Page 67 of Resilient Love

I have to fight my natural instinct to pull away from him, to deny what he’s said and slink into a place of self-destruction, but repeatedly, he’s shown me with his actions that his words ring true.

Neither of us speaks as he holds me in his strong arms, my gaze enraptured with his. And finally, I manage a weak nod before heading up the first of many flights of stairs.

After what was a very sweet moment, my pliable attitude has not proven to last long. I’ve complained every hundred steps since then, and Rafael’s smile has only grown wider.

I’m arguably very much an “in shape” person. I sort ofhaveto be, but this church and its thirteen hundred steps are making me question my entire existence.

“We’re almost there, baby,” he promises for the tenth time today, practically carrying me as we go. It annoys me that much more that this man is over a decade older than me and he’s barely broken a sweat.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Promises, promises. I’ll believe it when I see it. Whateveritis.” He cracks a smile, lifting me effortlessly and bridal carrying me up the steps. “If I weren’t so damn tired, I’d argue because this doesn’t feel safe at all,” I whine.

“Good thing you're tired then. It’s the only time you’ll shut the hell up and relax,” he says with no bite in his tone.

I pinch his cheek, but the moment we’rehere,I know it, and not only because he sets me gently on my feet to gaze up at the mural left behind by the thousands of sappy romantics with a death wish who’ve climbed here before us.

The destination isn’t the bright light at the very top.No, it’s the massive painted wall with thousands of names drawn together by every person who’s made it to this part of the ascent. At least, every person who knew of its existence and brought a marker.

Imagine making it here only to realise you don’t have anything to write with!

Rafael produces a gold marker from his back pocket, handing it to me. I take it in my shaking hands, feeling the weight of this monumental moment settling down around us.

Sure, from the outside it might seem like we’re just a new couple on a little weekend holiday, doing something touristy in a small town, but that isn’t all this is, and I think webothknow that.

Do I love him?I’m not sure.

It’s moments like this that make me wish more than ever that I had mymamanand Rachelle around. I could talk to them about him, tell them everything, and they’d leave me feeling less confused and flustered. They’d also pick on me for sure, but I wouldn’t care because they’d still be here.

I’ve loved many people in my life. I think it’s what makes me such a hard-ass sometimes. Because I’ve loved my family with a fierceness that rivals all other forms of love. I’ve loved my friends enough that I feel the need to protect them all from everyone and everything, including the wounded and tormented parts of myself that I’ve never had a desire to burden anyone with.

If I don’t let them into all the messy places in my heart and in my mind, they won’t have to carry the weight of it all with them. But with Rafael, the love IthinkI feel for him is so different.

We had a terribly rocky start to our relationship, and even now, we aren’t truly together, not in the way I think we’d both like. And maybe we’ll never get to experience that, but there’s something so freeing in two unbelievably scarred, messy, and beautifully broken people being vulnerable with one another.

I’ve never known romantic love, but ifthisis as close to it as I’ll ever get, I’ll never want for anything more in my life.

Rafael hasn’t taken his gaze off of me since my eyes first landed on this wall, my fingertips trailing over the scribbles and scrolls of every person before us. “What’s running through your beautiful mind,mi vida?”

I turn to face him, and he reaches out, cupping my cheeks. He runs the rough pads of his thumbs beneath my eyes, wiping at the errant tears I hadn’t even realised I’d let fall.

This is what’s so nice about Rafael and me. We both understand the importance of sharing what’s on our minds with the people we care about because you never know when you might not have the chance anymore. The hardest part has alwaysbeenknowingthat I should share my feelings but being unable to put that into action a lot of the time. It feels easy to let myself speak my mind when I’m with him, and it’s a novelty.

“I’m thinking that I want more with you than casual, that I want to tell my dad about us, and that I definitely still hate heights even if thisisreally cool,” I say, ending on a watery laugh.

A wide grin stretches his lips, making a set of annoying, knicker-melting dimples pop out with the full force of the sun on a cloudy day. “Good, because I’m thinking all of the same things, minus the fear of heights.”

If this moment weren’t so tender, I’d make a jab at him about not knowing he had dimples before this, but that would break my entire philosophy about not telling people to smile more.

My chest tightens as I push past the immense feelings I’m suddenly being drowned in.

His eyes flicker to the wall, and he taps against an empty spot just off-centred to the right. “What about right here?” he asks.

Nodding, I shake the gold marker and uncap it. I write “Rafael + Elise”, and instead of outlining it with a simple heart, I write the words “resilient in love” in the shape of a heart surrounding them.

I cap the marker, taking a step back to admire my handiwork, and I swear I see this man's eyes fill with tears. They don’t fall, but I promisethey’re there.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

FRIDAY, MAY 23

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