Page 90 of The Truth About Love

I don’t even mind that her skin is clammy under my touch. She’s been sweating so much that her hair is claggy with it and it sticks to her neck in tangled clumps. It occurs to me that even like this, with her complexion so pallid she almost looks grey, she is still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

Not even the sunsets we used to watch together can hold a candle to her.

I’d rather sit here in a room that smells of sweat and vomit if only to look at her than ever see a Floridian sunset again.

Since the night Cara and I broke up, I haven’t stopped thinking about what happened with Summer-Raine. I was so cruel to her. The things I said, the way I acted, I was awful.

Yet, I find it hard to regret any of it.

Because being inside her after so long, being surrounded by her body and her warmth and her smell, it’s the first time in five years that I’ve felt like I can breathe.

“Auden,” Summer-Raine murmurs, her eyes still closed. “Auden,” she moans again, my name a pained plea on her dry, cracked lips.

I stroke my fingers through her hair to soothe her. “Shh, baby, I’m here.”

“Don’t go.”

Never.

The thought is automatic and I have to fight myself not to say it aloud. Because as much as I wish I could make that promise, I know that I can’t. We’re not together anymore. We haven’t been for a long time. And no matter how much I’ve come to accept the reasons for Summer-Raine breaking my heart so long ago, a part of me still can’t forgive her for the pain she put me through. Maybe I never will.

But more than that, I have no idea what’s going to happen when the doctor signs off that Summer-Raine doesn’t need twenty-four-hour supervision anymore. I don’t know if we’ll stay in touch. Who knows if she’ll even want to, let alone work on starting things up again and rebuilding our relationship? Truth is, I don’t even know what I want.

All I know is that right now, she needs me. So, I lay down beside her in the bed and wrap my arm around her waist. She instantly curls into me, chasing the warmth of my body despite the sweat still beading on her forehead. I rub my hand up and down her back, happy just to listen to the sound of her breathing.

“Please don’t leave me.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Right now, at least, I know that to be true.

“No, Auden,please.” The anguish in her voice has my heart beating faster. I shift until I can see her face and find that her eyes are scrunched shut. “No, no, no.Don’t leave. Please don’t leave me.”Her body starts to thrash as she grows more distressed. It’s only when I realise that she can’t seem to hear my gentle assurances does it dawn on me that she’s dreaming. It’s not the first time in the last few nights that I’ve heard her call out in her sleep, but it’s the first time I’ve heard her say my name.

Despite knowing she can’t hear, I keep whispering quiet reassurances into her hair. “I’m here, baby, I’m right here.”

She claws at me in her sleep, her nails digging into the skin on my chest but I don’t flinch or pull away. Because whatever she’s dreaming about, whatever’s putting her through this much pain is hurting me as much as it is her.

Finally, her panic starts to ebb away. Her body relaxes and her face takes on that look of perfect peace it’s always had when she sleeps. I pull her into me, relishing the feel of her skin on mine as she buries her face in my neck. She’s so hot it’s like I’m cuddling a furnace, but I haven’t been so comfortable since the last time we shared a bed together. It makes it all too easy to close my eyes and fall asleep beside her.

But just before I fade into unconscious, Summer-Raine breathes out a sigh and whispers in her sleep, “I love you.”

And maybe it’s because I know she can’t hear me and will have no recollection of this tomorrow that I say, “I love you too, pretty girl.”

***

It’s another week before Summer-Raine starts to get better and I’ve slept beside her every night, convincing myself it’s simply to make sure that she’s okay.

On Wednesday, having taken the week off work to care for her, I was so overcome with worry for her unchanging condition that I called the doctor. Summer-Raine had been furious when she found out, but she needn’t have worried. He really didn’t do all that much to help. He couldn’t work out what was wrong with her, so he took some tests and promised to call with the results the next day.

Well, that was three days ago and I’m yet to hear from him.

I’d have called in blind fury if it weren’t for Summer-Raine showing signs of improvement. Yesterday, I was even able to convince her to take a shower while I fumigated the room and this morning, she joined me in the kitchen for pancakes and bacon. She didn’t even throw it up afterwards.

Now, she’s curled up on the couch with a book in her lap. Like it is most of the time, her hair is heaped in a messy pile on top of her head with loose tendrils falling to frame her face. She holds a cup of hot tea in one hand, but she hasn’t sipped it in all the time I’ve been watching her. It must be cold by now.

It’s such a domestic picture that I forget momentarily this situation is only temporary.

But it’s just so easy to imagine her like this, lounging on a couch in a house that we both own. A house where there are photos of us smiling together in frames and a shared closet where we both hang our clothes. It’s even easy to picture a nursery down the hall where a baby girl who looks just like her will sleep and play.

They’re dangerous thoughts. They’re thoughts that could get my heart broken again and I don’t think I could survive it a second time.

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