Doubt attacks my thoughts . . . What if she read what I wrote and interpreted it wrong? Will I ever be enough for her, or is she going to wait until my words render her numb and she stops listening? Worry flashed through my head, rippling down into my fingertips. Son-of-a-bitch, within seconds I regretted sending it. I didn’t want anything to inhibit her personal growth, or finding her way back to me. What if my words threw her over the edge, or she isn’t getting back to me because she had to go back to the streets? A pit swirled in my gut. If she’d just respond to the letter, then I’d know and I wouldn’t have to live in such fucking limbo.
As if there was some type of power that answered my biggest fears, I turn to go get another bottle of water and out of the corner of my eye I catch a glimpse of someone shuffling up my driveway. I freeze mid gulp, having to push the bottle away from my lips as the water soaks me. I don’t care, all I can do is stare, blinking excessively before I recognize who it is. Seven long months, and she’s here, now. Excitement rapidly thrashes through my body, as the most gorgeous woman in the world is walking straight to me. She cautiously lifts her hand to block out the sun setting behind me, her expression throttles me. It’s her, my one and only . . .
Rose.
Every nerve in my body is firing off, jolting waves of excitement in every atom of my being. Rose got my letter, she’s found me, and came here to be with me. Every day lost to thinking about her, every moment I ached to be with her, now playing out exactly where I’ve dreamed that it would be. She pauses at the edge of the porch, her skin perfect, her eyes, emerald, dark, narrow and damp. I want to open the door, cling to her, hold her, heal her. I want to carry her to my bed so I can just feel her warmth against me. Feel her break for me, break for what I am willing to try and heal. But I can’t come at her so strong. She doesn’t work that way, she needs me to move slow, deliberate, and without any expectations.
Suddenly, my skin doesn’t exist and every nerve that covers every muscle in my body is exposed. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. More beautiful than the first day I saw her and the day she left, a glow is permeating her skin. A glow I want to taste, protect and be affected by for the rest of my life.
She knocks on my door. A gentle crack against the wood, a delicate knock.
I pull open the door, a slight chill swirls around my soul, tethered under my skin. Our eyes meet, she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. Perfection. I notice her pulse thundering across her neck and all I want to do is bury myself in her, tangle my fingers in her thick black hair, and kiss her delicate mouth. She reaches into her back pocket and pulls out the envelope I gave to Briggs.
“I got your letter,” she whispers holding it up between us.
Her eyes well with so much hope. She silently cries. I don’t want her to know I’m scared. So fucking scared. Wordlessly I reach across and clear her hair from her bare shoulder. I’m dying to brush my fingertips over her exposed skin, but I don’t. I know it might be too much for her right now. We are weaved into the minds of each other, words are unnecessary, yet she clears her throat and begins to explain what she’s doing at my door.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t call before I came,” she chokes.
I’m frozen, tangled with her soul, I don’t say anything, it’s as if all the words I’ve been practicing for the last seven months have vanished, leaving me speechless.
“It’s just, ummm, when I got your letter.” She fills the awkward vacancy with words. “I didn’t know if—” she continues, hoping I’d stop her from talking. “I shouldn’t have come,” she blurts before she turns to leave.
I wasn’t born yesterday, and I’m sure as hell not losing her again. I reach for her as she turns away, catching her arm I pull her back to me.
“No! I mean, yes. Yes . . . You should have come here,” I shuffle through my words.
We cling to the moment our eyes meet. Neither one willing to break the silence, a dance of wills, I choose to lose. I will lose for her. Every day, every hour, every second of the day, I will let her win.
“Please, come in. I’m happy you came. I’m glad you read the letter.”
She steps in, I can feel her pain oozing from her soul, dangerously tainted with such vulnerability, I want to purge every memory from her mind, methodically replacing them with me. Maybe I’m self-indulgent, but could she have come here needing something from me? Just me.