51. Breeze
It's the end of June, night fell late that day and temperatures are still very high. They left the bedroom window open, trying to let the summer breeze come in and cool them down. It's a quiet night, yet both of them are restless.
They are lying in bed, her back melting into him, legs intertwined.
"Do you think things would have been different, if we had expressed our feelings earlier?"
He stops playing with her hair and frowns. He can't see her face and read her. He's gotten better at it over the years. "What do you mean?"
"Would we be different?"
Would we have gotten ourselves killed? Would I have modified my parents memory? Would you have left?
There's so many possibilities, so many questions and what ifs twirling in her head... She can't make it stop.
"It would have saved us a lot of heartaches. And," he lays a hesitant kiss against her shoulder, "...resentment."
She moves her head so she can kiss the scars she left on his arm. Some sort of apology for the hurt she caused.
"But, do you think that our lives would have unfolded differently?" She links her hand in his, a voice barely a whisper.
"You mean, would I have left?" He asks openly. The memory almost doesn't ache anymore. Not when they're like this.
"No. Yes. I don't know," she sighs, "not just that, but everything!"
He stays silent for a minute, releasing her hand and tracing the lines of her body. A slight shiver runs through her and he relishes at the sight of the skin of her arm rising in goosebumps. He wonders if it's him or the night breeze finally cooling her down.
"Does it matter though? We're here now."
Underneath his hand, now resting on her burgeoning stomach, he feels their daughter kick.
