Trigger stuff continuing. Sorry those disappointed in short chapters... this subject is not easy to write and I don't want to delay for a month while I write one huge chapter covering it all at once.
She sleeps late.
You stay in bed late with her, looking at the curve of her shoulder and her waist and her hip. It must have been early morning when you separated. It was so lovely to have her close to you and you already miss it.
Maybe you served your purpose last night, and she doesn't want your close company throughout the day as well.
Late becomes very late. This is Jane's day off; maybe she intends to spend it in bed. Naturally an early riser, you're getting restless and you have to go to the bathroom. You quietly get up and go about your morning.
When she has still not come down after another hour, you cut up some fruit and top it with yogurt and bring it upstairs.
She is laying on her side at her edge of the bed, awake but still.
"Good morning," you say softly.
"Morning," she mumbles back.
"Breakfast," you offer, raising your tray, although it's more like lunchtime.
She makes an indistinct sound.
Weary eyes follow you as you come closer and set the tray on the nightstand. Concerned, you kneel by the side of the bed, at eye level with her.
Even after an almost-decent night's sleep, the woman before you is still physically and emotionally exhausted. She seems as drained as you would've expected the day after her panic attack, which leads you to wonder if she suffered more in your absence.
It's amazing how a few days of stress, exhaustion and probably poor nutrition have taken such an immediate toll on her appearance. Her thin frame and angular features readily show the loss of even a couple of pounds, and you hope that's all it amounts to.
For the umpteenth time this week, flashes of your earliest memories of her run through the back of your mind. You'd thought her absence had made you nostalgic about your friendship, but now a different reason finally dawns on you: the Jane you first met used to look like this. A little gaunt, guarded, haunted, tired down to her bones.
You reach up, making sure she sees your hand coming, and stroke softly at the hair at her temple. Her eyes close, and you smile a little to yourself. She likes that. You just keep doing it for a minute.
"Are you okay?" you whisper.
She takes a long sigh.
"Yeah."
Unsure of what to say, you lean up to kiss her temple.
"If you keep doing that I'm never gonna quit crying," she smiles weakly, but genuinely this time, eyes still closed.
You do it again, longer and more deliberately, and pull back just in time to see a small dark spot soaking into your pillowcase by the corner of her eye.
A third time would be too much.
"Please eat a little?"
After a long contemplative look at you, she hoists herself up to a sitting position against the pillows and takes the bowl when you hand it to her. Her hair is impossibly messy. You smile at it when she's busy eating. You love having her back in your house.
Glancing down at herself, she remembers she's wearing your cardigan. She feels the texture of its sleeve between her fingers.
"This is cashmere."
"Yes."
"That's expensive. Did you just let me sleep in like a thousand dollar sweater?"
"No." Eight hundred-something, if you recall correctly. You own less expensive knit sweaters that are comparably warm, but you were not looking to swaddle her in the cheapest thing you owned. "But if it kept you warm, I'd be happy if it cost ten thousand dollars."
She keeps examining it with wet eyes - you don't know whether to stay still wet or wet again.
"It was warm," she says, and begins to move to take it off.
"Leave it on, then," you still her.
She leans back obediently.
"Can I sit with you?" you ask.
She looks up at you quickly like she's shocked you asked.
"You've been wanting time to yourself," you shrug. "I didn't want to take it for granted that..."
"Yes. Please."
You take the other bowl and go around to sit on your side of the bed, sitting up against the pillows next to her.
"Thanks for..." she covers some indecision with fruit. "I slept."
"I'm glad."
You both eat quietly.
That little rambunctiousness you'd usually expect is missing from her demeanor. Normally now she would be exaggerating the hilarity of kicking a tangled sheet from her foot, or complaining about your choices of fruit just to get a rise out of you. Instead she has the small voice and meek presence of someone recovering from illness.
It's not that you don't miss the regular Jane, but in a way it's so refreshing that she's letting you see her this way. Not being funny. Not keeping up banter. Not hiding from you that she's feeling emotional. She's just letting you see her exist and there's something beautiful about it, and about her.
She puts your empty bowls back on the table, and in doing so, sees the clock.
"Whoa, it's late. Sorry, did you have plans today?"
"No. Did you?"
She shakes her head.
"Will you just rest here today?"
"I'd like that."
She's not completely avoiding eye contact with you anymore, but there isn't nearly as much as usual. You don't mean to make her Talk About It, but if she feels embarrassed, you need to address it.
"Jane.. I have to say a couple of things to you. And you don't have to reply, because we aren't talking.. I just have to say them in case you need to hear them. One: I really am so sorry for my thoughtlessness and for unearthing something so painful for you. If you can forgive me, I hope you'll let me help you cope with it in any way I possibly can. And two: if you were afraid I might think differently of you, I don't. You're my best friend, and I love you. Okay?"
She shapes her mouth as if to reply, but is too close to tears to risk it. You're aware you're pressing on something extremely sensitive and really don't expect her to reply, and to show that, you lean in and press a long kiss to her temple. Like pressing your words into her brain to make sure they absorb.
Why does it feel so good to keep doing that? When exactly did head kisses get authorized here? When did they become second nature? You don't usually do that at all.
Do you keep kissing her on the head because you can't kiss her on the lips? No, that really isn't it. You would've kissed her on the head even given the choice.
She takes your hand and squeezes it and you just sit there for a while. You aren't sure if she's trying to work up a reply all this time, or if you're just sitting. It doesn't matter.
"Nothing to forgive," she says eventually. Her voice is still nowhere near normal, but this may be the best she can manage.
You open your mouth to insist on your guilt, but you don't want to make her waste her energy arguing that point. You'll just have to accept her answer gracefully.
"And don't worry, you can't unearth something that was never... earthed."
You don't know what you witnessed the other night then, if not for a repressed memory being triggered. She must be able to see the effort you're putting into not asking.
"I'm sorry you thought I was avoiding you 'cause I was mad. I wasn't. Just..." she closes, then rolls her eyes. "Fatally humiliated."
"Please," you sigh. "I know you can't help how you feel, but please, you needn't be."
"I never meant for anybody to ever know that. I never knew how I'd handle it... not well, clearly!" she tries hard to laugh.
"Wait," you pause. "Were you upset because you remembered it, or because I found out?"
"I- I've had my whole life balanced on the plan of taking that to my grave, okay," she replies, her voice growing faster and increasingly strained, "and I got more upset than I expected and I couldn't keep my mouth shut and then I knew you knew and I got so scared you might feel about me like I feel about me sometimes a-and I made a goddamn fool of myself and-"
"Jane," you pull her into your arms, your own eyes feeling wet. "Come here. You did not. You have nothing to be ashamed of."
"I didn't really expect you to think... deep down... I just got so scared that you even had the chance. It's so fucked up." Her wavering words are warm against your neck as you rock her gently. "I couldn't look at you. I couldn't find out."
"Then you're going to look at me now. I don't know how you do that thing where you know what I'm thinking, but you're going to look me in the eye and know. You're going to see as much respect as you ever saw, if not more. You're going to see someone who loves you and thinks you're wonderful and would do anything for you. Someone you never have to feel embarrassed in front of."
You gently pull yourself away from her and hold her face in both hands. And you look right into her eyes, quietly, for a long time. Until she looks back at you long enough for one tear to roll from each of her eyes and down your thumbs. Until she stops looking like she doesn't deserve to be looked at like this.
"Do you see it?"
She smiles, faint but lovely, chin wanting to tremble, and nods. You brush her wet cheeks.
"Good." You smile, and let her slip back into your arms.
"Thank you."
You have no other plans for the day but to just stroke up and down her back for a while.
The whole day is spent quietly at home, with you staying near her and caring for her almost like she's sick. The only interruption is when her mother arrives with chicken noodle soup, having sensed that she literally is sick. It's just as welcome regardless of the reason; you're glad to see Jane eat.
It's like the pendulum has swung far back in the opposite direction, and now instead of avoiding casually touching her as with the past couple of years, you're staying in some sort of physical contact nearly all the time.
It's not like she's suddenly just allowing this contact; it's like she's craving it. She's so relieved that you know what she considers her ugliest secret, and still love her. You are in disbelief that this was really ever a concern. Making sure not to leave any room for doubt, you make sure to initiate or return as much of this loving contact as possible - not that it's a chore.
You sit with her, letting her nap or just relax with you while you read. You watch TV on the couch with her legs across your lap. You hug more times today than you've hugged total in your entire friendship. It feels so natural you wonder how you ever once came within five feet of her without just automatically putting your arms around her.
When you look at her, you can tell that struggle is still going on - the one where she hates for you to see her "weak" too much, but also feels good to be completely bare with you for once. You're glad the latter is winning, even if it's only because she's too tired to be any other way.
There is no point during the day when the lump sounds fully gone from her throat or she looks less than halfway to tears. She doesn't try to hide it from you, and in return, you don't try to fix it or even address it. You just accept that that's how today is, and don't make her speak so as to bring it to attention.
Although much of the day is spent silently, there's a feeling of emotional closeness between you that (as much as you detest its cause) is almost magical.
That night, as if you've both been looking forward to it, you climb into bed and immediately into the same position as last night. You happily accept her head against your chest, stroking at her temple. This time, more relaxed and assured of your love, she drifts quickly to sleep. You can't help but do the same.
Though work interferes, this magical day in your relationship bleeds into the next, and the next, until you are hopeful that this is not merely a special interlude, but a new phase in your relationship.
Jane gains back a little of her confidence and sarcasm every day. Nothing quite matches the extreme emotional vulnerability of that first day, but the increased physical contact and a certain tenderness remains between you. You spend your free evenings together, mostly quietly at your house or her apartment, and sleep together every night now without ever having discussed it.
You've caught yourself thinking of your career as that annoying interruption in between times you get to hold her close to you at night.
Anything pseudo-sexual about this closeness is on hold, if not overwith entirely; that isn't why you like it. There's just such a heartwarming innocence about the way she holds you and sleeps close against you, and it brings out a more intense affection in you than you've ever felt for anyone.
There's more to talk about (you think? hope?) but you won't rush her. When she feels safe and ready, she'll decide.