Loving Her Softly (2 page)

“Christian,” the young woman struggles to form the words clearly. “That’s your name isn’t it?”

I stand to my feet straight as a board, while I abandon my thoughts, focusing all my attention on her.

“Yes,” I assure her kindly. “That is my name. I was beginning to worry that speaking  had become too much of a chore.”

Her eyes break away from my gaze as they stare into the large glass window to the side of us. Her reflection mirrors things about herself that she couldn’t see before.

“It is a little harder than normal to speak,” she admits, “But I will be fine. I believe the swelling of my head is slowly going down. My throat is slightly sore and I have pain in my arms and legs every-so-often. I can live with the headaches a little longer I believe… but at least I’m finally fully awake and alive.”

I walk over to her bedside and unintentionally release a sigh.

“I’m glad you made it through OK,” I tell her honestly, feeling compassion for her inside my heart.

She turns her liquid-sapphire eyes to me. They seem to search the depths of me for the answers that she hopes to find.

“I’m a monster,” she sighs as the tears began to fall. “I’m so ugly now.”

My hands reach for hers, while I move closer, catching a tear with my thumb. I wipe it away.

“You’re not a monster,” I comfort her with my voice low, yet adamant enough for her to see my reasoning. “You are beautiful, the way your pretty blue eyes twinkle in the sunlight, the way your blonde hair flows so gracefully. Your complexion, your naturally tanned, flawless face is a sight for my sore eyes. You are a vision, a dream, even with your scars and casts. You are to me like an angel.”

Within her eyes a glimmer of hope shines through as my words comfort the darkness of despair that hides behind them.

“I appreciate your kindness,” she sniffs, “But I don’t know that I deserve it; I don’t know if I deserve to be called beautiful anymore.”

My brown eyes widen.

“Don’t say that,” I tell her. “Don’t think like that, you are more than what is on the surface. What matters is what’s underneath it all, inside your heart.”

She drops her head.

“You don’t understand,” she reasons with me, “You don’t know do you? Connor’s been calling me, but I haven’t accepted any of his calls.”

I sat at the side of her bed.

“Who’s Connor?” I question, “And what’s there to understand?”

She hesitates before she answers.

“Well, he’s,” she trails off, “My boyfriend, my fiancé’ to be more specific.”

My heart drops. The girl I had saved and began to slowly care for, turned out to be taken. She was soon to be married to a man I’m sure I could never honestly stack up against. I’m sure Connor is more handsome than I am. Aside from my mother, no one has ever really told me that I was particularly good-looking.

Judging by the kind of girl who’s lying in front of me, I’m sure Connor plans to give her the world; I’m still having a hard enough time trying to find a place for just myself in it, so I know giving it to any girl is for the most part, completely out of the question. I’m nothing more than an average guy who works at a below-average job. How could I ever provide for her like I’m sure Connor can? I can’t.  I don’t know why I ever thought that there could be anything between us than common courtesy.

The young woman’s eyes meet my own as she reaches out, placing her hand on my knee.

“He’s the only one that I remember,” she tells me truthfully.

I hesitate in confusion before I speak.

“I thought, that you didn’t remember anyone, anyone except for me?”

She sighs.

“That’s partly true,” she admits. “I wish I didn’t remember him. I wish I had forgotten his memory with all the rest, but I didn’t.”

I eyed her speculatively.

“Why would you say something like that about the man that you are about to marry?” I ask. “Do you not love him?”

She looked toward the window again at the cityscape.

“I don’t know,” she shook her head. “I don’t remember what to feel or how to feel anymore. All I know is his face, all I remember is the longing for a life I know I won’t have with him if I say yes.”

My face tenses.

“You haven’t given him an answer?” I question her. “I thought you said you were already engaged, not thinking about it.”

She took a deep breath.

“It’s complicated,” she admits, “There are all these expectations about who I am and what I should be. He never acknowledged me for who I really am, for the things that make me special and set me apart from every other glamour girl in this city. Without my beauty, to him and maybe others… I’m insignificant.”

I suddenly understood, staring into her eyes why she felt she was a monster, why she felt she had nothing without her outer shell. Connor had apparently, over the span of their relationship, put so much weight upon her physical appearance he neglected to notice the things that actually mattered to his wife-to-be. I’m sure she has dreams and ambitions for herself, but how can she reach them, when the only person who promises to love her forever breaks them into a million little pieces?

If I were Connor, I’d do better by her, but unfortunately she isn’t mine. The choice isn’t mine to make.

“No,” she says, “I haven’t given him an answer, but he said to give it some time and that he’s sure I will eventually come around. The wedding is in full force and he plans for it to go off without a hitch.”

I sit silently for a moment.

“Out of all this time you’ve been here,” I ask, “Why haven’t I saw him? Has he not visited you?”

She shakes her head.

“He’s spoken with my doctor and they assure him that I’m fine now,” she tells me. “I suppose he thinks it’s not anything to miss work over if I’m OK. His work always seems to matter more than I do to him, but that’s the lifestyle of a true businessman I suppose.”

I frown in disbelief and in annoyance.

“Some husband he will be,” I unintentionally whisper.

I retrace my words.

“I’m sorry,” I apologize. “I didn’t mean––”

She nodded agreeably, cutting me off.

“It’s OK,” she mumbles. “I understand...”

The thoughts inside my head are too much to contain. I regrettably speak my mind.

“You deserve better,” I tell her. “You deserve someone who will be there rain or shine. I don’t know where that perfect guy is in the world out there, waiting for such a beautiful and special girl like you, but I do know that he isn’t someone like Connor. You have so much to give, so much to offer and I just don’t wont to see you waste all of it on a man who will undoubtedly throw it all away.”

The room grows cold as a tingle runs down my spine. The young woman’s eyes pierce my own to almost an unbearable degree.

“Why did you save me?” She asks. “Why are you still here, even now?”

I hesitate for a moment trying to find the right words.

“I saved you because it was the right thing to do,” I admit honestly, running my sweaty palms nervously over my thighs, while I sit at the edge of her bed. “I had to help you because I saw that you were in need.”

She eyes me speculatively as I glance around the room, looking for something to change the subject.

“You didn’t answer my second question,” she tells me. “Why are you still here, even though you don’t have to stay.”

My eyes meet hers again.

“Because,” I answer quickly, “You asked me to.”

She stares at me.

“But why?” She questioned searching my eyes for the slightest sign of uncertainty. “Is it because you care about me, because you’ve grown (in only a short time) fond of the girl that I am; the one who Connor didn’t allow himself the chance to truly know?”

I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what I should say right now. What if she doesn’t understand how I feel? What if she thinks my feelings for her, over such a short time are juvenile and unrealistic?  I can’t tell her, I won’t. If I don’t, at least I can leave her hospital room with a little dignity. I trusted someone with my heart before, pouring it out, letting them in only to be left heartbroken in the end. I can’t, I won’t make that mistake again, and especially not with a girl I’ve only just met.

The young woman interrupts my thoughts with her words.

“I believe that you and I come from different worlds,” she whispers, “But sometimes fate steps in and those world collide unexpectedly.”

I feel my face tense just before it goes numb.

“What do you mean?” I question her.

Her pretty, naturally pink lips form a half smile.

“I mean that maybe us coming into each other’s lives might not have been by accident,” she ponders. “Maybe it was just how things were meant to be, maybe it was how things needed to work out.”

I freeze with panic unsure of how I should respond. I don’t know if she means exactly what I’m thinking she does. Is she saying that there is a chance that fate has brought us together for more than just a friendship? Is that what she is really saying? I don’t believe it. Can it be? I don’t even know if I actually believe in fate.

Staring back into each other’s eyes, we see each other for exactly who we both are. I am just a boy and she is just a girl. We don’t see one another in the same light as others in our pasts did.

The woman in front of me, isn’t who other’s tell her she is; she is more than just beautiful. I can tell by the way her eyes light up as I stare into the mirrors of her soul. There is more to her, so much more than what the natural eye can see. I am looking at the real person behind it all through the eyes of my heart. She isn’t a snob; she isn’t empty and heartless like I had first thought, when we had met by chance, before the accident in the coffee shop.

I imagine she’s seeing that there’s more to me than my dime-a-dozen job, my geeky and slightly awkward first impression.

The room grows still and quiet enough to hear a pin drop. My heart begins to beat faster and faster, while my mind tells me to do something I’m not sure would be best. I can’t; she’s almost a married woman. It would be right would it? But what about the man that she shouldn’t trust with her heart? That changes things. She deserves better, but if I do what my mind tells me to, does that mean that I’m saying that I’m what she deserves? If I surrender to my feelings and kiss her will it even make a difference? What if she doesn’t like it. What if that isn’t what she wants?

Before I can arrive at a practical decision something happens suddenly. I taste the sweetness of the young woman’s lips on my own. Her lips are softer and gentler than anything I’ve ever felt before. I can feel her warmth, her kind nature and her feelings for me.

We hold the kiss for as long as we can before letting go, surrendering regretfully to reality. I stand to my feet in haste.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her stumbling backwards a bit dazed. “I didn’t mean to––”

She cuts me off.

“Christian,” she says softly. “It’s OK.”

I run my hand through my dark hair, pushing back the nerves, trying to appear unfazed by her kiss.

“I really better be going,” I tell her heading toward the door, avoiding the awkwardness and embarrassment as best I can.”

She smiles back at me as I turn to glance at her.