Catharsis
Cal stands outside of Gillian's townhouse, shifting his weight back and forth from toe to heel. Taking in a lungful of cool November air, he raps lightly against the wooden door. Her feet smack against the hardwood as she makes her way to the door. There are only a few steps that come immediately after the doorbell like she'd been waiting nearby, like she'd been expecting him.
She hadn't even issued an invitation, just given a wan smile when he had squeezed his hand around her forearm and let her read the expressions off of his face. Of course, she'd known exactly what it meant. She always knew. And this time wasn't any different than all the others that had come before, when they had found catharsis in each other and somehow made it feel a lot more like breathing fresh air than purging the pain from their hearts with shaking fingers stuck too far down raw throats
She draws open the door, holding it to her chest like armour as she smiles carefully. His chest constricts. She pulls away from her post to accommodate his entry. Her hair is pulled into a messy ponytail and her bed shirt bares one pale shoulder. She looks small and fragile and real. He wishes he could turn away, but he lacks the strength, her pull almost magnetic.
When he steps into her foyer, they stand in silence for a beat too long, eyes locked together. He nudges the door shut with his boot and reaches out for her simultaneously. She sighs in his embrace, one hand stroking the hair at his nape. Her scent is forgiveness and innocence and warmth at once, water lily and something purely Gillian. He doesn't have to tell her why he's here, she just knows. She welcomes him despite all the terrible ways he's treated her in the past few days of anger and regret, despite the fact that he'd never issued an apology.
"Gill," he rasps a warped plea.
She brings her mouth to his, gives him what he's asking for. Only it's not just for him. Her eyes are dark and intent as she pulls back a bit, features softer as his eyes meet hers. He'd almost say there is relief in the way she sighs and steps in closer, moulds their lips back together. He deepens her kiss, his tongue snaking between her lips, sliding across teeth and tongue. It's like some sort of glue, putting all of his broken pieces back together or perhaps letting him know he's been whole all along, at least when she's with him.
They know. They both already know.
He breaks from her to take a breath, his hand against her hair. Sighing deeply, he hugs her close to him again before tilting his head down to drop sloping kisses along the column of her throat. Her fingernails rash harsh against his stubbled jaw, makes him look at her. She blinks up at him through a curtain of wet lashes before dropping her gaze, her teeth biting into her lower lip. Her palm smoothes over his skin and cups his chin, pale blue eyes melting cooler towards grey. He anticipates the words before they come, makes his face still so as not to show his hurt.
"This is the last time," her words are quiet wounds, wounds she'd been nursing on her own even before they'd begun this reprieve, that hadn't healed because he kept digging his fingers in.
Her resolve is steel, stiffening her body against his. She won't be moved by gentled words or the honesty he shows her, but never speaks aloud. No, the anniversary of his mother's suicide offers him no additional freedom to continue the cycle of hurting her, then begging forgiveness with his skin against hers.
"I know, love," he says.
She releases a captive breath, her eyes falling from his again to stare at a spot by her bare feet, toenails painted blood red. She kisses him gently, soft lips slanting along his. Her cheek falls against his shoulder, her breath fanning against the tendons at the jointure between neck and chest. It's an apology of sorts, for the pain she knows she's causing him.
"You ashamed of me?" he asks, voice straining as her lips smile against his skin.
She moves back enough to see his features. His cheeks redden slightly as he notices that she is measuring the fragility of his features against that of his tone.
"Not of you, Cal. Of me," she says.
"Why?"
Tears spring to her eyes anew, but she meets his anyway, "because I love you."
Lips pinching, it's his turn to look away. Correction: it's because she loves him and lets him do this to her anyway. It has to be that because she could never be ashamed of giving love, could she? Gill, who holds more in love in her little finger than most carried in their entire bodies? Or is her shame in that she'd never asked him if he felt the same, believed he didn't? Or wasn't happy with just facial expressions to decode, wanted the honest words he never gave her but continued to let him have her without ever asking him to just say it?
"I know," he makes the admission soft. "I'm sorry."
She nods. Acknowledgement or acceptance, he doesn't know.
He's had her running in circles for weeks, just waiting to find the end, to find the two of them together in a way he isn't sure he's even capable of. Knowing that he may never actually say the words, he's been cruel despite everything he's already put her through.
He kisses her slowly as if trying to memorise the shape of her mouth, the sweet tang of her tongue. He cherishes these last moments because he may never get to hold his love this way again. There's an end to her forgiveness when the pain gets too much, and he's inching closer and closer to the threshold. Because of him, she could fear every opportunity to love again because loving him had been so crushing. His own fear, all of a sudden, is intense, closing off his throat and pinching in his chest.
"We're okay, Gill?" he asks gently. His words tremble even as he forces his hands steady, reaching to grasp hers.
She smiles, soft and sure, and it's more of a comfort to him than any words she could ever say.
"We always are, aren't we?"
Edited as of 25/11/2017 for grammar tense, style,flow, and the elimination of headhopping. Hope it reads better now! :)