"I'm sorry." I touched the piece of gauze on Michael's chest lightly. "You know I love you."
"I know, Fi." He smiled, adjusting his body against mine. "I love you more. And I'm sorry I upset you."
We were laying in my bed naked after having make up sex a couple times over. The gauze taped over his right pec was a reminder of the fight. The words he said. The tears I cried. The walls he hit. Ultimately, the glasses I threw. Once one particularly harsh glass him him, it became disturbingly apparent that I didn't mean to hurt him. I had fallen to my knees, crying hysterically, expecting more rage out of him, but instead, he had taken a steadying breath and spoken the unbelieveable words, "It's ok, Fi."
There wasn't much to do or say at that point. I watched in panic as he took his shirt off and pulled the glass shard out of his skin. I felt sick. He was bleeding more than I was comfortable admitting. He dropped the bloody glass in the sink and pressed his ruined shirt to stop the blood. I had... hurt him. I hurt him. I hadn't known it was possible before. I could hurt him. The idea disturbed me. Not only could I hurt him... it could happen completely by mistake.
"I'm-"
"Its ok." He said softly. "It was an accident."
I nodded, still watching while he started stitching up the gash in his chest. I was sorry. And it was an accident, but he seemd to be taking it strikingly well. Possibly better than I was taking it. He seemed borderline relieved. Maybe happy to have something to do with his hands. His stitches were more productive then the wall punching he'd been doing earlier. If I hadn't seen it, I wouldn't have believed it, but when I threw the glass that hit him, it gouged into his chest and I spotted a short flash of something in his eyes. He looked turned on for a short second. Violence is foreplay in some cultures, I remembered. Not for him, I guess."I... I love you." I offered.
He smiled. Actually smiled. "I love you, too, Fiona."
I collapsed into his lap in relief. "Oh thank God! I was worried."
He chuckled at my surprise, squeezing me once and kissing my temple. "You think one broken glass could change the way I feel about you? If it's possible... I love you more. For what its worth, I'm sorry."
I nodded. "You love me more because I stabbed you?" I sighed. "I'm sorry, too. You don't have to-" I shook my head and ran my fingers through his short hair.
"No. I do." He winced in pain, returning to the stitches.
I poured a glass of water and offered it to him.
"Thanks, Fi." He took a sip and looked up at me, pausing his stitch job. "I have to tell her, though."
I sighed. "Yeah." I agreed, finally. "You do."
"I'll... call her... after this." He finished his handywork.
"What are you gonna tell her?" I asked, taping the gauze down.
"I don't know." He shook his head.
I shook myself out of my reverie. Reliving it wasn't going to change it. "I'm sorry."
"It's ok, kiddo." He rubbed my back.
"Call her." I told him firmly.
"Now?" He winced. "Now." I confirmed.
He sighed and pulled his phone off the side table. "Maybe don't help."
I laughed. "I have no business with her, Michael. She only loves a man that I also love. Seems like we might get along in another life."
"The difference is that the man... he actually loves you back." He dialed the phone and put it on his chest on speaker.
"Michael?"
"Sam." He sighed.
"Oh." She said. I think she knew. "Michael."
"Yeah?"
"What?" She wanted him to say it.
"I've nothing to say." He said, sounding american.
I narrowed my eyes at him.
"Sam, you knew it was coming." His irish accent was completely gone.
"Yeah." She said as my eyes widened at him.
"I'm sorry." He shrugged, not actually sounding sorry at all.
"I understand." She sighed. "Enjoy your time in Ireland."
He hung up abruptly and rubbed his eyes.
It was quiet for several minutes while I decided what to say. "So... are you...?"
"What is it?" His accent was back. Sounding as irish as he was smooth.
"You're... American?"
He laughed easily. "No, Fi." He kissed my forehead. "I'm not."
I followed him into the kitchen when he left the bed. "What just happened?"
"Sam and I met... in Canada." He poured me a glass of juice and pulled out a yogurt for himself. "She was selling a weapon to one of my good friends... who was Canadian. Sam is American. She was talking to my friend Kevin about... well... it was easier for the deal if I pretended to be American. So... I did."
I looked at him seriously. "So, what happened when you came home?"
"I just told her I lived in Ireland." He shrugged. "I told you. She's a liar too, so she doesn't ask questions. I said I lived in Ireland, she didn't investigate."
I nodded, accepting the information. "I understand."
He smiled. "But you don't believe me?"
"Of course not." I finished the juice and placed the glass in the sink. "Because you're lying."
He nodded. "You always know."
"I trust that whatever the reason is..." I kissed him softly. "It's good. I trust you. It sucks because you suck at lying... but I still trust you."
"Yeah?" He kissed my forehead.
"Yeah. I don't care if you lie to another woman. The lying to me is annoying but I'll beat you up for it later."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Tell her you're American or Canadian or Brittish or Australian. Its fine. You needed to lie... so you lied."
He nodded, looking solemn.
"I know what its like to lie to someone, thinking you'd never have to see them again and then have to live the lie for a long time because life doesn't always work out the way you thought."
"Live the lie." He nodded. "Good term."
I agreed. "I trust you."
"Good choice." Michaels sadness disappeared and turned solemn. "I love you Fi. You're my forever."
That was 5 months before he vanished.
"I know, Fi." He smiled, adjusting his body against mine. "I love you more. And I'm sorry I upset you."
We were laying in my bed naked after having make up sex a couple times over. The gauze taped over his right pec was a reminder of the fight. The words he said. The tears I cried. The walls he hit. Ultimately, the glasses I threw. Once one particularly harsh glass him him, it became disturbingly apparent that I didn't mean to hurt him. I had fallen to my knees, crying hysterically, expecting more rage out of him, but instead, he had taken a steadying breath and spoken the unbelieveable words, "It's ok, Fi."
There wasn't much to do or say at that point. I watched in panic as he took his shirt off and pulled the glass shard out of his skin. I felt sick. He was bleeding more than I was comfortable admitting. He dropped the bloody glass in the sink and pressed his ruined shirt to stop the blood. I had... hurt him. I hurt him. I hadn't known it was possible before. I could hurt him. The idea disturbed me. Not only could I hurt him... it could happen completely by mistake.
"I'm-"
"Its ok." He said softly. "It was an accident."
I nodded, still watching while he started stitching up the gash in his chest. I was sorry. And it was an accident, but he seemd to be taking it strikingly well. Possibly better than I was taking it. He seemed borderline relieved. Maybe happy to have something to do with his hands. His stitches were more productive then the wall punching he'd been doing earlier. If I hadn't seen it, I wouldn't have believed it, but when I threw the glass that hit him, it gouged into his chest and I spotted a short flash of something in his eyes. He looked turned on for a short second. Violence is foreplay in some cultures, I remembered. Not for him, I guess."I... I love you." I offered.
He smiled. Actually smiled. "I love you, too, Fiona."
I collapsed into his lap in relief. "Oh thank God! I was worried."
He chuckled at my surprise, squeezing me once and kissing my temple. "You think one broken glass could change the way I feel about you? If it's possible... I love you more. For what its worth, I'm sorry."
I nodded. "You love me more because I stabbed you?" I sighed. "I'm sorry, too. You don't have to-" I shook my head and ran my fingers through his short hair.
"No. I do." He winced in pain, returning to the stitches.
I poured a glass of water and offered it to him.
"Thanks, Fi." He took a sip and looked up at me, pausing his stitch job. "I have to tell her, though."
I sighed. "Yeah." I agreed, finally. "You do."
"I'll... call her... after this." He finished his handywork.
"What are you gonna tell her?" I asked, taping the gauze down.
"I don't know." He shook his head.
I shook myself out of my reverie. Reliving it wasn't going to change it. "I'm sorry."
"It's ok, kiddo." He rubbed my back.
"Call her." I told him firmly.
"Now?" He winced. "Now." I confirmed.
He sighed and pulled his phone off the side table. "Maybe don't help."
I laughed. "I have no business with her, Michael. She only loves a man that I also love. Seems like we might get along in another life."
"The difference is that the man... he actually loves you back." He dialed the phone and put it on his chest on speaker.
"Michael?"
"Sam." He sighed.
"Oh." She said. I think she knew. "Michael."
"Yeah?"
"What?" She wanted him to say it.
"I've nothing to say." He said, sounding american.
I narrowed my eyes at him.
"Sam, you knew it was coming." His irish accent was completely gone.
"Yeah." She said as my eyes widened at him.
"I'm sorry." He shrugged, not actually sounding sorry at all.
"I understand." She sighed. "Enjoy your time in Ireland."
He hung up abruptly and rubbed his eyes.
It was quiet for several minutes while I decided what to say. "So... are you...?"
"What is it?" His accent was back. Sounding as irish as he was smooth.
"You're... American?"
He laughed easily. "No, Fi." He kissed my forehead. "I'm not."
I followed him into the kitchen when he left the bed. "What just happened?"
"Sam and I met... in Canada." He poured me a glass of juice and pulled out a yogurt for himself. "She was selling a weapon to one of my good friends... who was Canadian. Sam is American. She was talking to my friend Kevin about... well... it was easier for the deal if I pretended to be American. So... I did."
I looked at him seriously. "So, what happened when you came home?"
"I just told her I lived in Ireland." He shrugged. "I told you. She's a liar too, so she doesn't ask questions. I said I lived in Ireland, she didn't investigate."
I nodded, accepting the information. "I understand."
He smiled. "But you don't believe me?"
"Of course not." I finished the juice and placed the glass in the sink. "Because you're lying."
He nodded. "You always know."
"I trust that whatever the reason is..." I kissed him softly. "It's good. I trust you. It sucks because you suck at lying... but I still trust you."
"Yeah?" He kissed my forehead.
"Yeah. I don't care if you lie to another woman. The lying to me is annoying but I'll beat you up for it later."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Tell her you're American or Canadian or Brittish or Australian. Its fine. You needed to lie... so you lied."
He nodded, looking solemn.
"I know what its like to lie to someone, thinking you'd never have to see them again and then have to live the lie for a long time because life doesn't always work out the way you thought."
"Live the lie." He nodded. "Good term."
I agreed. "I trust you."
"Good choice." Michaels sadness disappeared and turned solemn. "I love you Fi. You're my forever."
That was 5 months before he vanished.