At His Mercy

17

I don't know how we get to bed, but we do. I feel him slide in next to me, gather me up till we're spooning. I'm lying in the crook of his arm, tucked into his body. His arms around me and and his head resting on my shoulder. I've missed being held like this. Its like the final piece of the puzzle. we fit together perfectly. It's the last thing I remember, the feeling of completion before I drift off to sleep.

I wake up to the sound of the shower running  . Adam. Probably getting ready for work. I stand up and walk over to the bathroom opening the door. The light from the vanity mirror throws a soft glow into the room but otherwise it is steamy and I can't see much. But I saunter over to the frosted glass door and open it, instantly the steam spills out, i walk straight in.

Adam has his back to me, his arms out above his head resting against the tiles, the water slucing over those muscles instantly makes my mouth go dry.  He's toned to perfection. With his hands and head against the wall, he looks like a model right out of a magazine.
I slide my hands around his waist placing my head against his back. His muscles tense immediately. He turns to look at me over his shoulder. I don't look up. Please don't push me away. I beg silently.  I know I'm being pathetic, standing here in the shower holding onto him. Leaning on him again. I know I'm opening myself up and any vulnerability I feel will become apparent -but in this moment, I  can't help it.  The water douses us.
He turns to hold me , his arms around me and mine around him. And we just stand together, silently.neither of us looking at each other. In that cloudy glass tank, we are suspended in time.
He shifts his weight from foot to foot slowly and it feels like he is rocking me ever so gently. I sway gently with him.

5 years ago-aya
He's stood against the ampitheater door as I arrive and straightens up when he sees me. I groan inwardly. He's supporting a three day old shadow. Looks completely different again. I stand a little taller. Eager to assert a little distance into our interaction.
'You weren't in yesterday. ... '
I don't respond -thinking about which way to proceed. Formal 'none-of-your-business' style or vague and flakey 'yeah-something-came-up' style.
He stumbles on, not giving me the chance to decide 'I took notes. You can have a copy' he says and passes me a plastic wallet.
'Thanks,' I say raising my eyebrows,I look at the first sheet, 'you typed them up?' 

'Yeah, I didn't think you'd be able to read my writing!' He says and shrugs like it's no big deal. He looks a little thoughtful and adds 'I signed you in too, when the register came round. . .' he looks to the left of me at the doors that open up to the courtyard, to avoid making eye contact in case I'm angry with him for being so presumptious about me needing his help. 
I know I should be annoyed that he is interfering, but actually I am touched by his gesture. I stroke my hair down self-consciously and pull my coat a little closer shut, aware that I must look really rough. Mostly, because I've not slept for the last three days. My mother has pneumonia. She's been in hospital. I've been sick with worry and anxiety.  At one point, I braced myself for the worst. I actually thought this is it. I'm going to lose her.

But here he is like a ray of sunshine. I smile, for the first time in 4 days- it hurts a little because I'm not used to being looked after and it occurs to me that it's actually a nice feeling. I swallow the lump that has formed unexpectedly in my throat. This is what it must feel like for normal people. The glimpse of happiness. Silently, I thank God for this guardian Angel and give him my first genuine smile.

Present . . . .
He's looking at my shoulder. His hands gliding over the silken skin there  and then down my arm. He closes his eyes as if he's savouring the moment. Commiting it to memory. exhaling slowly.

I trace the journey of a drop of water down his chest with the tip of my finger. Following the dewy trail it leaves as it meanders downwards. His eyebrows furrow as if my touch is too painful to bear. He grips my wrist and stills my hand then with more force  holds it against his chest.  Our foreheads meet. My breathing has become shallow and he places his other hand against my chest, over my heart as if to still it.

My head is throbbing,  ever so slightly.  Or is that my heart?  I think of those two people stood outside the lecture hall awkwardly, all those years ago. his one gesture that gave me hope in that dark period, made me think that perhaps I could survive that bleak period in my life. 

I look up at him, his head is tilted down, not making eye contact, deep in thought. I put my head on his shoulder and close my eyes, letting myself forget everything, just for this one moment. I didnt think it could hurt, but it does, something deep inside is aching.