She’s not talking again. She’s just regarding him with that hard stare. The one that follows him as he moves through the house, discarding his day, and trying to get comfortable in his space. Her eyes are full of suspicion as he gets into bed and settles himself with the book he’s been trying to finish for the last two weeks.
She just watches. And he watches emotions change the landscape of her face. Watches as suspicion, turns to anger and/or annoyance, then something dark and pained. Something he refuses to name. Then settle finally into sad indifference, just before she turns her back on him.
She makes herself busy, like she’s been doing for two weeks now. Clicking away at her laptop, swiping at her phone, housework, reading. Anything to keep her form looking at him. But it doesn’t always work and sometimes he catches her staring, with those sharp brown eyes filled with sadness, sometimes threatening to spill over and make the pillows cold and wet.
He replays their last conversation over in his head.
“I will not bend.” He had said. “You and your assumptions will never trust me. So what they hell? Why the hell try anymore? you are a jaded thing and no matter what I do, you will never…..” He had raged, hot blooded and angry and guilty. And she had cried. Until finally she had replied.
“If you want me to trust you, you would be a man worthy of my trust.” It was the last sentence she would speak to him in words, for two weeks. She would say volumes with her eyes and in the way she shied from his touch in her waking hours. She would say things with her eyes that made his chest heave with longing. For her smile, and her admiration, for the light that would fill her when he entered. But she wouldn’t give it voice. He wasn’t sure why. Or even why he came back every night, and laid in this bed, listening to her cry herself to sleep every night. Sobbing almost silently, only the bounce of her shoulders, sniffles and the wet pillow to give her way.
He would not bend. She would not change him. She would break eventually. She would allow him eventually. That fiery heat that wanted to control him would be quelled and he would be what? Satisfied? Would he be satisfied? Did he care? Wasn’t his heart hard enough to withstand this silent battle of wills? He had held out this long, and she was still here. So why did he have to care? It had been so long since there was love where now there is suspicion and anger and that other thing. And she was still here. So why did he have to care?
She’s asleep now, and he touches her cheek still damp from her crying. And she whimper a little and rubs her cheek against him, like a kitten seeking warmth. And it takes very little urging to get her to settle in the crook of his arm pressed up against him, her back to his belly. Allowing him to hold her, she basking in the heat of him.
And his heart swells, even as his own words play back in his head, and the picture of her tear streaked, red eyed face, looking sadly at him comes again to his mind. He looks once again at this woman, his woman and wonders. He hears it again “….be someone worthy of my trust.”
He drifts off to sleep still wondering….if it’s worth it. If any of this is worth, her not still being here tomorrow.