April 12, 2022

The room was horrible. Not as bad as the one in the basement, but still bad. It was small, with hardly enough room for the full-sized bed and dresser it contained. It had once been an office, so the wall facing the hallway had a large hole where a window used to be. It was covered with a faded geometric patterned blanket. The door was half frosted glass with no curtain. Not a lot of privacy. But enough. All four of the rooms were the same. Two on each side of the hallway with a spacious bathroom at the end. Connor had chosen this room. The first on the left, next to Jack's and across from Edward's. He had gotten released two days prior to me. That fact irritated me.

Sleeping with him last night after all our time apart had been strange. It wasn't comfortable like it had once been. It was actually rather tense. I think we both lay awake most of the night, avoiding talking to each other. I didn't know what to say to him. He didn't know what to say to me. We had just laid there until morning, turned away from each other. Like strangers.

I didn't look up as the door opened. I knew it was Connor. I felt the mattress give as he sat beside where I lay, face down. I waited for him to speak. Perhaps to tell me I had overreacted or been too hard on Jack. But he said nothing. Only sat there, quietly.

Curiosity finally got the better of me and rolled onto my side. Connor was watching me.

"Would you like to talk?" he ask.

I shook my head. Talking was the last thing I wanted. None of this would get better with discussion. That might even make everything worse. I elected for silence, thinking that the wisest choice.

Connor still didn't move. But he did look away. I studied him, noticing all the differences from the last time we had been together. His hair was the main one. I had always liked his hair before. Not so much now. The mohawk just didn't suit him. He must have gotten it some time ago, because it had started to grow out. The longest part in the center he kept confined with a band.

There were also a few more scars on his face, besides the one on his right cheek. I thought I knew how he had gotten the one above his left eye, but I wasn't going to ask. It was best not to bring up the incident at Fort George.

It might have been my imagination, but Connor appeared thinner than he had been. I wondered if that was because he no longer had anyone to cook for him. He had put on a little weight while we were married, but he carried it very well. I wondered what all he had been through; how much time had passed. Again, I thought those questions were best not asked.

I did want to say something, though. I chose a safe topic. One I knew he wouldn't mind discussing. "What's it like seeing Edward?"

His lips turned up in a grin. "Strange," he answered. "But also nice."

I sat up. "At least you have someone to talk sailing with."

Connor chuckled. It was nice to hear. "I mostly listen as he talks. He's had many adventures. If what he says is true."

"You think he would lie?"

"Lie, no. But he is not above exaggerating."

I laughed. "I guess we need to be careful about what we say to him. He doesn't know that you two are related."

"That would be best," Connor agreed.

I opened my mouth to speak, but a beep from the nightstand interrupted. I looked at the phone I had placed there when I'd come in. The screen was lit. I picked it up, unlocked it and read the text message.

"It's a text from Pete," I told Connor. "He said he's leaving and he'll see us tomorrow."

Another text came through as I read the previous one. This one I didn't read aloud. It was suggestive of what Connor and I should do with our time alone. I put the phone back on the table as I muttered about what an idiot Pete was.

"I'm-"

"Faith-"

We both stopped talking at the same time. Then we both apologized at the same time. I couldn't keep from laughing at how awkward this was. Being with a man I had known for so long should have been soothing. We had been married for eight years. We had a life together, a family. Why was there a rift between us now?

"You go first," Connor said.

"No. You. What were you gonna say?"

Connor hesitated for a moment, then spoke softly. "I was just going to tell you that I like your hair that length."

I let out a nervous breath. I had not expected a compliment. Nor had I even realized how long my hair had gotten. I never kept it short, but also didn't let it get too long. A little beyond my shoulders had always been long enough. Now it was down to my waist. This was the longest it had ever been.

"Funny you should mention hair…"

He ran a hand over his uneven locks. "You don't like it."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't need to say it. I know you that well."

Did he? I couldn't help but wonder to myself. Had we changed so much that we didn't know each other? Or were we still the same people we had always been and the only thing that had changed was the setting? As I looked into Connor's eyes, I detected the flicker of the young man I had fallen in love with.

"I don't like it," I admitted.

He laughed at me. "Cut it."

My eyes widened. Connor had never asked me to cut his hair before. He always did it himself. In fact, he preferred that I not get near him with scissors after the incident with Abby's hair when she was three. To be fair, the bad bob she had was not entirely my fault. I had only tried to fix her mistake. Her hair still looked awful for the next few weeks, but it was much better than the chop job she had given herself with my fabric shears.

"You trust me to cut your hair?"

Connor nodded. "I trust you completely."

On that note, I quickly went downstairs. Desmond and Edward were in the kitchen area, eating left over pizza. They both looked at me strangely when I said I needed scissors. I didn't try to explain, only waited for someone to tell me where I could find a pair. Eventually, Desmond pointed to one of the cabinet drawers.

"There might be some in there."

I rooted through all the crap littering the drawer. Batteries, keys, tools, and bread ties made up most of the contents. There were also some scraps of paper and magnets. It was a typical junk drawer in a typical kitchen. I had no idea why anyone would keep all of the stuff. But there it was.

"Y'all hungry?" Edward ask.

"Not right now," I told him. I located the scissors and shut the drawer. "We might eat when we're done."

"Doing what?"

I looked at Edward. The tone of his voice was insinuative of what he thought we should be doing, but he still had the odd look on his face. I guess he was confused about why we needed scissors for anything intimate.

"I'm cutting Connor's hair," I stated plainly.

Edward raised a shoulder. "Whatever floats your boat, lass."

I hurried back upstairs. Connor had let his hair down. It was longer than I had initially thought. If it had all been that length, it would have looked very good on him. I told him to follow me to the bathroom and take off his shirt. He did. I looked him over as he stood in front of me. There were scars on his back and chest that hadn't been there before. But the muscled, dark skin was the same. My heart beat a little faster at the sight of him. Connor had always been a very good-looking man.

I put the toilet lid down and gestured for him to sit. He leaned forward so that I could get to the back of his head. It took me longer than I would have thought to even out the tangled mop. Connor's hair was very thick. And coarse. Mostly because of all the dead and spit ends he had. Connor didn't take care of his hair. He just put it up and let it go. He didn't even brush it unless he had to. I usually did it for him when he was home. I enjoyed messing with his hair. And he enjoyed me doing it. I could tell he still did. He didn't move as I ran my fingers through the two-inch strands that were left, loosing any remnants that lingered after my cutting.

"You need a shower now," I told him, brushing the refuse from his shoulders. "You've got hair all over you."

Connor looked up at me. His eyes had that contented glaze they always got when anyone played with his hair. It was the quickest, easiest way to relax him. He nodded and stood up. I started to leave. As I reached for the door knob, Connor spoke my name. I turned to look at him. My heart sped up again when I saw the way he was watching me.

"Would you like to join me?"

I answered by going to him and warping my arms around his shoulders. The kiss felt amazing, but different somehow. I still enjoyed it. I enjoyed everything Connor did to me. I couldn't remember it ever being that wonderful. The feel of him. The way he touched me. The way he held me. Everything he did was new and exciting. It was like the first time again, but so much better.

As I lay in bed next to Connor, I thought of all the times we had made love. None of them seemed real anymore. I felt like I had dreamed it all. This was what was real. Being here with my husband right now, that was genuine. It was all that mattered.

I sighed as Connor's fingers made soft trails along the thigh I had draped across his hips. My body being this close to his was heaven. When his gaze met mine, I knew he felt the same. Looking into those beautiful brown eyes of his fueled my desire. The intensity of the emotions were overwhelming. Connor sensed it, too. I could tell by his rapid breathing and the way his heart was pounding against the hand I had placed on his chest.

"Konnoronhkwa."

"Konnoronhkwa Ratonhnhake:ton."

When we kissed again, I moved on top of him. His hands caressed my body, his touch becoming firmer as I set a slow pace. His palms found my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh as he helped me reach my climax. I was to the point that I didn't care how loud I was being. I didn't care if everyone heard me. I was lost in the world of bliss with Connor. The only thing that existed was us. Our bodies molded together perfectly. We were one.

Connor whispered in my ear as he finished. I didn't understand what he said. It was a phrase he had never taught me. One I had never heard before. Exact translation didn't matter. I understood what he meant perfectly fine. This was our language. One we were extremely fluent in.