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These have been the best days I’ve had since Gael left ten years ago. I can’t believe I’m spending them with him.
I find myself looking at him, over and over, and I haven’t been able to go to work because I’m afraid he’ll disappear. Of course, to him I’ve said I didn’t want to leave him alone in the house in case he needed help. We both know that isn’t the reason why.
I tremble at the mere idea of coming back home and finding it empty. I shake that idea away and glance at him again, and I meet his eyes over the top of the book he’s reading. I go back to the one I have in my hands, but I can’t follow it. I can’t even see the words written there. All my being is focused on Gael.
After a few minutes looking at the page, I glance back at him, and this time he’s concentrating on the book, so I can stare at him as much as I want.
I notice his eyes are no longer sporting black circles, his once-sunken cheeks looking better, and that haunted look and demeanour are less noticeable on him.
If the wounds and bruises hadn’t been there, and I hadn’t witnessed his broken body under those dirty blankets, I could have believed we were a couple spending a lazy Sunday together. Instead, those are things I can’t forget.
I let those thoughts go and concentrate on Christmas. I still need to buy some presents, but I don’t want to leave the house. What I want is for us to sit close, even closer than we are now. I’d love to be sitting on his lap, because only then will I really be sure he can’t leave.
Do you really want to live like this?
No, I don’t. But it’s hard to believe he’s here with me.
A loud growl and a snickering sound bring me back to the room, just to find Gael looking at me and pointing at his stomach. As if the loud sound wasn’t enough to clarify how hungry he is.
He used to eat a lot when we were younger, but what he does now . . . it’s beyond that. It’s like he’s making up for the lost meals, or maybe it’s the fear of going without food again. That saddens me, but I’m more than happy to take care of him and feed him as much as I can.
“Someone’s insatiable,” I say to him, and I nearly laugh out loud at the twinkle in his eyes.
“In more ways than one,” he replies, with a come-to-bed-with-me smile.
If not for the growl that follows, then I would have jumped at his invite.
“Let me get some food ready,” I say instead, and his grateful smile is enough to push away every negative thought I have.
“Come here for a second,” he asks, while I’m passing him to get to the kitchen.
“Do you need—“ My words are taken away by his lips crushing mine when he pulls me down towards him.
I gently fight for a few seconds, but then succumb to his passion. When we come up for air, there’s not a thought in my mind about food.
“Thank you,” he whispers against my lips.
I blink a few times, and watch his lips curve up, and I’m in need of another taste, so this time I lean in and take his mouth. When I pull away, we’re both breathing hard.
“Keep that thought for later, and let me get some food.” I chuckle at the sight of him blinking awake.
I rush out of the room, not only interested in feeding him, but also to get back into his arms.
I come back to the living room fifteen minutes later and the lights are off, with the only light in the room coming from a few candles placed on the tall tables near the sofa.
My heart skips a beat and my eyes get watery, because this looks like a date. Our first date since we lost each other.
“My love, let me get the plates. You sit down.”
Only then do I spot the pillows scattered on the floor to create a comfortable place for us to sit, and the small table with a couple of candles, with enough space for the plates.
I look down at myself, wearing pink pyjamas, and my fluffy slippers that are a shade darker, and I wish I’d made the effort this morning to get changed.
“You look beautiful,” Gael says, probably following the train of thought showcasing on my face.
“I don’t,” I say, and I hear the wetness of tears in my voice.
“You do, and you are,” he insists, and then leans closer to kiss me. “Sit down, love,” he tells me while placing the plates on the table.
