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There were so many things she didn’t know about him. Things he’d hidden from her, by choice or by accident. Some were things he didn’t even know about himself, and therefore unable to tell her about them. Other were aspects of himself he had buried deep within, things that he hoped would never breach his carefully and purposefully artificial smooth and calm surface. It frustrated her; he knew that. She wanted him, fully and completely, in the same way he wanted her, and had her. But there were some memories, some feelings, too difficult and painful to explain. And he didn’t want her idea of him to change. Once uttered out loud, words could never be unspoked again, some things he couldn’t take back.
He found himself in front of his old piano, playing familiar songs without thinking instead of sleeping. His mind wandered, screams echoing in his mind and flashes of bloody faces before his eyes. He shook his head, as if he could shatter the memories with enough force. After his last mission, he came back silently, closed in on himself and just went through the motions of their daily life, kissing her goodbye in the mornings and goodnight before bed. He knew the kisses felt empty, but he couldn’t help it. She knew better by now than to ask what happened, knew that he needed a few days. She pretended not to show how hurt she was that he wouldn’t talk to her, wouldn’t share all of him with her but he noticed. He noticed and felt himself slip even further into himself. Now it had been a week, and this time felt different. He was afraid he wouldn’t find his way back to her through the maze of his own mind this time as his new tattoos burned on his neck.
He hadn’t heard her come in, lost in thought as he blankly stared down at his hands, that played as if by their own volition, the muscle memory of youth still not lost. She came up behind him, gently resting a hand on his bare shoulder, letting him know she was there. He wanted to lean into her touch, seek comfort from her, but he stopped himself, and continued playing. He didn’t deserve comfort after what he had done. Her hand didn’t move, and he kept playing.
He played for what felt like hours, the same song over and over again. He let himself get lost in the familiarity and simplicity of playing. His shoulder tensed suddenly as she squeezed it softly, he had almost forgotten her presence. She kissed the top of his head and sighed into his hair. Come back, she whispered, so quiet he almost didn’t hear her, come back to me. He wanted to scream, to cry, to run. I can’t, he whispered back, not sure if she could hear him over the piano. His fingers kept dancing over the ivory.
She didn’t leave, didn’t push him. Her fingers started carding through his sleep-tousled hair, humming along to the tune he played. Her gentleness was more than he could handle, and he felt teardrops fall on his hands as they played. He had closed his eyes, he suddenly realized, and had begun leaning into her, resting his head back against her stomach. It was wrong, he should get away from her, not leech on her kindness and love for him. Love he was almost certain he didn’t deserve. But he couldn’t, he could never leave her again and as he felt her thumb stroke along his eyebrow softer than a breeze it was like he finally could let go.
His hands stilled and he turned around on the bench, eyes still closed. His hands wandered, finding her hips and snaking around her waist, pressing his face into her stomach. Her hands wrapped around his shoulders, and she laid her head on his, holding him impossibly tight. I love you, she murmured, or maybe he imagined it. A sob shook him as he nodded, I know, he meant to say. Instead what came out was why?
Because, she whispered, there is nothing I have learned about you that makes me stop. He breathed a shaky laugh of disbelief into the bare, soft, tan skin of her stomach. I mean it, she said with a kiss to the top of his head. I know you do, he said. He could almost believe it. He knew that if he turned and looked up at her in that moment, he would tell her everything she wanted to know. So, he kept his eyes closed, and allowed himself to wallow in the destructive turmoil of his mind a little longer.
She untangled herself from him, and he felt her sink to her knees in front of him, felt her eyes on him. Her hand brushed over the bandage around his chest and came to rest on his thigh. She said nothing, but he could feel her waiting. He finally opened his eyes, sore from crying. The fading sunlight played in her hair and she was glowing soft and perfect in front of him. I don’t deserve you, he said, avoiding her eyes. That’s not up to you to decide, she smiled, and her eyes chased his until there was nowhere to look but directly into hers. The amount of love in her eyes almost knocked him back and took his breath away. Come back to bed with me, she whispered against his jaw, her lips grazing his cheek. Okay.
There were many things she didn’t know about him. But so many more things about him that she did know.