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After that experience, I pushed myself even more at work, and spent my nights cooking until my body failed me. Then my sisters decided it was time for me to move on. As if it was that easy.
With their help and their constant support, I began living again. And when I did, I was surprised that six years had already passed, and I was still stuck outside Gael’s house, calling for him to let me in, to talk to me, to take me back, to not leave me alone. That’s when I made the decision to let him go, to focus on finding peace. I went out with other men and pushed my guilt for betraying Gael away, but nothing ever lasted. Now I know it was because I was still pining for him.
Because my shattered heart was still his.
I glance at him again, and what I keep seeing are the differences between now and then.
He isn’t the Gael I remember. But if I look past what our time apart has done to him, then I can still spot things that are all Gael.
His mouth, nearly hidden in the beard taking over his face, no longer bending up at the corners but still showing the plumpness I used to love to bite.
His neck, thinner, but still so long and elegant even when he’s as dirty as a vagabond dog.
His long torso, ending in those long legs, still brings up memories of runs in the sun and hugs full of passion.
But what I remember the most are his hands. Hands that I’ve missed so much. The same hands that gripped mine when things were difficult. The hands that helped me take care of injuries inflicted by those who couldn’t accept me, by those who bullied me. Over and over. Hands that caressed my body like I was a Stradivarius, bringing the best sounds out of me. The hands that treated me as if I was something special, but especially, treated me like I was his. Hands that made me whimper, sob in pleasure, and ask for more before finally coming hard.
Those same hands are now resting on the white hospital sheet, skinnier and more bloodied than I’ve ever seen them, but still they look familiar, and my body still craves them.
I move my gaze up and down his covered form until my eyes stop on his face. There, I notice a small and ragged scar that speaks of a life of abuse. Sudden tears fill my eyes when guilt and remorse for not understanding him, for not being able to keep him close, for not being enough, fill my body.
The vibration of my phone pulls my eyes away from him, and my attention to whatever is happening in my pocket. When I pull the phone out, my sister’s name is on the screen. Should I answer or not? I don’t want to disturb him. When I think my phone has gone silent, just to resume its vibration a few seconds later, that tells me she won’t stop, so I press the green icon.
“Melanie,” I whisper, when the call engages.
“Why are you whispering?” she asks, getting straight to the point.
“I’m at the hospital.” I don’t even finish and she’s already screaming. I have to resist the urge to pull the damn thing away from my ear.
“Hold your horses. I’m fine,” I say without changing my tone of voice, so I don’t disturb the man sleeping in front of me. However, I take a few steps away from the bed, just to make sure he can’t hear my sister’s screeching voice through the phone.
“So, what are you doing there?”
“I found an injured person, so I called an ambulance. I rode with them as I wanted to make sure he was okay,” I say, laying everything out before she asks. Because if she pushes for answers, I’ll spill the beans, and I’m not ready for that yet.
“I see. I’m glad you were there. Call me when you’re at home.”
“I’m glad, too. I will. Bye now,” I say, before moving the phone away from my ear and ending the call.
I look at my phone, wondering why I didn’t tell her that Gael was the person I’d saved. Is it because I’m not ready to share what happened to him? Or am I not sure he’ll still be here when they all come to see him? Because I’m sure they will. They all knew he was my knight. They all knew he was my shield against the world. They all knew I loved him with all of my young heart.
It’s impossible for me to sort my thoughts out right now. I will once I’m at home and he’s not in front of me, half-dead and in need of protection. When my need to make everything better won’t overrun the need to protect myself from him.
I approach the seat near the bed and sit down. I’m not ready to leave yet. I want to speak with the doctor to see how he really is. Hopefully, lying to the doctor just before Christmas won’t put me on the naughty list. Not that I care at this point. Right now, Gael is the only thing I can think of.
“Anyone there?” His voice comes out so quiet I nearly miss it. But what gets to me is the fear emanating from his tone, and it nearly sends me to my knees with grief. I jump and put a hand in front of my mouth to stop the sobs from spilling, but I can’t do anything about the tears running down my cheeks. I try to stop, because I’ll scare him and I don’t want that, but I need a minute. Just a few seconds to regain my composure and sound calm and collected instead of the mess I am right now.
“Yes,” I say as quietly as him. And I bite my lips, when he flinches as if I punched him with all my strength.
“Who are you?” The question is posed as if he’s worried it’ll make me mad.
I stay silent while deciding on how to proceed. Should I tell him who I am or should I wait until he’s better? I decide to go for the truth, because I’ve never lied to him and I’m not starting now.
“I’m Cameron,” I say, keeping my tone level, but dying inside to see his reaction. I’m gutted when there is none.
I wait before saying more, to give him time to say something, anything, but nothing comes. So, to diffuse the awkwardness, I do what I always do. I let my tongue free to do all the work, while praying that he doesn’t send me away.
“I was the one that found you. You nearly made me fall face first onto the pavement.” I keep my tone light and try to make him laugh, or at least smile, but his face doesn’t give anything away. “You were lying on the ground, and I was worried when you didn’t even move after I stumbled on you.” Again I stop, waiting for him to talk, but I could be the only one in the room by the silent treatment I’m receiving. But like the chatterbox I am, I’ll keep going until he’s tired and falls asleep, or until he asks me to go. I pray for the second not to happen.
