Afterlife: Redemption

1

LANE

Safe. It's such a strange concept, when you really think about it.

At no point during my time in Somalia did I feel unsafe, until that night that saw us running into the darkness with nothing more than the clothes on our backs. I had felt unsure, and a little nervous, but I honestly couldn't say I felt unsafe. Even the horrific night of the massacre at the village, I never once feared for myself.

So why, now that I was home and in the company of my family and Harry, was the concept of my safety suddenly so prevalent in my mind?

Maybe it was the way my father hugged me, like he had my whole life. When I was a child, I had fallen from my bike, skinning my knee. At the time I was convinced there was no greater pain. I was certain I was going to die, or lose my leg. During my inconsolable crying, my father simply picked me up from the sidewalk, his strong arms wrapped around me, and carried me in the house. He made me feel safe, and secure, and that maybe my little scrape wasn't the death sentence I had assumed.

Maybe it was the way my mother looked at me; warm, comforting and full of a strange pride. She was practically staring at me blatantly, to the point that it made me feel awkward and caused me to wonder if my zipper was down. She had the most indescribable look on her face, her expression so obviously relieved that I was finally home after what was surely an even more terrifying ordeal for them than it had been for me.

Or, maybe, it was finally, after four months apart and as many months before of uncertainly, unrequited feelings and to and froe, I was here with Harry. His strong, firm hand gripped onto mine from the moment we turned to leave the airport, he had not once let me go. He would glance at me from the corner of his eye, a sly smirk coming to his beautiful lips that made me blush, my stomach tightening. Being this close to him, and knowing that if I touched him, he wouldn't shy away, was such a strange feeling. Before I had left, I had no idea where I stood with him. He avoided my contact, both physically and emotionally, until we were on opposite sides of the world. And now, it was as if he had flipped a switch, and completely changed.

Sitting in the back of my parent's car, he couldn't seem to get close enough to me. My hand linked with his, his thumb tracing back and forth across the back, he would occasionally lean over and kiss my temple, my cheek, my forehead. It was such a simple, sweet, soothing gesture, and each time caused my stomach to flip.

We had just been seated in a local restaurant, my parents determined to feed me since they seemed certain I hadn't had a proper meal in over four months. Seated across from them, Harry's hand was still firmly attached to my own, each of us using our single free hands to sip our water, or gesture with conversation. But never, not once, did our connection break.

It was interesting watching the way Harry interacted with my parents. His reservation during their initial meeting the night of my graduation was noticeable and expected, since we had been in such an awkward place with each other at the time. He wasn't my boyfriend, but was more than my friend. My parents felt something between us, but neither of us admitted to anything more than casual acquaintance.

Now, it was so different. The banter between Harry and my father, the comfortable chatter between him and my mother, all made it seem like they had carried on a relationship in my absence of the last several months. When in reality, until my disappearance, they hadn't spoken once. But it would seem, when under duress, people really did have a way of coming together.

It was easy to see that my mother adored him, the way she would look at him, then turn her knowing eyes to me. I would look away, feeling embarrassed, or even roll my eyes at her expression. For such an intuitive woman, you would think she would learn to be a little more subtle with her demonstrations.