I’m settled onto an exam table while Alexander sits in a chair. The exam room is small but not entirely uncomfortable. Alexander is texting on his phone when I squeeze my eyes shut, my mind insistent on bringing back the pain of reliving every painful minute of that day . . .
The brown leather is scuffed beyond polishing, the leather lifting away from the black soles. I shouldn’t know this. I’m too close, my body curled on the ground as I protect not myself, but a life I want to share with my love. I use my arms in a failed attempt to block the next blows, but they come anyway. Every kick, I hear the internal screams.
I won’t survive this.
He wants to kill me.
No one could do this to a stranger without intent to finish the job.
The job.
It’s me.
Is this his job?
Why me?
Why . . .
Something cold startles me, my eyes flying open as I gasp for air. The doctor is standing over me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Dr. Whitley. Are you all right, Sara Jane?”
Alexander stands behind him, but rushes around to the other side of the exam table and takes my hand. When I fail to speak, my words caught in the torture of my memories, he says to the doctor, “We should probably go ahead and start so I can get her home. She’s not been sleeping well.” When Alexander looks back at me, he leans down and kisses my cheek before taking his thumbs and rubbing them gently over my face, wiping the tears away. “You’re safe, baby.”
My conscience is an ocean of guilt that engulfs me and “I’m sorry,” comes with a sob I can’t hold in any longer. I don’t care that we have an audience. I don’t care that I’m in a flimsy exam gown. My body begins convulsing with every cry and I wrap my arms around my middle and roll to my side. “I tried. I tried so hard to save the baby.”
Alexander’s body warms me as he covers me, his arms wrapping around me like a safety blanket, holding me to him. “Please don’t cry.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry . . .”
“Shhh.” With his head tucked between my shoulder and my head, I feel the shake of his body.
“Chad died because of me. Our baby died because of me. I almost died because I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t sto—” My body is wracked with pain as it overwhelms me, the memories my penance for living a life that I let slip into darkness, all the good dripping through my fingers. All the promises we made in our innocent love are convoluted within a twisted, starless night that refuses to show us the sun. Are we closer to hell than the heaven we once believed was possible?
His tears are a harsh reminder that I brought this man down. When he needed me most, I took away hope. I let it drain from our bodies in the outskirts of town that fateful day when the present cut our future short. His voice chants his pain while he tries to comfort me. “Don’t cry. Don’t cry,” he pleads against my neck where the moisture gathers. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Words that could heal before are used in stark contrast now. An apology never owed to me but should be given to him, to our baby, paid to clear a conscience. I owe him, but he’s apologizing to me. He should never. Never.
I failed him.
I look past Alexander to the doctor and communicate that we need a minute. Thankfully, he leaves the room quietly. This is mine and Alexander’s moment, and he hates an audience.
Moving my arms, his head squeezes into the small confines of my hold. “Why are you sorry, Alexander?”
He looks up, his hands grasping my face within his hold. His nose presses to my nose as his forehead leans against mine. “I’m sorry for not answering your call. I’m sorry for making you believe you could save me when I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry for coming into your life and destroying it.”
“Stop.” My arms are wrapped around his head, his burdens weighing us both down. I kiss the top of his head, and whisper, “Stop, Alexander. Never say that again.”
His eyes meet mine. The brightness of the blue is striking, causing my heart to skip beat. “But if—”
I cover his lips with mine, absorbing his pain and swallowing his defeat. With my eyes closed, I will my strength—any I have left—to leave me and go to him. Go to him. Please. Give him the strength he needs to save us both from this hell.
Our lips caress each other in our seamless way, giving and taking comfort. This is our life.
Inhaling his breath, drawing in his every heartbreaking emotion, I breathe out an inner hope that climbs from the depths of my sorrow. I refuse to give up what I fought so hard for—life.
Pure.
Simple.
Love.
Laughter.
Alexander.
Life.
I vowed my life to him long before now, our love and losses forever bonding us. Even our baby. Knowing the burdens Alexander bears and my struggles don’t have to be carried alone, I see the way to healing. There’s only one path for us.
“There is only us. You are my gentle and kind knight. My dark and determined king. My sweet and romantic Alexander. You’re everything to me, and I’ll accept nothing less. Do you hear me? Do you understand?” He takes a deep breath, no doubt trying to recalibrate his thought processes.
“Never less. We owe each other nothing less than everything.”
A small smile, a small victory won in the tiny exam room of the doctor’s office. What started as my heart finally caving to the pain and shattering on this table turned into vows that may never be spoken in a church, but are laid at our feet to move forward. And we will. We will move forward. Grieve our losses, but move forward, stronger than ever. Because we are one.
“I love you.” Standing, he repeats, “I love you.”
There’s a light knock on the door. The doctor comes inside with a box of tissues, handing them to me. “Everything okay?”
Dabbing the tissue under my eyes, I attempt to reassure him. Actually, we are okay. “We’re fine.” I blow out a long breath. “I’m sorry. I think that was a long time coming though.”
He nods. “No apologies needed. What you experienced was very traumatic. Everyone deals with extraordinary situations and grief differently and on their own timeline.” His hand pats my forearm, comfortingly. “I’m glad you could release some of it.”
I smile, feeling lighter already. “Me too.” Turning, I look at the quiet, stoic man next to me. “Alexander?”
A small grin appears, and I can see the lightness returning to his body, his shoulders not so low anymore. Running the back of his knuckles over my cheek, he says, “Always so worried about everyone else.”
“Only you.”
“Over yourself when you should be focused on getting better.”
“How can I get better when you’re not?”