Hey all...
This is just going to be a short one-parter based on the song 'Why' by Jason Aldean. It it a really good song that I recommend listening to. Either way, please read and tell me what you think. Thanks.
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Another night.
Another fight.
By now I think that I should be used to our new nightly ritual, but for some reason the pain and guilt still ache in the pit of my stomach. I suppose it's a good thing that it still affects me, but right now I wish it would just go away.
My eyes meet the large red numbers of the clock through the darkness and I let out a sigh. It's nearly three in the morning and I've yet to catch a second of sleep. I know that you're probably in the next room, sitting in our bed, waiting for my return.
Maybe you're reading a book, Steinbeck or Faulkner, or something like that. I can almost picture it, the pained expression in your eyes as you attempt to take in the words from the page. But we both know that you can't, your mind is somewhere else.
I know that I should be in the bed with you, your arms wrapped tight around my middle. You do it to keep me warm, but in my mind, it's for safety. I'm not sure what you protect me from, but for some reason, it works.
But right now, I can't bring myself to lie next to you. My words are still swirling in my head and the heartache in your eyes is like a nightmare even though I'm awake. So for now, I stay in this single bed, staring at the empty walls that should hold the pictures of us.
I can hear a small rumbling through the wall and I wonder what you are doing. For a second I hope that you're coming in here, rescuing me from myself, but the door never opens from when I slammed it last.
I hear a drawer slam shut and instantly I know what is going on. I wonder whether I should get up and try to stop you. I wonder if you would let me. I can hear your heavy footsteps wandering around the room, shuffling to find things.
And then I hear a crash. Something has broken. I force myself to get out from under the covers and investigate. Slowly I open the door, the steady creak most likely tipping you off to my movement.
It's only a few steps to our room, the large oak door separating us. My hand rests on the knob and then I push it open, revealing you. I can see the faded logo 'Keith Scott Body Shop' on your old sweatshirt as you pick up the fallen object.
I wonder if it still smells like you; that irresistible combination between sugar and spice. I can't find it anywhere else. I wonder if it still gives the same warmth as so many years ago, if it still wears the same way.
Almost as if you sense me behind you, you turn, your blue eyes meeting mine. And that's when I see them, the tears marring your beautiful face. They glisten against your cheeks, making you look younger. Almost child-like.
And then my eyes fall to the object in your hands. It's a picture frame; the glass is broken, hiding the picture beneath. I can help but wonder if it simply fell, or perhaps you broke it.
I try to speak, my lips part, but no words come out. My mind is suddenly foggy with guilt as I watch a tear fall onto the picture, almost as if slow motion. I let my eyes scan the room, desperate for a distraction.
But the only thing I find is a small blue duffel bag lying on top of the comforter. I recognize it, it's your old basketball bag, but there aren't any jerseys inside tonight, just a few pants and your razor.
I watch helplessly as you place the frame inside the bag, wrapping it in a t-shirt to keep it safe, despite its already broken state. I still can't find the words to say, to stop you. They simply won't come.
I lean back against the wall, my arms wrapped around my body, shielding me from the world. I can't help but wonder what has come between us, but the space is there. Not just in the room at this moment, but between our hearts.
Again I find the flashing numbers of the clock. It's three am. The sound of a zipper cuts through the silence of the night, jarring me from my thoughts. I watch as you close the bag; there's nothing left.
You stand before me again, the space infinite. One lone piece of hair juts out sideways, I notice. And your eyes, they're a hazy blue, colored with unfallen tears. Your lips are slightly parted, your white teeth barely peeking out behind them.
With a shaky breath in I whisper, "I'm sorry." You eyes fall shut for the briefest of seconds and I can't tell whether you're relieved to hear the words or saddened that they're too little, too late.
You stand still, not moving, the bag still on the bed. "I never meant to make you cry," I tell you quietly. I hesitantly take a step forward, daring to close the gap between us. You have yet to even acknowledge my words.
I can't help but wonder why we fight. Why a stupid argument turns into a full on blow out and we end up sleeping in separate beds. I can't help but wonder why the morning after you're still around.
Slowly you nod your head, the first sign that you even register my words. I'm not sure what it means, but right now I'll take anything I can. You still haven't made a move for your bag and I'm hoping that you never will.
I watch as your lips part further, the lips that used to whisper sweet words into my hair and swear to the gods that you would never leave. They used to promise love and protection and move almost effortlessly against mine.
But now all they do is release angered words. Mine do the same. I don't know why, but for some reason I use the most hurtful words, almost to cut you. I know that they sting; I can see it in your eyes as they come out. But it doesn't stop me.
I don't know why.
And then you ask the one question that I don't have an answer to, why? The word is barely audible, but I find it. Your voice is so soft, broken even. I've never heard it so weak and it pains my heart to know that I'm the cause.
"I don't know," I tell you honestly. I now that it's not the answer that you or I had hoped for, but it is the only one that I can give. You give another nod.
I can only watch as your hand reaches for the bag, gripping it in your fingers and hoisting it to your shoulder. You take a step toward me, but the gap only grows. The closer you get, the further away you become.
You stop right beside me, your foot landing on the outside of our room, the rest stopping within. For a second you allow your eyes to meet mine and I know that I can't let you go.
"I love you," I say, my voice clear and determined. Again you are at a standstill. I don't know why that it takes you leaving for me to tell you how I feel inside, but I know that I'm not ready to give you up.
"I don't know why it comes down to you leaving," I begin, holding you between the two rooms. "And I don't know why I use the words that cut the deepest. I wonder why, I do. But for some reason I can't figure it out. I don't know why it has to come to this…"
I take another breath, willing myself to continue. I know that I have to finish, that it's the only way to keep you. You eyes have fallen shut, but the tears are still escaping. "But I know, that I love you Luke."
You bag crashes to the ground with a thud and it takes me a moment to feel your lips on mine. It's the first time in too long that I've felt them against my own. It's almost foreign and yet they feel so familiar.
The bag is forgotten in the door way as we stumble backward and my knees touch against the silk bedding. My fingers twine into your golden locks, bringing you against me. I can feel your tears, the saltiness landing against my lips.
Your hands are everywhere, burning a hot blaze along my skin, reacquainting themselves. Within a matter of seconds our pants are discarded along the carpet, flung to the floor next to our tops.
My palm presses against your chest, the rapid beat of your heart providing me with a sense of calm. The harsh pitter-patter is almost in perfect sequence with my own. Your chest is laboring hard, rising up and down quickly as you struggle to catch your breath.
During those moments I can't help but feel as though the gap is bridge and we are one again. You body moves in sync with mine, like it did so many times before. I'm brought back to the first time, the time when we thought nothing could come between us.
Even our releases are harmonized, coming to their highs at the same time. Your body comes down on top of me, our chests moving as one as we revel in the after affects of our love.
Almost reluctantly you prop yourself onto your forearms, allowing our foreheads to meet. Your breath is still labored and is hot against my cheek as you stare down at me. For a second I feel like the teenage girl that fell in love with a boy so long ago. The anxiety forms in my stomach but I can't force myself to look away.
You carefully, lovingly, move the stray strand of hair from my face, tucking behind my ear. It's such a simple gesture and yet it lets me know that somewhere deep inside your chest, your love for me is still there.
I tilt my head upward, capturing your lips with mine once more. It isn't as heated as the first one, but its just as important. I grab the hand that is still lingering against my cheek with my own, our fingers interlocking. They always did seem meant for each other.
I wish that I had the words to tell you everything. I wish that I had that way with words that you always did; the ones that sounded like poetry. But I don't. So I say the one thing that I can. "I love you."
I can't say them enough.
Your lips part again, but this time it's not to speak. Instead a smile overtakes them, curling the ends upward into that grin that has my heart thumping rapidly against my chest.
Your eyes water again, but this time it's not out of pain. They're from love. "I love you too…" You whisper, not daring to be any louder. I close my eyes slowly, the words sounding so sweet coming from your lips.
I let them flutter open again as I feel your lips against our joined hands. You smile down at me, your weight now shifted to the side as you lie next to me in our bed. "Pretty girl." I can feel my own tears forming at the words, my lips curled into their own dimpled grin.
You lie back into the fluffed pillows, pulling me along with you so I'm wrapped into your side. I rest my head against your chest and within a matter of minutes I can hear your even breaths.
Carefully I roll from the bed, making sure not to wake you. I shuffle along the floor, stopping in the doorway to retrieve your forgotten bag. Quietly I place it on a chair in the corner and pull out the broken frame.
For the first time I can see our wedding photo behind the broken glass. I glance back at you, smiling. I removed some of the broken glass from the frame and place it gently on the nightstand beside our bed.
I'm about to slip back in when something catches my eye. I make my way to it, gripping it tightly in my hands. That familiar scent fills my nostrils as I inhale deeply and the warmth envelops me.
The fabric still feels the same against my bare skin. The hoodie still fits the same way. I finger the inch long gash on the right sleeve from when you caught it on the basketball rim and the river court. You never bothered to stitch it up.
I slip into bed next to you, into our bed. The picture frame is facing us, the smiling faces guarding over our hearts. I don't know why things are the way they are, but in that moment I know that everything will be ok. We'll make sure of it. Together.
You mumble something incoherent behind me as I snuggle back into your chest. I whisper another 'I love you' into the night just because I need to say the words. Without even realizing it I add the usual 'Broody' to the ending.
The weight of the bed shifts and I can feel your chest pressed up against my back. And then I feel it; your arm wraps around me, pulling me to you, protecting me from the world.
Closing the gap.