“I wish I did.”
“No, you don’t. You really don’t,” he says firmly. “You’re better off not remembering the details. Trust me.”
“It doesn’t help as much as you might think, not remembering them.”
He winces, and then leans over to pull me into his arms. I let him, because I need to know that I’m not falling apart again, and the best way I know of confirming that is when he holds me. We sit like that for a long time, and so many emotions flood through me that I find it difficult to concentrate on the here and now.
“Me sleeping on the floor has nothing to do with what happened when I was in the army,” he murmurs into my hair. “After the first quake, it was safer to be close to the door. Aftershocks brought down as many buildings as the big one did. I slept outside a lot, in the open, away from anything structural. A lot of us did. It became a habit, I guess.”
I pull away from him, wiping a hand under my nose.
“I thought… “
“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I wasn’t sure you were ready. It’s a lot to take in, and you had your own stuff going on. I didn’t want to push it.”
“I want us to be honest,” I say, his face so close to mine. “Always, no matter what. I can’t deal with anything else.”
“Okay,” he nods. “Always. Promise.”
Then he leans in, closing the miniscule gap between us and capturing my lips with his. This new information swirls around inside my head, but when his lips touch mine, I can feel all of it flowing through me, into me. It searches for somewhere to lodge and grow, and the gaps, the blank spaces, the pain that hides in recesses and valleys within me, feel as if they are filling.
I’m less broken, less damaged.
I’m mending.
Just weeks ago, time dragged out before me, monotonous and lonely. A stark contrast to the past several days. Luke and I are almost inseparable. He has me helping him on the building site next door, and we share meals together. We talk constantly, but the personal boundaries we have laid out are respected. We cross them occasionally, and every time we do, new ground is gained. The boundaries are pushed back, understanding blossoms. Slowly, we are pushing each other forward, easing into this new relationship with open eyes. It’s both frightening and exhilarating.
There’s no doubt the pain is still there, in the background, for both of us. We feel it, we understand it and we try to keep on top of it. Mostly, I think about how lucky we are to have found each other. I get a peek sometimes, through the sliding door of my life, to the other Sian, the one who spends her days hiding from the world and grieving in the darkness. It’s like looking at an alternate universe, a parallel timeline that runs alongside this one. It scares me more than I’d like to admit. It also makes me more grateful to Luke, for rescuing me from it.
He catches me looking at him as I hold a piece of timber steady while he cuts it with his hand-saw. He’s talked about buying an electric saw a couple of times now, and plugging it into the cottage, running an extension cord over here. It’ll make things much quicker, that’s for sure.
“What?” he asks, pausing in his work.
He’s glowing in the afternoon sun, a mixture of sweat and satisfaction.
“Nothing. Just thinking about how much faster this’d be with a power tool.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
“Maybe you should make it a priority?”
He stands up straighter, stretching and arching his back with a wince.
“Maybe I should. You wouldn’t mind? It’d be noisier. And I’d need your power to run it.”
“I wouldn’t mind, on either count.”
“Will you come with me to choose one?”
“What do I know about power tools?”
But that’s not what he’s getting at, and we both know it. A trip to town is something I avoid like the plague. The people, the noise, the chaos. All of it is enough to give me a panic attack just thinking about it.
“Come on,” he urges gently. “I need you with me.”
I open my mouth to politely decline, because this is one boundary I’m not ready to push back just yet. But the look on his face stops me. He’s waiting, holding his breath, spurring me on. Silently promising to help me through it, no matter how difficult it might be.
“Okay,” I say quietly, already anxious.
“Good girl,” he smiles, his face cracking into a delighted grin.
“Good girl? Am I a dog?”
The grin widens and I seize my moment.
“I’m not kidding, Luke – I’ve heard you use that tone of voice on Geezer. It won’t work on me.”
“Too late. It just did.”
I stare at him, wide-eyed, waiting for him to take it back but he doesn’t. Instead, he puts the saw down and makes his way towards me, but I’m not giving in that easily.
“Forget it!” I cry, backing away, holding a hand up in warning.
“Forget what?”
He’s still advancing, practically chasing me around the makeshift workbench, looking both innocent and menacing at the same time.
“You look like a serial-killing giraffe!” I sputter, backing towards the lake.
He stops.
“Giraffe?”
“
Serial-killing
giraffe!”
“Jesus,” he mumbles under his breath. “Not entirely the look I was going for.”
“What was the look you were going for?” I grin, still walking backwards slowly.
“I don’t know. Charming playboy?”
I laugh but he uses that moment to run straight at me. Yelping, I turn and run into the lake at full speed. The water is freezing, but it’s a nice contrast to the humid air, and I keep wading until I can dive under. When I emerge a moment later, I see he’s followed me. We swim a little further out, and I’m standing on my tiptoes on the bottom, the water lapping my chin, when I turn to face him.
“So, giraffe huh?” he grins, standing chest deep in the water, emphasising my point.
“More giraffe than charming playboy.”
“Seriously? I think I could pull that off.”
“I’d like to see you try,” I grin back.
“I got you in the water didn’t I?” he says, coming closer.
“I’m still fully clothed, genius. And so are you. Wouldn’t a real playboy have stripped me naked first?”
Something shifts in his eyes, and I wonder if I’ve pushed it too far to be comfortable. Apart from kissing and fooling around, we’ve been taking it deliberately slowly so far.
“Just as well I have a decent imagination,” he says, keeping his distance now.
He lowers himself into the water until he’s chin-deep too, and we stare at each other until I can’t stand it any longer. I wade closer to him, and he reaches for me, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me close to him. The only thing standing between our naked bodies is wet cotton, and I know he’s as aware of that as I am at this moment. I lace my arms around his neck and he stands up, taking me with him. I shiver involuntarily, but it has nothing to do with the temperature of the water.
“Are you cold?” he asks quietly, his face so close to mine that I can feel his breath.
“No. Maybe a bit nervous, but not cold.”
“I make you nervous?”
I can’t answer that. I probably don’t need to. It feels like it’s written all over my face, regardless.
“It’s because I’m a charming playboy, isn’t it.”
His self-effacing smile destroys any semblance of self-control I have left, and I lean in before I lose my nerve. This kiss isn’t like the others. This kiss is a product of the past few days, and this moment, right here. It’s hard, and passionate, and full of promises. I pull him closer to me, lifting my legs up to encircle his waist as he boosts me higher. It fills me with a sense of empowerment, the like of which I’ve never experienced before. I feel both completely in control and completely helpless at the same time. My body screams out for more, drowning out the voices in my head as the kiss goes deeper and we get even closer.
We’re moving. Still entwined, he’s walking back towards the shore, me clinging to him like a limpet. I watch us from far above. We’re so different, it’s comical. I look so tiny, yet together we look imperfectly perfect.
My hands explore his back through his wet t-shirt, urging it upwards, even though it seems stuck to his skin. And then he breaks the seal, pulling away, leaving us both breathless.
“Jesus, Sian,” he groans. “We need to slow this down. I’m not sure I can…”
“What?”
He shoots me a shaky smile.
“…control myself when you do that.”
He lowers me to the ground and I reluctantly let him go, my heart racing. He turns away from me and bends over, running a hand through his hair and muttering something under his breath. I’m confused and frustrated. I want him, and I’m pretty sure he wants me, but he keeps slowing things down to the point where I don’t know what to think anymore.
He stands up, turning to face me.
“Please don’t look at me like that,” he winces.
“Like what?”
“Like that. I’m doing you a favour and it’s killing me. The least you can do is have a little sympathy.”
“Sympathy? For you? How about you have a little sympathy for me?”
“For you? Why?”
“It takes two to tango, and you keep standing on my feet.”
He stares at me blankly, and I wonder if I’m going to have to explain it in simpler terms. That didn’t come out exactly as I hoped.
“Look,” he says, holding his hands up but still keeping his distance. “We said we weren’t going to rush into this, right? So the reason I’m standing on your feet – as you so eloquently put it – is because you’re… stampeding. And I can’t keep doing this.”
“Doing what?” I frown, struggling to keep up.
“Slowing things down between us. I’m only human, Sian. You’re gonna have to take some responsibility too.”
My mouth practically drops open.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he says quickly, brandishing his palms at me again. “You know I’m right.”
“What if I’m ready?” I demand, challenging him. “What if I’m more than ready?”
“It’s not that simple. You’ll –”
“Yeah, I know – I’ll thank you someday.”
I stride past him, my clothes sticking to me annoyingly. I haul the waistband of my wet shorts up with one hand and keep walking.
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“Oh come on! Fuck!”
The exasperation in his voice stops me dead. I’ve never heard him sound like that before. I stand there, still holding my shorts and trying to breathe through the frustration in order to find out what the hell is really going on here. One thing’s for sure, he’s not slowing things down for my benefit.
I slowly turn around to face him, and what greets me is a frustration equal to my own. He stands there, hands on hips, looking like a cowboy who lost his horse. The only thing missing is the appropriate hat.
“Honesty,” I say, desperation driving me. “That’s what we promised. Remember?”
He heaves a sigh, hanging his head. I wait, because I don’t know what else to do. I’m not so sure I can take whatever this is anymore. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked. Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed him. I get the sudden sensation that I’m sinking again, drowning, flailing. Maybe I made a mistake, trusting him. The feeling is so strong, so sudden, that I feel like it never really left. Maybe I’ve been fooling myself all this time. Maybe this isn’t meant to be after all.
Then he lifts his head and holds out a hand to me.
“Come on,” he says, and I find myself bound to go to him, in spite of everything.
He takes my hand and leads me over to the pile of timber we’ve been using as a bench. We sit down, side by side and I wait because I don’t really know what else to do.
“Remember that night we slept out under the stars?” he begins, looking over at me.
I nod, my heart racing.
“Remember what you saw, when I was coming out of the bathroom?”
I nod again, finally beginning to see where he’s coming from. His eyes find mine and I can see how painful this is for him. He wasn’t joking. It really is killing him.
“That’s just the tip of the iceberg,” he says quietly. “My chest took the brunt of the explosion, but my back is every bit as bad. You were right, what you said that morning – it’s no joke. The burns were – are – extensive. They pretty much wrap around my torso, front and back, and down over my right hip. It’s brutal, Sian. Not for the faint-hearted.”
I open my mouth to speak, but he shuts me down.
“I’m serious. What you saw wasn’t nearly all of it.” He pauses for a moment, his eyes betraying how vulnerable he feels right now, telling me this. “I’ve never showed anyone before. I just want you to be prepared, that’s all. I know you think you’re ready for this now, but I promise you… I’ll wait. It might take a while, but I’d rather wait than rush into this and risk everything.”
My heart pounds, threatening to shatter my ribcage. He’s trying to protect me. It’s admirable, but he has no idea.
I reach up to run my fingers down his jaw, his beard rough beneath my skin. I want to tell him that I don’t care about scars. Some scars aren’t visible on the outside. He wasn’t afraid of mine, and I’m not afraid of his. I want to tell him all of this, but I can’t speak while he’s looking at me like that.
I stand up, taking his face in my hands, running my thumbs along his golden skin and trying to speak to him through my actions, since words seem to be out of reach right now. He looks up at me, settling his hands on my waist, drawing me closer. Then I lean down and kiss him, gently this time, because suddenly he seems so defenceless and the last thing I want to do is hurt him. As my eyes close, I’m struck with the feeling of being empowered, but this time it’s different. Everything is different.
I pull back, slowly, gently, but only slightly. His breath is ragged as I run my fingers down his jaw once again. His eyes never leave mine, and the shade changes to a burning blue, heated by a raging inferno that I understand completely because I feel it too.
“I’m not faint-hearted,” I murmur. “You can’t scare me away that easily.”
He opens his mouth but I place a finger against his lips, silencing him.
“Thank you for being honest, and thank you for waiting. I’m ready now.”