…what a night that was.
Just the both of us.
My heart is so full right now. Mourning the life we had. Mourning the love we had. You were supposed to be my Ever After.
I can’t stop staring at him.
His body is beautiful.
He’s tall and lean, his deep blue shirt hugging every masculine line of him all the way down to his tapering waist. His legs are slightly open as he sits on the couch, his head reclined back as he’s lost in sleep. God, I miss touching his body.
My hand hovers over him, wanting so badly to touch him, leaving only an inch of space between my fingertips and the warmth coming off him. My fingertips drift back up toward his face. There’s a bit of his dark brown hair resting on his eyebrow. He had cut his hair, but he always leaves the front a little longer so when he combs it back it can have that old-timey look. I brush it so gently off his brow, the way I used to when we were married and I would wake up in the middle of the night just to watch him sleep, so grateful to God for him.
His eyes flutter open very slowly.
When I realize he’s actually waking up, I pull my hand back quickly and stand up straight, looking away from him.
“I… It's after 2:00 a.m. I didn't mean to sleep that long. I don't even know why… I don't even know why I fell back asleep.” My words tumble out due to embarrassment.
Lincoln doesn't move. He just sits there, head still reclined, staring at me, probably wondering why I was about to touch him. Watch him say something about boundaries. I wish he was like that with Sarah. How many times did Sarah try to do stuffwith him? How many times did he deny her? What the hell did he let her get away with to cause him to cheat on me like that?
“That's because you're tired,” he says in his own tired voice, still not moving.
“Yeah well,” I start, straightening up, preparing to leave, getting my wallet, which is just much easier to carry since I can swing the strap over my shoulder and wear it like a handbag. “I need to get going.”
Lincoln looks at the clock on the wall. His face remains almost passive, probably too tired to emote. “It's after 2:00 in the morning like you said. You're not going anywhere.”
He closes back his eyes, still reclined on the couch, probably falling back asleep.
“Sorry to bust your bubble but I am.”
“Don't be ridiculous. You're tired. Just stay,” he says, not so much as a plea but in a casual, half-asleep way.
I want to stay. Does he think I want to go back out there and travel before dawn just to go to my bed where it's cold and lonely? I have lived with Lincoln for 9 years of my life. And no matter how late he came home, I always shared a bed with him.
Before that, I was living with my father. My dad is well enough to walk around and take care of himself, and it helps that his sister comes by sometimes to hang out with him and help him out. I still go back to visit and call him often. He moves much slower of course, but at least he's still a comforting presence.
When I started dating Lincoln and then when I decided to move in with him, it was straight from my family home to an apartment with Link. There has never been a time, until after I separated from Lincoln, that I lived alone.
It's a very uncomfortable and soul-crushing experience. The bed that's supposed to feel comfortable feels so empty. Even though I rush to jump back into it when the restaurant job made me tired, it still felt lonely, like there was always something missing or a part of me missing.
Even when I fooled around with that guy on my travels, I slept over, but it wasn't my bed. He's never actually shared my bed with me. Come to think of it, that experience of sharing my personal bed is something only Lincoln did.
Of course I had boyfriends before him; very short affairs back when I thought a simple kiss or sex made someone your boyfriend. I only had two experiences like that before Lincoln came into the picture, and then it was just him.
Everybody else lost their spot after that, and I thought that's how it was supposed to be. And then this man goes and treats me like garbage.
Even saying that doesn't feel true, because when I think of Lincoln and how he treated me for the majority of my life and our marriage or time together, he wasn't like that. Even when he was tired and coming home late, aside from the arguing and the excuses, I wouldn't say he ever treated me like garbage.
Not the way that people think.
But just because he did it covertly… that somehow makes it worse. Being nice to someone in their face and then stabbing them in the back.
I must keep that at the forefront of my mind.
“I want to sleep in my own bed, Lincoln.”
“You can sleep in my bed.”
