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“Sweetie? Hey- hey hey- honey, what’s going on?”
My heart feels five sizes too big for my ribs and the breaths I take are mechanic and too short or too long for my lungs. I feel like I’m dying and yet my eyes are wide open. Tears escape from my eyes and spill down my face. I am fucking pathetic. My vulnerability is there for him to pick apart and judge and I can’t seem to help myself. He’ll laugh. He’ll get angry. I should’ve never let him see me like this. I’m burdening him.
Goro grabs my hands, cooing me and hushing me to focus on my breathing.
“Goro?” My voice wavers.
“Yes, hun?”
“Goro, I can’t breathe I’m scared.”
“It’s okay, it’s okay. You’re here, with me, we’re going to try breathing on my count, okay? You’re doing so well. Can you try and focus on my voice?”
I barely manage a nod.
“Alright, you’re doing so good, okay?”
He begins to count from one to four slowly. I follow his lead. One. Breathe in. Two. Hold. Three. Breathe out. Four. Hold. All the while he’s reassuring me and holding me. I’m so close I can hear his heartbeat. For a moment that’s all I can focus on. We repeat this a few more times and this aching, sinking feeling in me begins to subside.
“You’re okay, baby. I’ve got you. You’re safe, my love.”
“I’m so sorry, Goro. I’m so, so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“No- sweetie it’s okay. You’re okay, don’t apologise, you have no need to say sorry. I’m here for you. I love you.”
This house of cards I meticulously built, my strong and unwavering image, is crumbling to dust with every heaving breath I take. I can’t help but melt into his arms, taking up space I don’t deserve. Why am I so unwilling to accept good things in my life? My thoughts escape me the moment I begin to reach for them and all I can muster is a feeble sob.
“Hun, I’m going to get you some water, okay? Keep focusing on your breathing and just stay here. I’ll be back in two seconds, I promise.”
He places soft kisses on my forehead, ever so carefully caressing my hair. I take his hand and hold it for as long as I can before he leaves. God, please don’t take him from me. Looking up from the mess that I am, I anticipate the annoyance in his face. The hint of disgust behind eyes that wear comfort and stability as a mask. Something that reminds me of what I truly deserve.
When he comes back, water in hand, his eyes only reveal his concern for me. I search endlessly to find a reason why I deserve such kindness and I’m left drawing blanks at every end. He clasps my hands and places the cup in my palms and guides me to drink. After little sips, he slowly plants kisses along my forehead.
There is no greater comfort than his touch. Tired and unbecoming, I let myself become weak for him. To love him was like a religion, and I was a martyr. There is something so undoing about his kiss that my body just melts at the slightest touch of his lips. With him, I feel alive. I can’t imagine a life without him. Rather, I don’t want to. I want our pictures in every corner of our house. I want to lay here and let this moment consume my whole life. Selfish, I know. But maybe I can be a little selfish, just for today.
I turn my face to him, eager for his soothing voice.
“Am I a good enough victim?”
He stares for a moment, eyes basking in mine.
“That doesn’t matter, my love. There is no such thing as a good or bad victim.”
He lifts his hand and tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. His touch is soft, almost reluctant. He cares for me like an art restorer to their most valued painting. I lean into his hand, desperate for time to stop so I can memorise the way this feels.
We sit here for a moment, holding each other. No words, nothing has to be said anyway. Things will be okay. Even when they aren’t, they will be. God, I love him.