A/N: I'd first like to say thanks to everyone who left their feedback on the chapter update and who encouraged me to post it anyway.
I think, especially as creatives, we all have those insecure days. I could go on about how even FanFiction writing is vulnerable, and blah blah, but you all know that already. I felt insecure about my choices, but after taking the day to re-evaluate, I decided to go ahead and re-release it with some added comments.
I want to warn readers that this is a messy and toxic chapter. This is not the Henry and Elizabeth we know from the show, this is a very young couple who, quite honestly, have jumped into a whirlwind romance headfirst. They are still immature human beings who haven't yet had the years that H & E on the show have had. I really do appreciate the feedback that the reviewers gave me on this because it made me re-evaluate them as characters and myself as a writer. Why am I writing them this way? Why am I writing at all? I present them this way in this story because I like to prod the human experience, even the dark, deep, disgusting corners of it. It is uncomfortable sometimes. I focus on grief a lot throughout my stories and that's because I've had some traumatic grief experiences, too. I like to expose the not-so-fun parts of life. This is uncomfy. I write (FanFiction and in my other prose and poetry) to make people feel the uncomfy, feel the romance, feel the way it hurts to laugh through tears, and feel their stomachs hurting along with the characters because of laughter.
However, with all that said, I do not want this to look like I'm promoting abusive behavior in any way. This is labelled as messy and toxic for a reason, and I should've warned people of that the last time I released this chapter. Especially as a woman, I know that it can be easy to romanticize the borderline-abuse (hello, Fifty Shades...). I don't yet know how I'm going to have the characters address this, and if I will even at all until they're older. I think it's something that is difficult to realize until you have some maturity behind you to back you up. The uncomfy is good to evaluate as readers and writers, but it's not something that necessarily is "right" or "good." (I definitely need to work on forewarning people better.)
If you've made it this far (long-winded this morning haha), I also wanted to genuinely thank everyone who left their feedback, especially the ones who I (at first) took as negative comments. It made me think. And young, more immature-me wouldn't have acted on that and evaluated it, but I appreciate the people who make me think about my choices more these days. So thank you, truly.
And someone also said something that made me think a little more this morning: grief makes you do things that you wouldn't normally do. If you've never experienced grief, just know that sometimes it feels like pulling your skin off your body and pouring salt everywhere you can. You feel like you're on fire but also numb at the same time somehow. Yes, definitely, grief makes you do things you wouldn't normally do.
One last thing and I swear I'll zip it: Pay extra attention to dates on this one because there are quite a few flashbacks.
TW: miscarriage, abusive behavior, and lots of grief.
Thank you for loving on this story and reviewing, too, and I hope you enjoy this chapter and its messiness.
March 30, 1983 | Elizabeth
Somewhere in her mind, she kept thinking they'd come back eventually. It was a cruel joke her own body would play on her, but when she walked in the house, she'd expect to see her mom in the kitchen with Will somewhere nearby, and her dad sitting in his recliner with the newspaper in his hands. Instead, each time she walked in the house the past two days, she'd seen her Aunt Patty packing things into boxes while Will was in his room packing his comic books away—taking the time to mindlessly read through each one before putting it in the box.
Elizabeth's room was still untouched. Each time she went in to pack, she would open the box and get one item put in, but then she would see the picture on her nightstand and fall to pieces. She'd slam her door shut and lock it before crying on the bed for a while, holding the picture frame underneath her pillow.
Her mom, dad, Will, and herself had all gone on vacation for the first time in years last summer to Florida. Between the hours spent lying on the sandy Gulf Coast beaches, she had begged her family to get pictures with her almost to the point of being obnoxious with her new Canon AT-1 she'd gotten the year before for Christmas. She'd been going through this phase of photography, taking pictures of all her friends and family, and her parents knew the perfect gift to give her. However, they didn't know just how perfect it would be since she was filling it with pictures of them before they died. These pictures were all she had of them now, along with the memories in her head that she wished she could put onto tape somehow.
When she woke up this morning, she found a note on the kitchen counter that explained they'd all gone to get more boxes and didn't want to wake her. She walked back to her room, flipped her light switch on, and found the bulb had also decided to die on her. "Real convenient timing," she thought to herself while turning back around and walking out. She walked to the living room first, stopping when she got there and saw his empty chair. The reminder that he wasn't there to ask for a light bulb change hurt, but the fact that she went there in the first place made her feel insane.
Her feet wouldn't move, so she stood and stared at the empty recliner while her fingernails dug into the palms of her hands. She had no idea yet, but she was about to make little scratches from a few of those digs. It was painful on a normal day, but that day she hadn't even noticed. Somehow, she willed her legs to step toward the hall and into the garage, just to find the ghost of the car was even harder to bear. As though the car were still in its normal spot, she walked the same path she always would to the other side of the garage, grabbing the package of light bulbs from the shelf and making that same path back to the door, not letting herself look over and see the car that wasn't there. If she looked over, she knew she would have to sit there for a minute and think about the Bee Gees songs she and her dad would belt out in the front seat, or the think about she and her mom having "the talk" on the way home from school one day. The memories would be too much, so she put her head straight forward and walked back to the door, back to her room.
She soon found herself pushing her bed over to the center of her room underneath her fan, trying to be able to reach the light to change it. Her legs were shaking from the strain she'd just put on them and standing on her tip toes to reach didn't help. Finally, a cramp in her calf sent her back to the bed in a crumpled mess, bawling her eyes out until her Uncle Don came and swooped her into his arms. She had no idea they'd even come home, but Uncle Don had hugged her and told her it would get better before grabbing a ladder and changing the bulb for her. Elizabeth wasn't sure it ever could—not unless he could bring her parents back to life.
August 10, 1988 | Elizabeth
He'd called out of work the first few days after he found out. She accepted this, knowing that it was a shock to him, knowing that he felt like he was a friend to Tori and had let her down somehow. She even knew that he was taking John's loss hard.
"How did you even meet John anyway?" She asked on their way back from John's funeral, the day after Tori's.
He stayed silent for a few moments as he kept his eyes on the road, one hand lazily on the wheel while he looked like he was struggling to keep himself together, "We met at freshman orientation. We were roommates my first year at UVA. But how did we become friends? I really don't know." He said solemnly, shaking his head while his eyes stayed fixed on the yellow lines and asphalt in front of him. "I'm not sure we ever really were. He was convenient for me, and I was someone he could drag around as a wingman or a—" He had stopped himself like he just got punched in the stomach, and Elizabeth whipped her head around quickly to look at him and make sure he was okay. She didn't want to press, but knowing he was still alright made her feel a little better. "Or a designated driver." He murmured finally.
Elizabeth looked down in her lap at her fingers twiddling together, feeling unsure of what to say. She knew he'd been blaming himself for letting Tori go so soon, but what else was he supposed to do? Make her stay? Risk hurting his and Elizabeth's relationship? She knew he was being logical, but she also knew he was being completely irrational these last few days since finding out. Instead of saying anything, she just reached over and took his hand, "I'm sorry, Henry." She whispered.
She walks to their bedroom door and sees him still lying in the bed on his side, one leg out from the covers with his arms tucked up underneath his head. "Henry?" She whispers, leaning against the inside of the doorframe, "You work today, right?" She asks softly, trying to not upset him, but she was genuinely starting to worry he would lose his job. It's been days now.
When he doesn't answer, she walks in and to his side of the bed. His eyes slowly drift up to meet hers, and she sees he's been crying again. She kneels down beside the bed, feeling the carpet poke at her knees while her dress tightens around her legs—she is about to leave for work, too. "Henry…" She whispers, sliding her hand across the sheets and touching his arm.
As soon as her fingers start to wrap around him, he pulls away, tucking it further underneath his head. "I called out." He mumbles.
She tilts her head sadly, trying to not let herself feel defeated after his little move away from her, "Again?" She asks, not thinking before she spoke. Immediately, she wanted to take it back, but she couldn't—it was too late for that.
"Again?" He asks, looking at her once more. "You say that like I don't have a right to be upset."
"You do." She says, trying to keep him from being even more upset, and upset with her. "All I'm saying is that…" Her voice trails off and she can't think of what to say. We need money? Tori was just a friend? John was a terrible person? The things that come to her mind aren't things she feels are appropriate to say to someone who is so obviously hurting, so she just shakes her head. "You do." She repeats, "I'm worried about you. That's all." She finally says, sitting up a little straighter.
He snuggles his head down into his arms and pillow more, pulling his knee up closer to his stomach, "I'll be fine." He states.
She tilts her head again and wants to yell at him suddenly, tell him that of course he'll be fine and that she's about to have to beg him to stop wallowing. But she thinks back to just a few years ago when all she could do was sit in bed and cry for days after her parents died, and then hide in private and cry for months afterward. There are still moments when the grief overtakes her, so she just stands to her feet and rests her hands on the bed beside his body. "I love you." She says before turning to walk away.
When he doesn't say it back, she stops herself and looks at him, turning her whole body to face his again. She stands there for a moment, her fists balling up while her fingernails dig into her palms. Her jaw is cocked to one side and her whole body is leaning like she's about to fight someone. "I said I love you." She says again.
April 4, 1983 | Elizabeth
When her alarm started beeping, she wanted to slam the whole clock on the ground, but she knew that would be irrational somewhere deep in the logical part of her brain, so she just pressed snooze once and got a quick little nap in before getting up. She'd argued with Aunt Patty to go back to school last week, begging for some normalcy in her life, but her aunt said no and that it was too soon. Elizabeth couldn't see the reasoning behind it and had spent much of the week being mad with her aunt, holing herself in the guest room that her aunt and uncle were providing for her.
She walked across the hall and knocked on Will's door, but when she heard no answer, she slowly turned the knob and peeked her head in. "Are you awake?" She asked quietly. Seeing that he was still sound asleep, she walked over to his bed and gently shook his shoulder, "Will," she whispered, "Will, it's time to get up. We have to go to school today."
He jerked the covers up over his head, hitting her arm in the process. "I'm not going."
"Yes you are." She argued, rubbing the spot on her arm that was now turning red from where his knuckles met it so forcefully. "Let's go. Get up."
"I'm not going!" He said more sternly, his voice losing all that young-boy-squeakiness for a moment and sounding too much like her dad, even with his voice muffled underneath those blankets.
"Yes. You are." She said, her teeth clenched together as she yanks the blankets away from him, pulling them off the bed completely. "Mom and Dad wouldn't want us to be uneducated, Will." She snapped, "You know that. Now get up, don't make us late."
He screamed so loudly at her that she wanted to sock him, completely take him out. But before she could, her uncle comes rushing into the doorway, "What's going on? Is everyone okay?" He asked.
"We're fine." Elizabeth seethed, "Will's not about to be fine, though, if he doesn't stop arguing with me and doesn't get out of bed."
Uncle Don walked into the room further, laying a hand on her shoulder and gently pulling her away from the bed with one little motion, "It's okay, Liz. Let him sleep."
When she heard that name, she looked at him, "Please don't call me that anymore." She whispered, trying to hide the cracking in her voice. Only her close family called her Liz—her dad, her mom, and Aunt Patty and Uncle Don. It was too much to hear now.
He looked down at her and nodded, rubbing her shoulder, "Okay, I won't." He whispered, "Go get dressed for school. I'll drive you."
"I'm walking." She said quickly, making her way to her bedroom.
When she got dressed, she stepped into Will's room again, just past the doorframe this time. "Will?" She said softly.
"What do you want?" He murmured.
She looked down, "I just wanted to say I'm sorry for being like that earlier. I know you miss them just as much as I do." She explained, but he didn't answer her. She just took a deep breath and looked up at him, "I'm going to leave now. I love you." He still didn't answer, just scouring over his comic books, even though she could tell he wasn't actually reading them—his eyes weren't moving one bit. "I said I love you." She snapped.
"Fine, whatever, I'll see you later."
"No," she said, almost growling at this point as she walked into his room further again, "Say it back."
"Elizabeth, go away!" Will snapped, looking up from his comic book briefly, "Please, just go away!"
"I didn't say it back to Mom and Dad." She said, her voice breaking into something shaky that has been too familiar to her recently, "I didn't say it when you left for ice cream that day. Say it back."
Will looked at her for a moment and let his arms rest down on his legs finally, the comic book sliding and falling to the floor, "Fine." He said defeatedly, "I love you too."
August 10, 1988 | Henry
He drags his eyes open to look at her standing at the other end of the room, closer to the door than she is to him. He's rarely seen her this mad, but he knows she's ready to fight him on this by the way her jaw is pushed over to the side. "I said I love you." She repeats, and he closes his eyes again and huffs.
"Elizabeth…" he mumbles.
"No." She snaps, and he hears her footsteps coming toward him again. He's not sure he let it out, but he groans internally and opens his eyes again, not expecting to see her right next to him already with her hands on her hips. "I've let you wallow. I have let you feel this immense pain you're feeling for a so-called friend who was an absolutely terrible person, to you and to everyone else we know, and I've let you feel it for a girl who broke your heart and asked you for help. I've let you feel for a girl who still, knowing all she knew, went with John that night and—" She says.
He sits up immediately and hates the fact that she's taller than him when he sits on the bed like this, but he's up in her face anyway, "Don't you dare finish that."
"You don't even know what I was going to say." She says, crossing her arms over her chest defensively.
"It was something negative about Tori and I can't listen to it right now."
"You loved her, didn't you?" She asks, letting her arms fall to her side and her shoulders slouch forward some, "You loved her. She didn't reciprocate." He stays quiet too long and she throws her hands up, running them through her hair. "All that stuff about Aquinas and being bound together, did you tell her that, too? Because I'm feeling a little played right now, Henry, I won't lie to you."
"I didn't tell her any of that!" He yells, losing his temper. He hates losing it because he sounds just like his dad, but that's on a normal day—a day he can control his emotion. Today…today is a day he's going to sound just like Patrick McCord. Miserable. "Did I think I loved Tori? Yes, I did." He says. "It wasn't love at first sight. It wasn't even after a few dates. We dated a few months before I even considered that I might love her. But she broke my heart. I shouldn't even have to be explaining all this to you."
"Oh, you shouldn't?" She asks, getting back in his face, "Because what I'm seeing—you know, me, your girlfriend you supposedly love—is that you're absolutely falling into a depression over someone you tell me you didn't ever really, truly love. I get it, Henry, it's hard losing people you love even as friends. But damn it, Henry, you're going to lose your job if you don't get out of bed and stop feeling sorry for yourself! You couldn't have made her not go with John that night because she was that kind of person! She never would've let go of John or Kevin, even, and even if it weren't for that one, particular night that happened to end tragically, one of them would've hurt her. Or would've hurt Julia, even." She yells, standing over him slightly.
He reaches up and grabs her arm just below her elbow, squeezing it a little too tightly, "Stop talking to me like I'm five."
"Then stop acting like it." She seethes, ripping her arm away from his grasp and rubbing it. When he sees her rub it, he realizes the red marks are from his hand and feels a twinge of guilt over it, "I'm not asking you to forget her. Or even forget John. I'm not asking you to not feel sorrow and grief over either of them. I'm asking you—I'm telling you, if you want to keep me, that you need to get yourself out of this hole you're falling deeper and deeper in to." She says, getting quieter as she speaks. She runs her hand through her hair and clears her throat, "And I swear to God, if you ever touch me like that again, you'll never see me one more day in your life. This is the kind of thing that makes me wonder if you do even truly love me."
His eyes drop down to the red spot again, but this time he doesn't feel much sorrow. He just feels the lava-like anger bubbling up inside his chest and stomach. Instead of apologizing, he stands to his feet and walks briskly to her, grabbing her arms again and pushing her backwards into the wall. It wasn't hard enough to hurt her, but it was hard enough to get her attention. "I love you, Elizabeth, and I can take everything else you said to me. I can handle all the orders you barked at me just now. I can handle that. What I can't take is you," he pulls her arms up over her head, pushing them into the wall with a little thud, "Saying I don't love you." He growls, "I love you more than anything in this world. I would give up anything for you."
"Like you gave up your family?" Elizabeth spits back.
"For you."
"Don't blame it on me, Henry." She sneers, "I'm not the one who stopped talking to them just because of a stupid, hurtful name they called me. Did I want to be called Queen Elizabeth and hear all those things about me? No. God, no." She says, "But I also was willing to look past it because that's what you do with family. Sometimes you just have to take the bad and deal with it because they're yours." She's standing surprisingly still, and he realizes this when he still sees her hands are pinned above her head. He's shocked that she hasn't retaliated. "I'll never understand disowning your family. I'll never have the privilege of not speaking to my family because I'm mad at them. I'm never going to understand why when you have family, especially a mother, who loves you…why you would ever give that up. It's stupid, Henry. It's stupid and there's no other way to say—"
That anger just kept bubbling the entire time she was speaking, and he shoves his lips into hers to get her to shut up. She's trying to speak, but he's just holding her down against the wall. He pushes his entire body against hers before she steps on his foot, making him cry out and let go of her all at once.
"Don't you ever." She hisses, wiping her mouth and staring at him. "I'm not some…play toy." She's turning toward the mirror now and fixing her hair, "I have to go to work or I'll be late. One of us has to have a job." She snarls as she walks out, slamming the front door when she leaves to go outside.
January 27, 1978 | Henry
"Mom can't talk to you right now." Maureen ordered, standing by their parents' bedroom door.
"Why not?" Henry snapped back, "And who made you keeper of the house?"
"You're eleven, there's just some things you don't understand."
"And you're only thirteen!"
"Fine," Maureen seethed, crossing her arms and shifting her weight onto one leg. "You really wanna know what's going on in there?" She asked, and Henry just stood there and matched her body language, "Mom is losing the baby."
He wasn't sure he was breathing, but he suddenly was aware of how shallow his breaths had become. "You're lying to me." He said.
Maureen shook her head and they both turned their faces toward the door when they heard another sob. Henry crossed his arms and stared at the door until his eyes crossed, and he finally let himself lean backward enough to put his back to the wall, then slid down it until he was seated with his knees up in front of him.
"Aunt Sarah has Erin and Shane with her." Maureen explained.
Henry was just sitting there in a shock, maybe even dazed. He had left for school this morning as though it were a normal morning, knowing somewhere in the back of his mind that his mom was going to be having another baby in a few months, knowing that he would be a big brother again and have another little baby sister or brother to hold and take care of and help his mother with. He had heard his parents arguing a few nights after Elaine and Patrick had set Maureen and Henry down to tell them they were having another baby. His mom had been saying something about her being too old for more kids, and that this wasn't healthy, but Patrick had come up with some lame excuse. Henry didn't understand much of it—he only had a little knowledge of reproductive science from the sixth grade. Other than that, he didn't understand much at all.
All he knew when he came home was that Mom was in her bedroom with a doctor and Dad, but he hadn't asked questions. His little heart felt like it was breaking knowing he wouldn't have another sibling to hold.
"Is she going to be okay?" Henry asked whenever he heard another sob from his mother.
Maureen stayed too quiet, and she finally slid down the wall beside him and sat the exact same way, but looking over at her brother, "I hope so." She whispered.
August 10, 1988 | Elizabeth
She'd been miserable at work all day, thinking of all the hurtful things she'd said to him before she stormed out. She didn't even say she loved him before she left again, and she'd promised herself after her parents died that she'd never let herself do that again. "If you love someone enough to tell them you love them at all, tell them every time you leave." She'd written in her journal as a rapidly maturing fifteen-year-old, making a pact with herself to do so.
When her manager told her she needed to perk up, she finally lost it and lied, saying she wasn't feeling well and needed to go home. She only had an hour left of her shift, but seven hours in—she'd had enough.
She pulls into the driveway and sighs, seeing that his Bronco is still there—he hadn't taken her words to heart, apparently. He still didn't go to work today. She wills herself out of the car and up to the front door, walking in and tossing her keys on the lawn chair in the living room.
"Elizabeth?" Henry calls out.
"I'm off early." She says, "Couldn't listen to another woman bitch that we don't have her size in whatever dress she should've been looking for weeks ago," she explains quietly, but that really was only half the reason. She walks into the bedroom, kicking her shoes off along the way and carrying them in her hand to put in their closet. He's getting out of bed as she walks in, and she scoffs, "Oh, no need to get up for me," she smarts off, immediately shutting her eyes when she's in the closet and thinking of how she's being even more hurtful once more.
She pretends to not hear him, but she can tell he's walking up behind her. When he takes her arm, she flinches and looks down at it, "You're not going to squeeze it this time? Didn't make you feel like much of a man last time, need to try something different?" She's lost all filter, now. She'll just be hurtful tonight. He's earned it.
He turns her around with a tug and steps to her, pushing her hips with his into the shelves behind her, "I shouldn't have done that," he whispers, getting close to her face. She watches as he leans closer and closer to her, and she briefly thinks she smells alcohol on his breath, but she realizes it's just the strawberries they had in the fridge. "But damn it, Elizabeth, don't ever say I don't love you."
"You—"
"No, I'm talking." He says sternly. Something inside her switches when he says that, and his fingers making their way behind her back makes her insides feel like they're on fire, "I love you more than life. You—right now, you're my only reason for living."
"You don't mean that—"
"Yes, I do." Henry says, pushing his entire weight into her.
"Ouch," she hisses, pushing back against him and rubbing her back where the shelf just prodded her.
Before she realizes anything is about to happen, he's thrown her over her shoulder and is walking to the bed, tossing her down. She lands with a thud and an "oh" that slips from her lips—whether it was from the shock or from the breath being knocked out of her, she's not sure. She doesn't want to tell him, but everything is burning within her. Every alarm inside her body is going off. And she doesn't want to turn them off. She wants to let him turn them off.
"A man doesn't have to manhandle the woman he loves to show her he loves her, but," he pauses and sits her up with some force, tugging on her arms to get her in that position before yanking at her dress, pulling it up over her head and throwing it somewhere behind him, "Sometimes I think it's appropriate."
He's crawling over her and she wants to stop her knees from spreading apart, wants to stop his body from sliding between them, but she can't. She instead just lays back, letting every muscle in her body turn to mush. He's pushing his boxers off just before her legs wrap around his hips, driving her heels into that sensitive spot in the butt muscle. Her bra is the next to go, and she tries to make a quick mental note that it landed all the way in the closet when he threw it, but she couldn't. Her mind was already too clouded even before his lips were on her chest, searching and sucking at skin and anything else he could find, and then she was a goner.
Her fingernails dig into the skin on his back, so similar to the way her fingernails dug into the skin on her palms. All that anger and sadness, all of it being pushed to the side by him as he pepper kisses down her body, lower and lower. Her back arches and she digs her heels hard into him, making his entire body lunge forward as her hands are scratching up his back, "Does this make you some sort of man?" She manages to mumble out.
He rips the last article of clothing from her body and throws them down to the floor, making her writhe whenever he grabs her arms and pins them above her head, deep into the mattress. "No," he breathes, "Sometimes it's just the only way to show stubborn people how much you love them."
"That's not the way I—" She's cut off by the sudden intrusion, but her mind is completely shutting down as her head feels like there's a thousand bumble bees inside. "Show me." She hisses before giving up all control.
August 10, 1988 | Henry
They were finally cooling down enough that he was reaching down to grab the sheet, pulling it up over the bodies. He had looked over to see Elizabeth getting goosebumps on her arms, replacing the glow of sweat that was there a few minutes earlier, and realized he was cold, too.
He lays down to face her again, just like they had been laying in complete silence after their second round of animalistic behavior. His hand is resting in the sway between her hip and her ribs, feeling her breathing return to normal and the stickiness on her body go away.
They'd just laid there for the minutes after, watching each other and staring right into each other's eyes. Complete silence, not much happening on their faces. He's not sure about her, but he wasn't even able to think straight until after the second time. Even though she hasn't said that, he's pretty sure she hadn't been thinking straight either time, and neither was he, really. Something inside them both had turned on—but maybe it was just something inside their one body that turned on together.
"Are you okay?" Henry finally speaks, his voice soft and still a little breathy.
She nods, her cheek rubbing against the pillow and making a little swoosh noise. "I'm perfectly okay." She says quietly, her mouth sticking together a little. She laughs at that, biting her lip instinctively, "I got thirsty after…" her shyness kicks back in and she cuts herself off, but he sees her face getting read once more.
He laughs softly, nodding, "Yeah." He agrees. He slides his hand smoothly over her skin from that sway to the top of her ribs, resting part of his palm on the side of her breast. Her arm raises up and wraps around his shoulders, and he takes a deep breath and stays there for a moment. "Do you believe me?" He asks quietly.
"About what?"
"All of it." He answers.
She stays quiet for a moment, and he thinks for a brief second that he'd never be able to convince her. "I do." She replies finally. "I only ask one thing of you now that we got this part out of the way."
"What's that?" He asks, frowning a little.
"Please call your mom."
"I do not want to think about my mom right now." He answers with a tiny little laugh, trying to not feel embarrassed.
She shakes her head, "All I ask is that you call her eventually." She says, wrapping her leg in between his. "For now, though, I want you to hold me and tell me how much you love me, and how you're never going to leave me."
He smiles and nods, knowing that, indeed, he'll never leave her. "It would take an act of Congress to keep me away from you, Elizabeth Marie Adams." He whispers, bringing his other hand up to tuck her sweaty piece of hair underneath her head, "Nothing will keep me from loving you for the rest of my life. I promise that."