Her head rose and fell on my chest with every breath I took.
Being this close to her, I could see the bright red roots of her hair that were growing in and pushing away the dull brown, and I was glad. I missed her--the real her--and that was one more sign that the Ellie Nash I knew was still in there.
She'd fallen asleep beside me after we spent an hour talking. She was exhausted, although she never would have admitted it, and I was glad to give her some comfort.
I should have cared that what we'd done was morally wrong--that she was married. But she was Ellie and I was Sean and it felt too right to be wrong. I love her. I always have. She loved me. She still does. And I know without doubt that she feels nothing more than faint affection for Tim.
"So this is your hotel room." The words were dubious and I wondered if I'd gone too far, asking her here at all. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe she didn't want what I did. Maybe even if she did want it, I shouldn't give it to her. I pushed the thought from my mind.
"Yeah, this is it, mess and all." It was only as I said it that I noticed yesterday's crumpled boxers on the floor and a chocolate bar wrapper in the middle of my bed. I blushed, much to my distaste, and quickly tidied up. I don't think she even noticed--her eyes were trained on her shoes.
I gazed down at her long lashes and smeared eyeliner and the slight smile on her face. It was the most peaceful I'd seen her, and it wasn't just because of the sleep. She'd lost that dull look in her eyes the moment my fingers brushed her bare skin.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, twirling a strand of her hair around my index finger. She didn't stir, and I was glad for it. If she'd awoken, the moment would have ended.
I knew now that I hadn't broken her, at least not entirely. I'd hurt her--deeply--but even I couldn't alone destroy her.
It had been a shotgun wedding, all things considered. She hadn't wanted to marry Tim. He was a passing fling, but when she'd started throwing up every morning before breakfast, she forced herself to love him.
She considered abortion but she couldn't quite stomach the thought, and he was dead-set against it. She dropped out of university the day he proposed, only days into her first year of courses. She'd given up so much for him, and for the baby, and she was still sacrificing.
She'd miscarried two days after the wedding.
Tim was still in school. They'd decided, I guess, that it was for the best. Someone needed to support them, and since Ellie had already dropped out because of her pregnancy, it was easiest for her to earn money. That way, eventually, they hoped, he would be able to get a better job and keep them afloat. That was their logic, not mine. And maybe--maybe--someday, Ellie could go back to university, they said. I somehow doubted it.
She fluttered anxiously around the room, looking trapped despite her willingness to come back with me. She clutched her bag defensively, but when I pried it from her fingers, she was all too eager to show me the contents.
"My pictures," she said, suddenly shy. "Um, my wedding pictures." She flipped the cover back, and there she was, looking beautiful and despondent in a white wedding dress that skimmed the tiniest bulge of her belly. In every picture, she had the same smile pasted on her lips, and the same sad eyes. And in every picture, she either had her hand on her stomach, her eyes glancing downward, or her husband's hands resting on her mid-section as he wrapped his arms around her from behind.
She was babbling on about the pictures and the wedding and I couldn't quite pay attention to her. I was captivated by the sight of her--first in the pictures, and then the fragile and almost illusory girl in front of me. I tipped her chin up and kissed her and she clutched the album to her chest, as if to ward me off.
I would have stopped if she wanted me to, but she didn't and I didn't.
"Hey," I said, under my breath. I hoped she wouldn't wake up, but I couldn't resist. "I love you."
I should have stayed quiet because the minute I spoke, she went into a flurry of motion. Within an instant, she went from perfectly at rest, to perfectly distressed.
"Oh god," she murmured. "Oh god. Oh god. I'm married, Sean! I can't--I'm not allowed to like you. I'm not allowed to care about you. I'm not allowed to sleep with you. I love him. I have to..."
"Do you?" I wasn't sure I wanted to hear the answer, but I needed to know. I needed to know if I had a chance in hell of winning her back, or if this had just been an unhappy fling.
Her skin was electric beneath my fingers, and every hair on my body stood up. She cringed away from my touch at first, but then she linked one hand with mine and whispered incomprehensible words into my ear. It didn't matter what she was saying. Her words meant nothing--her voice and eyes and lips told me everything I needed to know.
She didn't meet my eyes, and it was the best news I'd received in a long time.