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Told in Syed POV

I think I can feel him, if I close my eyes.

It is quiet now and if I let myself, I am almost back there. I can be next to him, I am for a second who I was when I had my skin warmed by his, when my breath waited, dutifully, for his next, when tired lids flittered and I would wake to him.

I cannot wake to him.

She moves within my shallow hold, stirring. It brings me back, almost.

Eyes blink, hard. I wake to sickness, to peace, to what I know will plague me for a life time: the knowledge that this is right, the feeling that this is wrong.

I think of my mind when I lay wrapped in his arms. I remember the guilt, the shame, the heavy terror that Allah could see my sin and was watching as I allowed myself to rest amongst it. I feel relief at its absence. I remember the warmth, the comfort, the overwhelming strength of his arms as he held me. I feel sick at its loss.

I miss him.

I look at her, she is smiling. I remind myself how to exist for another day, in this life. My arms must wrap hers, her scent must soothe me, it is us who must create happiness.

I can barely breathe.

...

"There's nothing in this house, nothing. Eight months pregnant and I am still the one they send..."

My legs walk to the kitchen; they find my mother, my wife. Desperate eyes run from them, they do daily. Love is evaded by guilty sight; the presence in one, the absence in the other. I cannot bear either.

"I'll do it now," I say, another small futile attempt to make peace, to make things normal.

My mother looks at me as if I speak in code, as if my simplest action is now wrapped in deceit and escape.

"No..." she dismisses. I feel my prison.

She led me here, I let her.

If I were honest, I would say it was needed. I am afraid to leave it.

"...I'll do it later Syed. It's only shopping."

...

"You don't have to do my shopping Sy."

"So what are you planning on doing? You can't live on cereal and vodka Christian."

"Speak for yourself." Under the gentle flecks of stubble, I see the pout.

"You think painkillers go well with hard liquor and no food?"

"I think everything goes well with hard liquor. Besides, I have food."

I watch proud legs turn for proof, for avoidance.

"Lentils, peanut butter...something that smells like cheese..." His head delved in the cupboard, we play the game once more.

"Like cheese?"

"...or something that at least was at one time cheese..."

"I'm going shopping," I walk away, having won.

"Sy..."

These walls are crushing him, I see it. He lets me.

"Listen, it's fine. Soon you'll be up to going out yourself, really soon. In the meantime, I'm doing it. No arguments."

"I like lentils and cheese..."

I roll my eyes to the door. "I'll be back..."

"Sy?"

"Yeah?", I turn.

"Thank you."

...

It's dark and I should be home but I avoid it like a coward. The night wants me and I let it have me.

I feel alone, always. I walk now because there are moments in which I need the isolation to be pure, to feel the loneliness when no one else is near. The hours when I am next to them, but without anyone, haunt me. When I was with him every nerve felt a part of him, his presence in my air was all it took.

My air is taken.

The first and last person I want to see is suddenly in front of me. I cannot bear to see him. I crave the sight of him.

"Christian..."

I am given it and it is not enough. It is never enough.

He stands for me, just as I remember. His body is perfection, draped in the shirt I admitted I liked once. He'll have forgotten.

"You look..." His eyes widen and I catch myself. "...going somewhere nice?"

"You know...nothing big." He looks guilty. I wonder what he possibly has to feel guilty about. I am taken with hurt, envy, sadness, betrayal, but he has no blame for any of it. He is the cause but only I am responsible.

"Well...I should get home," I tell myself. "Have a good night."

"Yeah...thanks. You too."

I watch him walk away from me.

There are no words anymore, I find myself with only one.

"Christian..." I call him back, in a whisper.

He does not hear, I cannot let him.

Like everything else, his night is no longer mine.

...

He opens the door, half undressed.

"Hi," he smiles, low.

"Hi," frozen by him, it is all I have.

His bare arm leans against the frame, and he stands, mesmerizing. "Was about to give up and go to sleep."

"I'm sorry, I couldn't get away. Tam's been up watching some late night stand-up thing. The baby's doing somersaults keeping mum awake. She's been pacing for the last hour. I'd hear her get a drink and think she was done and then I'd hear her in the bathroom..."

"Sy?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up," he scolds, with a laugh.

His hand takes mine, and he has me, in a heartbeat. It pulls me to him, dragged, effortlessly. I feel his heated skin upon my neck and there is nothing to the world but his touch.

...

My body slides down the shower, shaking. Our memories are used now, for this.

I sneak away from my sleeping wife and I think of him.

Breaths gasp, the dying tremor pulsates through empty legs, spinning in stillness. My arms wrap my knees, grasping bone in my mind's desperate attempt to keep hold of something. I feel myself on the edge of falling. Night tempts me back here, the quiet dark lets me succumb.

For the first time in nine weeks I have allowed myself to use him, and he doesn't even know. I betray her with the thought, I betray myself. The water runs down my calming chest, yet it can never leave me clean.

For a few fleeting minutes I am back with him. As the ecstasy subsides he slips from me and I am left alone, only shame and regret here with me. He is not there to press soothing lips upon my skin. I miss the smile of his kiss. Breath crushed by the loneliness of his absence and the presence of my guilt, I promise myself I will be stronger.