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“I notice everything,” I reply, looking her over more critically to make sure I have, indeed, noticed everything.
She looks fine other than the purple bags under her eyes and the lack of color in her cheeks, but I figure once she’s had enough to eat, she’ll take on a more lively appearance. She’s already starting to get her energy back as she tries to drown herself in soup.
“I see that you like the soup,” I say as she picks up the bowl and starts drinking it.
She puts it down, splashing a bit on the table. “Oh, sorry. It is really good, though.”
“No, eat, please,” I say. “I was just happy you liked it. It’s my grandmother’s recipe. I used to eat it a lot as a boy.”
“You care a lot about your grandmother,” she says, nodding her head slowly. “Look, I’m really sorry I broke all that stuff, especially your grandmother’s heirloom. I feel really awful about it, and that was one of the reasons I didn’t want to come out of the room for so long.”
“I can get things fixed. It’s not that big of a deal,” I say, but it hurts a bit to realize that none of those things will be the same as they were before.
“I still feel bad,” she says, digging into her soup again to hide her humiliation.
21
Taylor
Danya carries me to the guest room I slept in before we were married, despite the fact that I can walk perfectly fine. I feel like shit, not physically, but emotionally, and this just adds guilt on top of guilt. I wish I hadn’t done what I did, and I wish he wasn’t treating me so well. I don’t deserve it.
The room is just how I left it before, with the soft fur rug and the window with the lace curtains. I feel safe here as Danya tucks me into bed. It’s a little too early to sleep, but I figure he wants me to rest. The problem is, I’ve been sleeping a lot the past few days, and I doubt I’ll be able to fall asleep for a while.
Danya flicks the light off, but there’s still light from the window illuminating the room. It creates a tired blue glow around us, the promise of the night to come.
I watch as Danya removes his clothes, thumbing the buttons of his shirt loose and pulling the crisp white fabric off his muscular shoulders. The tattoos on his chest pull tight as he stretches his arms out, yawning and popping a few places in his upper spine.
He rubs his abs and comes slowly toward the bed. He must be much more tired than I am.
I pull the blanket back, patting the mattress beside me, and he slips in.
My body is drawn to him, and I cling to his skin like a baby monkey. The warmth radiating from his body puts me at ease and erases some of the guilt, but it will take a while for me to return to normal. I feel terribly off balance.
The room darkens as we lay together in silence, but I shake Danya as I feel him starting to drift off. I don’t want him to sleep yet. I need him to protect me from my leering imagination.
“What is it?” he grumbles, his voice thick and deep.
“I’m not tired,” I whisper. “Can you talk to me?”
“About what?”
“Anything. Just something nice, something good,” I reply.
He thinks for a long moment, and I almost believe he’s fallen back asleep when he speaks. “I used to like being alone until I met you. Now, I hate it. I don’t know if that’s good, but it’s true.”
“Really?” I ask, surprised by his confession. “I didn’t think you liked being around me.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Oh, just that I’m hard to handle. I know I have problems.”
He lays his arms across me. “You’re not too much for me to handle.”
I laugh. “No, I think I’m pretty bad.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re still my wife and I’m still going to make sure you’re okay. I don’t care what anyone else thinks, or hell, even whatyouthink. I care about you, and I want to be with you.”
“Such a tough guy,” I tease. “But I like that. You’re different and I’m scared of losing you.”
