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“I was thinking I’d just verbally assaulted my girl for no good reason and had just lost her because I’m a massive dickhead.”
My girl.
I peck his lips and put my arms around his shoulders.
“I’m sorry. For being an asshole. And for lying.”
I look up at him quizzically.
“You’re nothing like the others. And I’m nowhere near done with you.”
I press a kiss to his chest before looking up to meet his gaze.
“You’re forgiven.” I bring my knee up between his legs and place it against his penis threateningly. I don’t apply real pressure, just press enough to send the message.
He stiffens.
“But don’teverspeak to me like that again. I get whiplash being with you. One day you’re attentive, the next you’re cruel. I’ve made excuses too many times in our short history together; I’m patient but even I have my limits. Get your shit together or I’ll put myself first next time and won’t forgive you.” I place my foot back on the ground, releasing my hold on his dick.
His body relaxes, physically sagging with relief.
His head drops to my shoulder as he turns to bury his face in my neck.
“I will.” He murmurs. "I'm sorry."
He’s never said those words to me before five minutes ago. Every step of progress is like pulling teeth out of this man.
But it;s worth it to me. He’s completely blinded me to anyone but him and I think a big part of why is because we relate to each other’s traumas through our own experiences. His life has been far more privileged than mine and yet, in many ways it’s been a much harsher, isolating, and painful existence.
I’ve wanted for material things, but I’ve never wanted for love. Even my dad’s lack of presence in my life is offset by the overwhelming amount of love my mom has for me.
I’ve seen the person beneath the hurt and anger, I know the real him. With every passing day, he lowers his walls more and more. It often feels like I have to drag him every inch of the way towards progress, but we're getting there. This could have been a major hurdle and yet it feels like we cleared it together.
We stay like that for a while. His head on my shoulder, his hands on my hips. My cheek against his chest, my hands cupping his neck.
I hold him, rocking back and forth slowly.
I hurt thinking about what he’s going through. I can’t imagine losing my mom.
That’s a closed door he can never reopen.
And behind that door are lots of wounds that are festering.
“Ask me why I came back.” I tell him.
“Why did you come back?”
“Because I love you” I whisper.
The words are out before I can second guess if I should say them. It’s probably not the right time. His mom just died and we had our biggest fight yet.
But it is the right moment to say them because I feel them.
I love him. Somewhere along the way I fell in love with Rogue, the one thing I said wouldn’t happen while I was in Europe. I wasn’t against it, but it certainly wasn’t my focus.
No unnecessary distractions, I’d told myself.
Look at me. Wrapped around the biggest distraction I could find.
