Somehow, we end up on the topic of dating and relationships.
“Has there ever been anyone for you?” My voice is suddenly timid, as though hesitant to know if I’m the first for him, or the most recent.
Charlie chuckles to himself. “No. Never really cared, to be honest. Growing up, I was always with my friends and playing games. Once Mum passed, I just kind of kept to myself, and then eventually I wound up on ships. Never really had time for it, or interest, I guess.”
“Weren’t you lonely?”
“Sometimes, I suppose. What about you? There ever been someone for you?”
“Nothing serious.” I shake my head. “I dated a bit in high school, but that’s really all it was, fleeting adolescent crushes. I tried again in college but failed even harder. Ben has tried setting me up a few times, but it never works out. Usually because of me.”
“Because of you?”
“I either find reasons not to go on the date at all, or I sabotage it while I’m there. I just can’t get out of my head.”
“And you and Ben never?”
“Oh goodness, no. He’s like a brother to me.” Charlie looks relieved as he laughs. “Besides, I think you have a greater chance of catching his interest than I do.”
“Ah,” Charlie says, as his face slowly begins understanding what I’ve implied. I realize this is probably hard for Charlie to comprehend. I don’t know where he stands on an issue he likely has no previous experience with. It’s hard to expect him to be accepting or tolerant of something he perhaps has no exposure to, but I will defend and protect Ben with my last breath if necessary.
“Charlie, he’s my family,” I press before he can say anything.
He smiles. “I know.” Charlie leans in and gently kisses my forehead.
“That’s it?”
“What?”
“No questions? No… I don’t know, disapproval?”
“Why would I?”
“I just assumed, I guess.”
“It exists in this time too, you know. Besides, as you said, he’s your family. How could I have a problem with someone so important to you?”
He doesn’t know how comforting this kind of acceptance is to hear from someone, in his century or mine.
The thought of him knowing every flaw or weakness within me does not scare me at all. Most of my life, I have guarded my weaknesses, fearing that they would be used against me, or would even scare someone away. But with Charlie, it feels as though every part of me, even the darkest corners, is completely safe with him. I can lay my pain, my dreams, my fears, and my hopes in his hands and they are protected.
If only Dr. Kassen could see me right now. Well, maybe notright now. Every week I sit on her sofa with her explaining to me how my mother leaving caused me to have a fear of abandonment, and therefore a fear of attachment. If she could see this reckless, impulsive woman I’ve become this week, I don’t know if she would call me brave or stupid, or maybe both. I’m not sure if she would be proud or want me committed. Truthfully, I don't even know which of these options I am. All I know is that the woman who fears attachment is currently yearning for more of it.
Chapter Twenty-One
Hurt by Johnny Cash
April 14, 1912
The sun peers into my room through an opening in the curtain. The glare shines in my face, waking me from the most restful sleep I’ve had in ages. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Charlie’s arm resting around me, and I can feel his peaceful breathing against my neck.
This evening the ship will be sinking, but right now, I feel safe in his arms. And maybe, just in this moment, all my wildest dreams, hopes, and fears are a reality. I never imagined finding this kind of comfort and belonging with someone, or someone even wanting me at all. But I lay here now, feeling his chest peacefully breathe in and out, and I can’t help but believe that I was meant to find him. And though this perfect moment is fleeting and cannot possibly last forever, I want to hold on to it until the last possible second.
I roll over to face him, which stirs him awake. He opens his eyes, smiles, and kisses me. It’s a soft kiss, as though we’d be doing it every morning for the rest of our lives. He looks over my shoulder and sees the sunlight coming in and his face suddenly looks panicked.
“What time is it?” His tone is hurried as he sits up in bed, realizing he might be late for his duties.
I look over at the clock on the end table. “It’s half-past eight,” I say groggily.
