Forget

Author Note:  I was having a bad day. Feeling betrayed. My muse came and whispered this in my ear.




She lay in bed in her darkened room.  The only light was from a streetlamp three doors down that barely shone through the front bedroom window.  Alternating between fitful sleep and quiet sobs, she marveled that she could hurt this badly.  The pain was all encompassing; it hurt to breathe.  She was in a black hole, unsure if she could find her way out.  And honestly, she didn’t know if she wanted to.  These feelings would normally give her pause and make her afraid.  But today, she found a cold comfort in them.

The bedroom door slowly opened and she heard footsteps softly, slowly padding to the bed.  Her body tensed and she stopped breathing.  A cold whisper of air brushed her body as the blankets were lifted and the mattress depressed behind her.  He slid into bed, his form pressed against her back.  Covering them back up with the blanket, his arms circled around her body, head resting against hers and she felt his warm breath on the back of her neck.  With that, fresh tears spilled from her eyes and she started breathing again.  All she could think was "No. Please."  Her heart was aching. She didn’t think it was possible for her heart to break into pieces all over again.  Wasn’t it already shattered? But the fresh pain elicited fresh sobs.

She felt him intake a ragged breath and slowly exhale against her. Unsure if time had stopped or had passed, she waited for what was next. Then she heard his voice.  That voice.  It was the voice that had brought her such happiness.  That deep, soft spoken voice, that made her laugh, gave her butterflies, goose bumps, made her feel safe and warm. His voice.  Now, it was the voice of the one who had hurt, and with a few small words, shattered her world.

Tenderly, his voice cracking, he said, “I’m sorry.”

These words pulled from her depths more sobs.

He whispered the apology over and over, “I’m sorry.  I’m sorry.  Baby, I am so sorry.” 

She pulled her hands to her face and cried into them.  He gently rolled her over and positioned himself above so he could see her, see her heartbreak.  It was an image he would hold with him, and would haunt him forever.  He hadn’t wanted to hurt her, and he vowed to spend the rest of his life making amends.  She was the one woman who had loved him through everything.  She had loved him through all of his bullshit, all of his pain, all of his achievements and failures.  She had always been his strength. 

Softly, she tentatively removed her hands from her tear soaked face.  He looked at her and waited patiently for her eyes to meet his.  When they did, all of her pain was there for him to see.  His heart broke. 

She thought of Jackie Kennedy’s words, “Let them see what they have done.” 

He fought the welling tears in his own eyes and slowly shook his head. “I’m sorry.  Honey, I am so sorry.  Can you forgive me? Will you forgive me?”  He fearfully waited for an answer.  He would wait all night.  He would wait as long as it took for her to form the words.  He needed her like he needed blood and air, and he’d sooner give those up than he would her.

Her pain recognized the pain in his eyes, and it caused her heart to sting.  She never wanted to see him hurt, even though he had caused her this grief.  She couldn’t help it.  She still loved him and wanted to see him happy.  Could she forgive him?  Yes.  Could she forget?  That was something else. 

Slowly her hand reached up and touched the side of his face.  His eyes closed, the tears he was holding back slipped through his lashes and he leaned into her touch.  Her finger wiped one of the tears away and almost inaudibly she whispered, “I forgive you.”  The words were so soft she wasn’t sure she had said them.  His eyes opened and his tears spilled freely.  He buried his head in her neck.  She wrapped her arms around him and they cried together. 

Pulling back from the embrace, he gingerly kissed anywhere a tear had touched her face.  He moved to kiss her lips, but before their lips touched he looked to her eyes for permission, and she gave it.  Lovingly he kissed her, slowly, over and over.  He was desperate to make love to her.  He longed not for sex, but for that trust, that profound intimacy they had once shared.  He wanted it to be like it was.  He wanted to make her happy. 

Their lovemaking began tentatively, unsure and timid.  But with each touch, caress, stroke they found their familiar rhythm.  As their pleasure built to a pinnacle, they forgot about the pain.  All their troubles and the long road to rebuilding who they were together were gone.  They were happy.  They were in love. 

When the pleasure had faded and reality seeped back in, they remembered. He brushed his lips against hers, not as a kiss but as an act of intimacy, a touch.  Rolling over, he pulled her into his arms and cradled her and held her tight.  He would never let her go.  From this moment on he promised she would only experience happiness with him. 

She thought to herself, "could I really forgive him?"  Yes. But forgetting was something else. “Memories Fade.”  Clichés are based in truth. She clung to those words for dear life, and with all her heart.