Savior

The Boy I Love

Between the profession of love and the reply, there can always be found a deafening and profound silence.

In those moments the confessor has to wait with bated breath and a racing heart, gauging the facial expressions of the one confessed to until there is a reply.

With Louis I only felt fear.

The confession of love was spit out of trembling, bruised lips. Forced out in the hopes that it would calm one of the newly discovered rages he would fall into when I wouldn't come home on time.

The feelings I felt rang true at the time, but the manner in which I confessed to them was impure. It was said to distract, to persuade –to stop the fist that was cocked from making contact with my cheek.

And though I succeeded in that distraction, the feelings that were supposed to bring me joy, the confession of love that was supposed to bring us closer only made me drift farther apart.

I felt dirty.

And when he took me to bed that night and plowed me into the mattress until I was raw and reeling, I was only filled with regret.

Yet still, I didn't leave –I made excuses because of my love for him because of everything he did for me, everything he provided for me.

Louis made the house he built for me look so beautiful I never noticed the locked doors.

Not until it was too late.

But, there is no violence waiting for me this time, there is no anger or pressure to soothe and coddle a raging alcoholic.

Those three words tumble from my lips, sent into the air with love, with finality.

There is no regret when they dance in the air between Harry and I.

My love has been growing inside of me like a blossoming garden; planted in my lungs the day that I climber over the balcony.

And every gentle caress, every passionate kiss, every kind word and soft embrace has watered my growing roots into a ferocious jungle.

And though the flowers were beautiful, they began to smother me.

Finally admitting my love was like releasing air from a balloon, like stepping out into the sun after years of darkness, like taking the first sip of water after crossing a desert.

The flowers in my lungs could finally see the sun after suffocating under my silence.

I can finally breathe again.

Despite the danger that has been lurking just under my nose for God knows how long... I feel free. Free from this lie I have been living, free from trying to protect my fragile and bruised heart.

And still I wait for the reply, the confession hanging in the air between us, Harry's face a projector of emotions after the panic fades.

His sharp jaw drops in shock, the bushy brows furrow in confusion, then the body freezes –unsure what to do. The feet stumble, overwhelmed, the hands reach out and then pull back in, hesitant. Then the face goes blank.

But, slowly, ever so slowly, the smile I had been expecting pulls on his lips. His dimples dig deeper and deeper, their depths unfathomable. His brows now shoot up to his hairline, the emerald eyes brightening as if switched on.

And his face begins to radiate within, like my confession made the sun rise behind his skin after years of darkness.

"What did you just say?"