In truth, between all the I love yous – some said, others understood – there has been a great deal of heartache. There have been hurt feelings, complications, and regrets. There has been bickering, an impossible amount of hoping, and more missed opportunities than I thought I could stand. Seriously, I could kick myself when I think of each of the instances I've described…because we've talked about it, and Lydia was with me – the feelings were there. Every single time.
All of that time, we could have been together...
Though it hurts to know that now, maybe it doesn't matter as much as one would think. What really matters is that when Lydia and I, when we, finally got it right – it is more than worth it. And now, we are never letting go.
The night she brought me back was exhausting to say the least, but it was also one of the best nights of my life.
After everything, there is no way we are going to be separated any longer. We know it…and frankly, everyone else knows it too. We have to be alone.
She drives me home in my beloved Jeep (I missed her too, but not nearly as much as I missed Lydia). It makes sense that we are here – in the place where I told her I loved her with words for the very first time. I am in my head the entire time, trying to process what just happened. For the entire ride home Lydia's fingers are intertwined with mine. As far as everything else, my memory is a blank page. Well, that is to say...until we cross the threshold of my bedroom. Then, I remember everything...
As soon as I close the door behind us, Lydia kicks off her boots. It's such an ordinary thing, something she always does whenever she enters my room, but for me it is both comforting and significant. In here, she is my Lydia. The Lydia that doesn't care that she is small. The Lydia that relaxes because she knows she is safe. The version of herself that she shows to me, but who only makes cameo appearances for the rest of the world.
My love pauses for a moment, then she closes the very small distance between us. She wraps her arms around me and rests her head in the center of my chest. I know exactly what she's doing. She wants to hear my heartbeat. It's something she still does, frequently…and every time, it melts me – same as it did that night.
A minute or so passes before she looks up at me. It is another of the rare times I see her unsure of herself.
"Can I?" she whispers.
I don't know how, but I know what she means. I nod my head. She hesitantly begins to push my red plaid shirt behind my shoulders, never taking her eyes off mine. She's impossibly close, and her familiar scent fills my consciousness; vanilla and flowers – more comfort. I'm in layers, as per usual, so next she reaches for my faded, black tee shirt and glides it upwards and over my head.
If it's possible to be nervous and calm at the same time, that is the only way I can describe this sensation.
Lydia drops the shirt behind me and stills herself again before smoothing my disheveled hair back into place. Then she moves her hands to my shoulders, and I grasp her waist to keep mine from shaking. She delicately kisses my chest, then her ear finds its place over my heart once more.
I don't have words for what this feels like or what it means to me. All I know is that when her body starts trembling as she cries, my heart is simultaneously breaking and fusing back together.
"I'm here… We're together," is all I can manage to say…over and over. Maybe I'm trying to convince us both.
My hands are unstable from the moment they let go of her waist, until they make contact with her face – her beautiful face that's stained with both of our tears. I don't know how to make it stop, so I kiss her. Her lips are as soft as they were a few hours ago, and they taste salty from all the tears. I kiss her over and over again, until we both stop crying and she smiles against my mouth. Then I lean my forehead against hers, leave it there while we just breathe together.
She is holding me so close, hands fervently traveling up and down my back like she can't decide where she wants to let them rest, like she can't touch me enough. It feels good. So good. I can't get close enough. I want to touch her – everywhere. I want to take my time with her, hold her – skin on skin – and never let go. I love her so much.
When she takes my hand and tows me towards the bed, I follow. Because I don't just love her, I trust her too.
She puts her hand on my heart, and it quickens.
"We don't have to... I know you're tired," she says. "I just…I need to be close to you."
I can feel the grin forming on my lips before she finishes her statement.
We don't have to.
Those words are empty. We both know it. Of course we don't have to. But we want to. We've waited long enough, and this is just the breath before the leap.
She starts to unbutton her dress, and she is slow moving because she's not using her dominant hand. That one is still on my chest, thumb gliding back and forth over my sternum. Pursing her lips, she patiently waits for me to assist. Once my brain catches up, I oblige with unsteady hands that make her smile timidly at me. That's when I get a glimpse of her dimples, and it relaxes me a bit more. I push the fabric over her shoulders a bit more confidently, then she shimmies out of her outfit and peels off her tights.
And just like that, Lydia is standing in front of me in her dark blue (she'd call it sapphire) floral bra and lace underwear.
It strikes me that I am touching parts of her skin that I never have before – which is both thrilling and terrifying.
Am I dreaming?
I can feel my insides quivering as she unbuckles my belt, unzips my jeans and slides them off my hips so I can kick them aside. Her left hand is still glued to my chest and my right is at the small of her back; both of us working at a disadvantage but determined not to break contact with each other.
I glance back and forth between the floor and her; half self-conscious but equally unable to look away from her for more than a few seconds. I've already spent far too much time without her in view.
She deliberately grazes her palms over my chest and down my torso, taking her time and letting them come to rest near the waistband of my boxers. I don't need a mirror to know that I'm blushing. My stomach tenses, and I bite my lip to keep from moaning, but she smiles softly.
"Finally…" she exhales. "Definitely worth the wait though."
I'm about to close my eyes, but she stops me.
"Stiles, look at me."
I comply, even though it scares me. It's not in my DNA to deny Lydia anything.
"You're perfect. Stiles, you are perfect, and I have never wanted anyone the way I want you."
She tucks in her plump bottom lip and closes her eyes like she's trying to memorize what she sees and feels. Then she takes my hand and places it over her heart, so I can feel how fast it is beating. Just like mine.
"See what you do to me?" she asks, dotting the corner of my mouth with a kiss and nudging me backwards to the bed. "This… This is all you."
It's no secret that Lydia makes me weak in the knees, so I sit. It's either that or I fall. She's so damn gorgeous it makes my eyes sting. I still can't take them off her though. She touches my face, and I'm putty in her hands. I latch on to her wrists, pressing kisses into her palms that I hope convey how precious she is to me.
It must work, because her eyebrow is arched a mile high, and tears are pouring over her lashes. I wrap her arms around my neck and drag her into my lap, marveling at how effortlessly we fit together. A sound gets caught in her throat. It's somewhere between a hum and a moan, and I can feel her tiny body trembling from its very core. It finally registers with me that I have the same effect on her that she has on me.
There is one question on my mind right now: How is this possible?
It's quickly followed by a response: Love.
She touches her lips to my forehead and kisses my flushed face. Then the two of us crawl into the safety of my bed where we cling to each other, never breaking eye contact.
It's quiet for a few minutes before she speaks to me. Her voice is soft and low, but her words are clear.
"Stiles, I need to tell you..."
Wait. I don't want her to feel like she has to say the words because I already know how she feels. I can wait until she is ready.
I open my mouth to stop her, "Lyd—", but she keeps me from interrupting, touching her index finger to my lips.
"I know that I don't have to, but I want to—I need to say it for both of us. I need you to hear the words, and I need to know that I said them…because there have been so many times I wanted to, and I didn't. And when you were gone, I thought you knew…but when I remembered that I never said it back…it killed me."
I don't want her to hurt. Ever. I hold her tighter...as if that will keep the pain at bay.
She takes a deep breath. "Stiles, I love you…in a way that I have never loved anyone – with my whole heart. When they took you from me, I couldn't picture your face or remember any of the things we did together, but I could hear your voice in my dreams every night. I knew that you loved me, I remembered how you made me feel…and that was as real to me as holding you right now."
She kisses me, and if feels like more than a kiss. It feels like...everything I've ever wanted and more.
"I need you to know that the love I have for you – it never left me. It was like I could feel you everywhere I went, only I couldn't see you, I couldn't talk to you, I couldn't touch you. It was the worst pain I've ever experienced."
She nuzzles closer, forehead leaning into my chin, lips grazing the skin of my chest like she is having a private conversation with my heart. She kind of is. Nothing in the world could interfere with us right now. Nothing.
"Without you here, I was lost…I couldn't breathe…I was only half alive. Getting you back changed all that. It was so dark, but you made the sun come out again. I love you. I love you. And I'm so sorry that I made you unsure of it. I tried to show you…but it's like my body wouldn't let me."
Once again, I'm blown away.
Do I have to even try to explain what her words – words I've been dreaming of hearing for years (plus a few others I only dared to hope for) – do I have to explain what they are doing to me? Nah, I think they speak for themselves.
All in all…the list of impossible things in my life is getting shorter by the second.
