head whips to the side, his mouth pops open, and his jaw tenses and relaxes, tenses and relaxes.
My hands find his jaw. I turn him towards me again and our eyes meet.
"If you ever leave me again, I will hunt you down. Am I understood, Edward Anthony?" I fight to control the shakiness in my voice, to no avail.
Without giving him a chance to answer, my lips meet his.
I had already given up, if I'm being honest with myself. I had given up on the idea of a white picket fence, of weekends in bed. Of kisses and flowers. Of little feet running around us. Of a warm breath on the back of my neck first thing in the morning.
I had said goodbye to the words I wanted to say. I had said goodbye to the children we would never meet. I had said goodbye to growing old together.
I knew where he was. I knew he was somewhere. I could have chased him, but he made sure that I didn't. That I wouldn't. That I couldn't.
And now, everything comes rushing back. I am no longer wondering. Asking myself if someone else is warming his bed. Asking myself why didn't he love me enough?
"Thank you..." my voice is soft, hesitant as I break our kiss. My forehead rests against his, our noses rubbing.
"For what, baby?" My heart swells.
"I understand now..." I am not being deliberately cryptic. I have lost the ability to form coherent sentences, it seems.
"I understand why you left. Thank you..." I finish.
We're staring at each other. My top lip brushes his. His inhales are my exhales. My eyes close and I burrow myself even deeper into his warmth.
We make love on the couch. And then the floor. And then on the bed. The bed that's been so empty, so cold, so lonely. The bed that is now warm, filled with limbs and the love of my life.
