Atonement
By Seniya
Zealous
I've been learning to live without you now
But I miss you sometimes
The more I know, the less I understand
All the things I thought I knew, I'm learning them again
I've been trying to get down to the Heart of the Matter
But my will gets weak
And my thoughts seem to scatter
But I think it's about forgiveness
Forgiveness
Even if, even if you don't love me anymore
The Heart Of The Matter by India.Arie
The desires which a man returning home from battle stores within his heart vary with the man himself. An endless kaleidoscope of worry and euphoria, of nostalgia and impatience – few can dream of the torment of war, of the fear that steals all rational thought and drives the mind into madness, of the fantasies that warms one's bed and heart in the mists of loneliness.
There is also, the unimaginable happiness equated with homecoming, for upon many a night, a lonely man does think, longingly, of his home. Of his wife, his children, his parents—
And on that day, when his dream is finally realised, when the thick line that segregates reality from fantasy finally disintegrates, a man must finally face the truth, that the dreams he had so carefully romanticised are hopeless in comparison to what this world offers him.
………………………..
He had never been worried. Unlike the others in his regiment he had never felt even remotely hesitant about returning home. Of course, they were all glad, the battles had ceased, for now anyway and home that whispered word, finally seemed tangible.
But all of them had seen enough wars and survived enough battles to understand the ways of the world. The changes that took over once they'd left. The fact that perhaps in their absence, their little wives had deemed fidelity an unnecessary inconvenience, and then taken up with one of the remaining men—the blacksmith, the butcher, the cobbler—
After all, women, unlike men, are a fickle breed.
But he wasn't. Not once in those passing weeks had that thought ever crossed his mind. For still strong in his mind was the selflessness of her lovemaking, the innocence in her touch and the love in her sweet words, all given to him on their wedding night. A night that he was more than eager to recommence as soon as possible.
………………………..
She wouldn't disappoint him, for it was the first thing that he saw when he turned the bend that would lead to their house. Her, in all of her glory…long red hair streaming behind her in effortless waves and curls, her smooth white skin flushed. And her lips soft and warm when they first touched his, banishing the need for any other words between them.
"I missed you so much." She manages to whisper just before he tosses her up into his arms. An embrace that he surely can't imagine breaking again. She kisses him once more, sifting uncomfortably in his grasp in order to manage it.
He takes her into their living room, the rich sound of her muffled laughter warming his heart and later his neck, and they somehow stumble onto the floor in a heap of limbs and clothes. He does mumble something about the bedroom, but she shakes her head, tugging at the edge of his shirt and forcing him into compliance. And he makes love to her there, as rough as it is tender, until he is trembling and she is whimpering. Until she lifts her head from its place on his forearm and brushes her full lips against each new scar that he has earned.
Home.
………………………..
Sometime after the living room and the bathroom, the hallway and the closet—they do make it to the bed. It is long past the sunset when they do, and the evening light casts lengthy shadows across the room.
There is a sweet, warm hum of contentment in her veins when he wraps his arms around her to pull her closer. He kisses her neck playfully and she can't help but smile when he whispers something into her ear.
"Yes, I am tired." Will mumbles, knowing that in all of his masculine arrogance he will take that as a remarkable compliment.
He does. Shifting her body so that she lays beneath him, he brushes his hand along the side of her cheek, allowing it to slip lower until she stops its journey with her own. "Give me a minute, won't you?"
"I've been dreaming of this." His mouth now, brushing hot kisses atop her stomach. "Of you."
Simply overjoyed to see him, period, and now to see him so wonderfully tender, she whispers back, "I've been worried sick." At the look of pure sympathy in his eyes, she edges on, "I think that you should make it up to me."
"How?" Breath hot and skin slippery with perspiration—she wriggles at the sensation of his kin against hers. "Anything?" She teases.
"Anything."
"Dinner. I'm starving and I want you to make me dinner." He throws her an admonishing look, one that causes her to grin shamelessly. "Fish please, you know how I like it."
"I thought," He kisses her full on the mouth at each pause, "that you hated my cooking."
"It was banter. Friendly foreplay…" Now, it is he who grins, "foreplay, love?"
"You know what I mean…" Obviously, he doesn't, for he begins his slow seduction of her body, slipping between her thighs and melding his hips to hers. Beginning his slow, sultry dance with a practiced patience.
………………………..
It is into the night when she arises, and he is missing from her bed. For an endless instant she feels her heart shudder, the unmentionable pain of loneliness creeps into her mind—until she can remember that he is home again. And that he'll be home again with her for a long while.
She finds his discarded shirt and slips it on, relishing in his lingering aroma while she wanders downstairs into the kitchen. True to her request, the deep, tempting fragrance of fried fish greets her once she passes through the threshold.
He is fiddling about above the stove, clad only in a pair of loose fitting pants. She wraps her arms around his naked back from behind him, pressing a soft kiss between his shoulder blades that causes him to laugh lightly.
"You didn't wake me up." She scolds once he turns to face her.
"You are simply adorable when you sleep." He kisses her nose. "And you're distracting when you're awake."
"First of all, I'd like to think that I'm adorable all of the time. And second," Will stands precariously on her tiptoes to kiss his chin, "I resent being called a distraction."
With her hair tousled like it is now, and her lips set in that wondrous pout—it is truly a miracle that she can consider herself anything else. "You get more beautiful every time I see you, a fact that places your kitchen in immediate danger, my lady."
Smiling, she releases her grip on him, "I do love all these compliments that you seem so intent on giving me. But it seems like only yesterday that you called me a…what was it…a skinny redhead with an attitude problem…"
"Banter my dear. What did you call it—foreplay?"
She smacks his insolent hands away from her waist and moves towards the cabinets, "I'll make dessert." Rifling through the cabinets she unwraps some pears and apples, intending on making a pie.
"I've missed you too, you know." His voice touches her heart; she turns to survey him from beneath her fallen bangs. "I know, but," A satisfied sideways smirk touches her lips, "we'll be able to make up for the honeymoon, won't we."
"Two days." His reply.
Two days.
"Two days for what?"
"I have to leave again after that…it'll be shorter this time, but it's absolutely…"
"No. You said that this was the last time Caleb!" The knife that she'd been holding slips from her fingers and hits the countertop with a seemingly thunderous clack. "It was the only reason that I let you go the day after our wedding…"
"Don't Will," his voice has taken that impatient tone that is reminiscent of him reprimanding her when she was fifteen. "This is important and…"
"And our marriage isn't?"
"Why are you being this selfish? You know what this means for Meridian."
She is silent after that, knowing that she is being selfish—when she shouldn't be. Yet there is still that small part of her, so often ignored, the part that longs to scream at him that he's being selfish. That she gave up everything for him: her home, her family, her friends, and he refuses to do the same thing for her.
The success of this battle doesn't depend solely on him. He could stay if he wanted, if he really wanted to.
There are tears in her eyes when she finally manages to clear her thoughts. He can't see her cry. "I'm going upstairs."
"Will…I didn't mean…" But it's too late, she's already scampered away upstairs, muttering only once, half heartedly, that she only wants to change her clothes.
………………………..
She stays in their room, crying into the pillows until she can't anymore. And even then the misery doesn't fade, although she scrubs her face so that she may pretend that it has. She does shed the oversized shirt, remembering that she told him that she wanted to change into something else.
When she finally re-emerges, he is seated in the hallway, staring blankly at the bedroom door. "Is…Is dinner ready?" She hates the way that her voice cracks; she really hates the way that he looks at her, as though she'd break—pity.
"I should get dessert ready then."
"I'm sorry." He's on his feet, starting towards her, crowding her by bracing his hands on either side of her head. "I know what it has to be like for you…and I…shouldn't have called you selfish. You aren't, you're not."
"I love you Caleb." He knows it, and it isn't to remind him of her feelings, perhaps to remind herself…yes, this is why she stays. This is why she waits.
"I burnt the fish." At that she does manage to smile, "that's why I don't allow you to cook."
He kisses her then, full on the mouth feeling immensely relieved when she kisses him back, with matching ardour. "What are we going to eat now?" She breathes once he releases her. "We'll figure out something." It's an easy reply, although in her heart and perhaps his, it is the most poignant thing that could have been uttered this night.
…………………….
Author: One more left! I'm definitely trying to finish this by Saturday, because Harry Potter is coming out on that day and I can't get it until Monday so I'm hiding from the internet until I'm done reading it so I can't get spoiled. Makes sense. Well, review all!
Next: V is for Victory.