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The hot, lavender scented bathwater was not helping to calm his turbulent heart.
Tom sat, head in his hands, and tried to make sense of the maelstrom that was his emotions: anger at her defiance that had led to danger; fear at finding her missing; relief, now that she was safe.
It was fear, however, that caused his overreaction. Her non-reaction to his tirade fuelled his anger – and once he was done, he stormed out of their apartment and left her standing alone.
Fear reared its destructively ugly head again when he came home and found it empty...but abated when he spotted the closed guest room door and her keys in the kitchen. She was home. She was safe.
The scene from earlier played in his mind so loudly, that he didn’t hear the bathroom door open. Only when he felt the soft scrape of the loofah against his back did he realise that he was not alone.
Turning his head, he regarded her through the steam. She kept her eyes firmly on his back.
He was about to apologize for his behaviour but the puffiness around her eyes silenced him. Stilling her hand in the water, he lifted her face. Swollen, red eyes achieved what the bath could not. Fear and anger were replaced with guilt for making her cry.
Leaning over, he scooped her over the edge and placed her into the bath with him.
They sat in the tub for a few minutes – he with his arms tightly wrapped around her, she allowing him to hold her but making no move to touch him or speak.
Eventually, the only words she uttered were, “I’m cold.” He released her and watched as she removed her sodden clothes and stepped out of the bath.
He was in trouble. But he knew he deserved far worse than the detached silence he was being treated to. Grabbing his towel, he got out of the tub and followed Kate into the bedroom. She’d changed into dry underwear and her favourite over-sized t-shirt and was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed braiding her hair.
Again, relief washed over him. She was safe. And even with her tear-streaked, slightly flushed face, wearing an ugly t-shirt, she had never looked more beautiful.
“Please...” he said, sitting behind her, “you have every right to be angry. But this silence is killing me. Scream. Hit me if you need to. Just please say something.”
Resting his hands on her shoulders he whispered, “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not,” she said eventually, turning to face him but keeping a distance. Her voice was eerily soft. “I am sorry that you worried. But if this is going to happen every time I do something that you don’t like, then I can’t stay.”
She took a deep breath before she continued. “I’ve been on my own for a very long time. At first, it was a struggle...but I learnt to take care of myself. It became easier…especially when I fully realised that I answered only to myself. But, I met you.” She shifted closer to him. “And I began to experience things that were missing from my life. For the first time in a long while, there was someone who wanted to protect me...who wanted to take care of me.”
She caressed his face. “I love that. I love you for that. But I’m the same person I was before we met. I can still take care of myself. I’m not a child and protecting me doesn’t give you the right to control me or...or throw a tantrum every time we don’t agree.”
She dropped her hands. “So, we have to come to some understanding...if we don’t, there’ll be no future for us.”
Her words renewed his earlier anxiety. Not because she was saying them, but because they were true. He was stifling her. Looking up at her now, damp tendrils escaping from her braid, her face flushed from tears and steam, he realised that he was steadily pushing her away. And by some miracle, despite his boneheaded behaviour, she still wanted him to be a part of her life.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, pulling her onto his lap into his arms. He held her tightly, his head resting over her heart, her legs and arms coiled around him. “Don’t leave me...please.”
Threading her hands through his hair, tilting his head back, she breathed, “I don’t want to,” before covering his lips with her own.