Chapter Text
Into The Light
“What are you doing?,” he asks, surprised, while his blue eyes roam over my half-packed bag.
“I’m packing,” I state. Simple as that.
“Well yes, I can see that. But why?” Slowly, he gets up from my bed, snatching one of my shirts away, holding it just out of my reach. I growl at him.
“Because I don’t belong here. I never did and I never will. Now give me my shirt back!,” I hiss and look at him, annoyed. I just want to go, get out of here.
“No, I won’t. You can’t just leave me!” His voice is calm, reserved, almost indifferent. But I know it’s not indifference to me, it’s indifference to my aggressiveness. I can’t help it. Ever since I left that place I’m constantly on edge, defending myself and my actions everywhere and every time, whether necessary or not.
I sigh, closing my eyes for a moment, trying to calm down, before I resume packing my bag. I don’t have a lot. A few clothes, a few books, a notebook with blank pages, the first one I ever owned, and a few pencils.
Closing the zipper, I look at Tom, stretching my hand out towards him, towards my shirt. White, pale lines are covering the skin on my arms, reminders of the endless number of scars that he left on my body and my soul.
It’s been six months now. Six months of freedom and I feel like I’m in a cage all over. A precious, luxurious cage, for sure, but a cage nevertheless. I know he means well. I know he wants to help, genuinely help me, but I am not sure he can. I am not sure I can allow that.
He looks at me, stubbornly, my shirt still in his hands, having obviously no intention of giving it back to me any time soon.
“Well keep it then,” I mumble and head for the door, a little sad that he keeps one of my favourite shirts but I am too stubborn, too proud to make a scene about it.
“Wait!”, he calls out. “Please!” Quieter this time, almost a whisper. “Please stay! Just one more day!”
I hesitate, halfway out of the room already, bag in hand, aiming for the staircase. Slowly, I put down the bag on the dark mahogany floor and turn around, back towards him.
“And what if I do that, Tom? What will have changed until tomorrow?,” I ask quietly, my eyes fixed on his, questioning, tired, defeated.
He shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe nothing. But maybe everything. At least we would have tried,” he mumbles. He looks so sad, biting his bottom lip, his long, slender fingers gliding over the fabric of my shirt.
Carefully, I take a few steps towards him, stopping a mere few feet away.
“Tom, please don’t get me wrong. I know I owe you. I am so thankful for what you have done, for everything. I don’t take it for granted and I hope that one day I’ll be able to repay you, in whatever way…” His index finger on my lips interrupts me gently.
“I don’t want repayment. I just want you, here with me. As my companion, my friend.” I can see tears in his bright blue eyes, wanting to say more, and I swallow, lifting my hand up to his cheek to wipe the first few salty drops away that are rolling down his skin.
“I can’t,” I breathe, before pressing my lips onto his cheek for a brief moment.
“I’m sorry,” I add just as quietly before going back to the door, grabbing my bag, and leaving the house with it shortly after.
I can hear his footsteps behind me on the stairs. The door behind me opens again and his naked feet are padding over the dry, heated-up concrete of his driveway.
“I love you!”
Three words. Nothing more. That’s all he says, standing there next to his shiny, black car in front of his cosy, Victorian house with the white fence and neatly trimmed hedge.
I stop, hearing my bag fall to the floor with a thud.
Again, the padding of naked feet on dry concrete.
“I love you,” he whispers, standing right behind me.
Slowly, his fingertips trail down my arms, like feathers, leaving goosebumps behind where they touch my skin.
“I know he hurt you. I know he broke you. I know he took your life.” I try to swallow back my tears as he says that but without much success. Such plain words, such harsh truths.
“But I’m not him. I want to heal you. I want to fix you. I want to give you your life back. Bit by bit, day by day, step by step. I know it won’t be easy and I don’t expect you to forget. But please, please allow me to try!”
His fingertips still linger on my skin right at the crooks of my elbows. No pressure, no commitment, just a gentle touch.
A start.
“I’m not sure I can be fixed,” I breathe, my voice hoarse and broken from my tears. I don’t dare turning around.
“Let’s not give up before we’ve tried, okay?” I can hear him smile as he says that. An innocent smile, an optimistic smile, a smile so full of hope…and love.
I can sense him taking another step towards me, his chest almost touching my back now but not quite. He is careful, allowing me room to breathe and act, aware of what I’ve gone through and how much I resent being cornered and constrained.
Now it’s up to me to make a move. Two choices, that’s what he offers me.
I can take a step forward, leaving his property and his life. Or I can take a step back, into his arms and his sanctuary.
And while I stand there, contemplating my opportunities, I realise I do not only owe him, I owe myself as well.
I’ve fought.
I’ve suffered.
I’ve killed.
All in order to live.
And isn’t that exactly what he offers me? A life? My life?
The pebbles underneath my shoes scrunch as I turn around to face him. His ginger hair looks golden in the sun and his tanned skin glows, soft and smooth. It’s his eyes that capture my attention though. Shimmering in a lively mix of blue and green and grey, they are looking at me, through me, right into my soul.
He knows. He smiles.
And so do I.