“It’s fine,” I say. I don’t look at him. “I can talk to them.”
This pleases him.
For a moment, I feel like I’m talking to Stacia. I cringe at the thought.
“Good.” He smiles. “Welcome back.”
Welcome back.
He leaves. Drew lays down next to me again, this time on his side, his hand caressing my face. I let him.
I like it.
But it’s so hard to look at him. Intensity radiates out from those sharp brown eyes, gone to a deep, rich chocolate swirling with emotion. I know he’s spent eight days holding back.
I’ve spent eight days finding my way back.
“If this is too much -- ”
I turn to him. “It’s fine. I – it’s a little unreal.”
“I know.”
“I can’t stop feeling naked all the time.”
“Is that why you did a body check when the doctor was here?”
“Body check?”
“You looked at yourself. Looked down. Like in a dream, where you realize you’re naked in public.”
“You have those dreams?”
“Everyone has those dreams, Lindsay.” His face softens, going sad. “And after what you went through with the live feed in Tiffany’s apartment and being on all the major cable channels like that, in the middle of trauma in a life-or-death situation, I’d be surprised if you weren’t constantly body checking. Your brain has to weed out the stress imprint from what happened. It’ll take time.”
I am so tired. A yawn escapes me. He doesn’t react.
“I keep having this nightmare,” I say, surprising myself. Sharing the weird dreams isn’t what I want to do. Not consciously, at least. I guess a different part of me has taken the internal steering wheel.
“About being naked in public?” he asks.
“More than that. You’re in the dream. I’m on this stage -- ”
“And I’m in the audience,” he chokes out, astonishment lighting his features.
I jolt. “Yes.”
“How did you know?” we say in unison.
The bleak blanket that has been my only source of warmth and comfort, the heavy, weighted cloth that I’ve carried as a burden these days, turns to lightweight down, to sunshine in woven form, featherlight and exquisite.
“Drew? What did you say at the end of the dream? When you picked up your phone?” I beg, my voice desperate, my plea profound.
His mouth trembles with emotion, his eyes big and loving.
“I said, ‘She’s back. Lindsay is back.’”
Chapter 15
Drew
We just let time do its thing for a few minutes. As I stare at her, unblinking, my face muscles relax. My eyes narrow. The meaning behind it all doesn’t matter any longer.
The insanity of the past two weeks fades as Lindsay’s features come into true focus, sharp and acute, diffuse and ethereal. I hold my space, knowing she needs hers.
She rotates in the bed, sitting up slightly, and leans in toward me. I’m still holding her hand.
“Can you forgive me?” she asks.
She might as well have slapped me.
“For what?”
“For not trusting you. For turning into an animal with them. For doing unspeakable acts in your apartment as I tried to survive. I even made myself kiss John because I felt like I had nothing to lose, but I also needed time, so I used the element of shock. Tried to fool him, tried to — I don’t know. And then just when I gave up on you, you appeared! I should have believed you’d come, Drew. Forgive me for not believing it until the very end. For lying to you. For -- ”
I gently press my fingers against her lips, avoiding the big spot where her face is streaked with a laceration, a long red line that still looks angry.
“No. I won’t forgive you.”
Trepidation fills her face.
“Because there is nothing to forgive. You did what you needed to do to protect your own wholeness, Lindsay. No one ever needs to apologize for that.”
“But I -- ”
“In fact, I’d be disappointed if you didn’t do all those things.”
“Let me finish!” Her eyes shine with tears, her voice still off-kilter, scratchy. “I know I don’t need your forgiveness, Drew. I want it.”
When too much emotion hits me at once, I wall it off. Human beings only have so much capacity for processing. For action. For reaction.
My instinct is to retreat.
I have to override instinct and remain. Be in the present moment.
Show up.
“Then I need to ask for the same from you, Lindsay. Will you forgive me?”
She nods once, tears spilling over her lower eyelids, the drops rolling down, magnifying the plethora of healing cuts and scrapes across her beautiful, beautiful face.
“I do.”
Oh, those words.
“And I do, too, baby.” I want to reach for her, pull her into my arms and hold her forever. The space between us narrows, emotion deepening.
“Come here,” she beckons, her good hand patting the space on the bed. She shifts as much as she can, then wipes her tears from her face, wincing. “Be close to me. Be as close as you can.”
I comply. That’s the best order anyone has ever given me.
And good soldiers obey good orders.
Awkward and clumsy, we twist and turn, trying to find a good way to be in each other’s arms. She snort-giggles, I sigh in frustration, and our faces bump against each other, the lightest brush of nose against nose, until suddenly I’m tasting her, and Lindsay’s good hand is on my jacket lapel, clutching it hard.
No kiss has ever been so needed. No kiss has ever tasted so divine. No kiss has ever bridged so many miles, too many traumas. I want to let her lead the way but desire clings to me like her hand and I give in. My body moves against hers. She’s pressing into me, her mouth eager but careful. Soon we’re lost in the swirling vortex of each other. Giving in to the dizzy divine is a relief.
No restraint.
No walls.
No shields.
Just us.