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Come here. Closer.Closer.
“Finn,” I choke out, reaching for him, but he hesitates. Just stops right where he’s standing and watches me, his eyes wet and red.
“Come here,” I say and he eyes me, unsure, guarded, so fucking sad. “Come here. I need you.”
He moves, those legs I love so much eating up the ground beneath him until he’s crawling in next to me, jostling me on the bed, pulling me into his chest.
I inhale him.Mine.
“Why did you leave?” I ask, and his breath comes out broken and shattered, a window broken with force, the shards scattered across the ground.
“You’d forgotten me…. I needed…I just needed a minute.”
“Forgotten you?” I ask, craning my head up, looking at him, the stubble lining his cheeks. I reach out, tracing it, feeling the roughness against my palm. “Never. You’re a part of me. I can feel it.”
“I know,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “But I…. I’ll be fine. This is about you. I just want you to get better. You hit your head…you hit it hard when you fell…”
“I know, but why are you so sad, Finn?” I ask, my finger tracing the tear falling down his cheek. For a moment, I imagine kissing his tears away, soothing him with my lips. The thought jolts me. Since when have I ever seen Finn this way? Not doing it feels painful, a pinch in my chest making me catch my breath.
Finn sniffles and swipes at his skin, rubbing it away.
“No reason. It’s…just seeing you here again…” his words break and crack, a fracture.
He’s lying. I know him. I feel him. Something is wrong.
“Tell me.”
But he won’t. Those lips I love so much slam shut, and he shakes his head. Just once, but it’s enough to force me to let it go. He won’t tell me. Not yet. So, I just nestle into him, and he holds me in silence until I fall asleep.
* * *
I’m released from the hospital a day later, my memories a jumbled mess. I have a severe concussion which has affected my short-term memory. The things that happened last week are fuzzy and gray around the edges. But I know that I just need time to sort through them and then that one missing piece will come filtering back. I know it. Because something isn’t right. Something is still missing.
The brain is a funny thing, my doctor had said. Give it time.
And that’s what I plan to do. Because Finn is acting strange, his eyes are so sad. Dark purple splotches sit under them, and he can’t bear to look at me for too long.
I just want him to hold me and for him to smile at me. But he doesn’t. Worry clouds his eyes. Worry and sorrow.
But why is he so sad? And why won’t he tell me? We tell each other everything.
Don’t we?
“I’m fine, Finn,” I say when he carries me to my bed and settles me under the covers, tucking them under my chin. We made it back to my apartment, Finn driving so slowly that I about died from old age. He carried me up the stairs, not even breathing hard, and settled me right in my bed.
He’s going to dote on me until I’m fully recovered, I just know it. He did that when I first lost my leg and I know he’ll do it again. He just can’t help himself.
“You need to rest,” he tells me and stands there above me, not moving to crawl in next to me. Why isn’t he? He always holds me when I’m sick.
I’ll just have to remind him.
“When you’re ready, can you hold me like you used to?”
He swallows loudly and nods. “Yeah. Okay, I can do this…”
He takes his shirt off and then slides under the covers, and I scoot toward him until I’m right against him. But it doesn’t feel like enough, so I crawl onto his broad, strong body and spread myself out.
Yes, better. This is better.
