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Talk murder to me.
My heart felt like it swelled in my chest as I unfolded the note from the creator, finding her swirly, feminine print.
That's one heck of a man you've got there. Hang onto him. Signed, a hopelessly single, not at all jealous woman.
I immediately washed it and filled it with coffee, sipping it while Yogurt walked around the backyard, knowing the whole time that the warm feeling inside had nothing to do with the hot coffee, and everything to do with the hot man I'd been sharing my house and my bed and my body with.
And, if I hadn't started to share it already, I knew soon, he would have my heart.
When I heard him coming up the drive and knocking, I became a full-on school girl in my excitement to thank him for not only getting me something, but putting some thought into it, putting some actual legwork into it because he knew how much I would appreciate it.
I showed him my appreciation for hours. All through the living room and up the stairs and into the bed.
The next day, we took a walk with Yogurt again. We lazed about watching documentaries. We ordered food. We talked about our childhoods. Finn skimmed over it, but the major takeaway was he'd never really felt safe and stable, that he saw no way out of that world other than enlisting. My childhood seemed like a dream in comparison. A crummy father, sure, but a loving mother who more than made up for it, one who indulged my eccentricities, one who supported me no matter what.
The next evening, after sharing silly little secrets, he'd let me in a bit on his time in the military, some of the memories that plagued him.
He'd told me about the young man with the knife, the one who gave him his scar, the one he'd killed in a pretty brutal manner.
He'd told me about how he could sometimes still see and feel the blood of the men he'd killed on his hands, how he felt like he could never get it off, never be rid of it.
He'd explained the time he spent in therapy which had reduced his compulsions to a manageable level, but said the medication hadn't worked as a long-term aid for him.
He hadn't, though, explained what made him stop going to therapy. And I didn't feel like it was my place to push when I'd already gotten so much out of him.
All things in time, I tried to remind myself.
He'd also been surprisingly tight-lipped about his work. It was something I chalked up to the nature of his work being kind of hush-hush. He'd mentioned that his colleagues were a lot like a family, but hadn't shared any names or anecdotes.
Those were thoughts that niggled at me for the next several days in quiet moments when we weren't speaking, or weren't having fun exploring each other's bodies.
I tried to remind myself that we were new.
I mean, usually I didn't know as much as I did about a person this quickly. But we'd practically been living together since the day he'd been back from his work trip. He'd gone home to grab some clothes when I'd insisted on it, then we'd been together ever since. And because both our jobs allowed for a lot of free time when we wanted it, we'd spent every moment together.
I wouldn't have thought it was weird if I was casually dating a guy for a couple months before I learned colleagues names.
I needed to give the more unusual circumstances of our relationship some slack.
And the man himself.
I mean, from what I could tell, he hadn't had a woman in his life since, well, before he went off to serve. It seemed like he'd attempted to date when he'd been back, but nothing ever managed to go past a couple dates. So all of this was new to him. To an extent, it was new to me too.
I'd been a champ at choosing the wrong men, the men who only wanted me between when the bars closed and the sun came up, the ones who liked to drag me around with promises of something more, but then never deliver, the ones who I would never, ever even think about introducing my mother to.
It was no wonder that I felt like I was tripping along with Finn, not sure when was the right time to do certain things, or say certain things. We were both mapless explorers of this unknown land. We would find our way eventually. Until then, I decided to just enjoy the journey without overthinking it too much.
It was about five days into having Finn in my house, in my bed, that I finally woke up alone one night.
I knew it was going to happen. I understood that sex and affection and connection weren't cures for mental illnesses. But I'd been enjoying the way he slept so soundly beside me, how he'd seemed to find a small bit of peace at my side.
