Unspoken

A.N. To be quite honest, this story was more of an experiment than anything. I wanted to try out a different style of writing, and also, to try writing a story from the male perspective. Hopefully, I've managed to do it successfully. Let me know what you think and thanks for reading!

It’s late and she’s in your arms. You can feel her breathing softly and delicately and the hand that rests on your chest clenches, tightening into a fist before relaxing once more. On the nightstand near the bed, bright red numbers signal the early hour on the alarm clock and you know that you should be asleep, should have been asleep for a long time now.

But you can’t.

Dark brown hair lies feathered across your chest and slowly, you look down at the woman sleeping so close to you. How beautiful she is and you can feel your heart clench like it always does when you see her, when you think of her. She’s your everything, and sometimes, you can feel your heart race when she walks by and you can smell that vanilla scent she adores warmed by her silken skin. Sometimes your heart stops when you watch her with people and sometimes, an image creeps into your mind, one where she is holding an infant in her arms. The baby looks like you, but the eyes are hers, such a beautiful color that you find yourself lost in so often. And in those little fantasies, she’s always smiling.

But she never smiles anymore, does she? Not like that, like before.

You miss her smile.

You know you’re to blame and you hate yourself. Once, your relationship had been so wonderful and you could see those brick walls she built around herself crumble away bit by bit. She could talk for hours and though you made jokes, teasing her, you never wanted her to stop. Her voice, so melodious, had always held that mystical power to sooth you. She was so quirky, so strange, so intriguing, and you found yourself lost in her. Her eyes captivated you, her voice soothed you, and when she smiled at you, God it was surreal. Always so surreal.

But something happened. Something went wrong. Because now you barely touch her and every day you can feel your heart slowly dying a little more. Because you see the pain behind those beautiful eyes, and you know you’re the cause. You want to touch her, want to pull her close to you so badly, enveloping her, sheltering her, protecting her, whispering in her ear a thousand ‘I’m sorry’s’, but how can you? Maybe she hates you now. You wouldn’t, couldn’t, blame her.

Sometimes, you snap at her. Sometimes, you feel like you’re taking advantage of her. She’s so goddamn giving, so supportive and every day, she makes an effort. She greets you with a smile, every day without fail, and you can see the hope in her eyes, and you know that all she wants is a smile in return. Every day, those eyes grow dimmer, hope diminishing, and God how it breaks your heart. But how can you say anything? You’re too afraid and you hate yourself more.

You remember once how you had held her hand as you went to a friend’s house and you could feel her happiness at the simple contact. She had always been like that, loving the simple, the unspoken, gestures. But when you reached the door, before you could knock, you dropped her hand, stepped away, turned your back to her. It was an unconscious move, but before you turned away from her, you could see the anguish that dismissal had caused. And then those beautiful eyes had become cold, and you could feel her shut down. You hadn’t thought to apologize. Your friends never knew how hurt she had been, how you were the cause.

You had never apologized for hurting her.

Once, you had gone to church. It had been crowded that day, but as you pushed open the door to leave, you noticed that she was no longer behind you and you had gone back to look for her. Inside you were angry, angry that she had said nothing to you, angry that you had to go back for her, angry at yourself for being angry over something so trivial.

You found her alone in front of the altar. She was on her knees, her head bowed and something made you pause. You could only watch, watch as slowly her shoulders began to quake and you could hear the almost inaudible sobs. She lifted her head and you could see the tears.

How you hated yourself. How that image still haunts you. Because you know that you are the source of that pain.

Sometimes you pray that she’ll wake up, that she’ll look at you and whisper “I love you” like she had so many times in the past. Because you’ve lose hope too. Sometimes you pray that you’ll stop being so selfish, a coward. Sometimes you want to tell her how sorry you are for hurting her, but you know an apology will never be enough. But the communication is what went wrong.

She’s the only woman you can see, so beautiful that sometimes, it’s a physical pain in your chest. With her trust, her love, you never felt more like a man. And you hate yourself for hurting her, for being too proud, too afraid. Because she’s the one person worth sacrificing it all for. Every day is agony but the nights, when she lies so loyally against you, have become almost cherished. At night, you can hold her, touch her, press her closer against you. At night, you can tell her how in love with her you are.

But you’ve become a coward. Maybe you could tell her you love her, God knows you do, and maybe you could be the one to make that first step. But the fear holds you, keeps you silent. Fear that she’ll reject you, fear that you’re too late, that you’ve already lost her and inside you can feel yourself aching. But now you don’t know what to do, how to fix things. And inside of you there is a voice, one that tells you not to worry, to not make an effort.

Because you don’t deserve her.

God, how you hate that voice. Because you know it’s true.

You wonder sometimes how it had come to this. You remember the beginning, the smiles, the laughter, the so many ‘I love you’s’. And you remember how sometimes, her voice would shake when she would whisper it into your ear at night before you would fall asleep. You remember vowing to yourself to never take her for granted, to be worthy of the fragile, but so consuming, love she offered to you. She gave her heart to you, placed it delicately within your hands, and you know that you have failed. Because when was the last time you told her you loved her? When had that statement been one of truth instead of a rushed and jumbled sentence out of your mouth? You failed her, and in your head, her voices echoes, a midnight secret that haunts you even now, months after she whispered it to you.

“I know I love you. You say you love me. But I’ve been lied to before.”

You remember how hurt you had been, knowing that she assumed that you were going to hurt her. You thought it unfair that she would compare you to previous boyfriends, that she would think you were so callous, so horrible. You wanted to protect her, wanted to hunt the men who had hurt her down, and you could feel the aggression rise within you. But now you were that man, hurting her, the very thing you promised never to do.

You know that you’ve been making an effort to regain that lost communication. Sometimes, you surprise her with a large meal that you prepared. Sometimes, you ask her how her day was and how badly you want to pull her to you, comfort her when she is stressed, comfort yourself with her warmth, that body that you love so much. Always, you pray that you aren’t too late.

Gently, you lift the hand that rests on her shoulders and delicately, you trace the sides of her waist, her hips, her arm. Her shirt had risen in her sleep, and you find yourself lingering on the bare, soft skin. You’ve forgotten how warm she is, how soft and smooth. You know that she has always hated herself. She thinks herself too fat, too soft. She doesn’t know how beautiful you think she is, how wonderful her curves are. You could touch her all the time, every second, and it still wouldn’t be enough. It could never be enough.

In your mind, you can see those beautiful eyes, shining and brilliant as she looks at you. In your mind you can see her smiling, so gorgeous and you know that nothing compares to the overwhelming sense of love, of desire, that consumes you when that smile is directed at you. And you miss her. You miss her voice in the dark of the night; her midnight ramblings were always so enjoyable. She’s smarter than she realizes, and you always loved to listen to her, to learn the complex, but so amazing, way her mind works. You miss leaning over, stopped the flow of words with your mouth, miss how eager she always was to return your kiss. You miss her passion, the connection.

But it’s too late.

You feel her body moving slightly against you as she sleeps and slowly you lower your hand until heated skin fills your palm. Gently you rub, loving the feel of satin against your rough hand. She murmurs softly, God how love those little noises!, and moves closer to you and you can feel hot tears scalding your eyes. Furiously, you shut them but it’s useless. Such an innocent act but it hits you more forcefully than you could imagine. That even after causing her such pain she still trusts you, still loves you, still presses ever closer to you in the night. She’s the only one who ever made you feel like a man, and you know that it’s time to stop. To stop being afraid, to stop hating yourself, an endless cycle. For so long, you’ve been losing her, could feel her slipping away, your own fault. But feeling her so close to you, pressing her body so close to yours, you know that there is hope.

Softly, you tangle your fingers in her soft hair, sliding your other arm around her waist, pulling her on top of you. Her eyelids flutter; she looks at you in confusion.

‘What’s wrong?” she says and you’ve forgotten how sensual her voice can be. Her eyes focus on you and she notices the tear stains on your cheeks, her eyebrows narrowing in concern. You shake your head to reassure her that you’re ok.

“Why did you wake me up?” she asks, hesitant now, but still confused. Still alarmed, and for a moment, you agonize that it has come to this, that you abandoned those moments that she had always adored, when you would wake her well after midnight, filling her with yourself. How sad that it has now become cause for alarm.

You can feel your throat close; feel your heart hammer within your chest, the staccato beats echoing in your ears. But you fight it off, so tired of being so afraid. Your hand moves, cupping her cheek within your palm, your thumb tracing her lower lip.

“I love you,” you whisper, not a rushed statement, but honest, true, and you watch her break in front of you. Her eyes glisten as tears rush down her cheeks.

“I’ve hurt you, and I’ve been so afraid that I’m losing you. I can’t do this anymore. I need you back and God, baby, I love you so much. I’m so sorry honey,” you say, and you can feel the tears running down your cheeks in a hot cascade. You jump when you feel her hands on your cheeks and cry harder when she kisses your forehead.

“Please tell me I haven’t lost you,” you whisper, so vulnerable, such agony, and through your tears you can see her.

Smiling at you.

“I never went anywhere. I wasn’t going anywhere. We lost touch for a little while, that’s all. But that’s my fault too. All I’ve wanted to hear was that you love me. But I didn’t say it to you first, either. Maybe I’m just as stubborn as you are.”

“But I’ve hurt you.”

“Yes, you have. And maybe I could be angry at you or ignore you. But I won’t. Because this wasn’t just your fault, and God knows if you hadn’t said something first, this silence might have lasted much longer. “

“I don’t deserve you,” you say softly, echoing the one thought that has destroyed you over and over again, and never before had you felt so exposed before anyone. But she only smiles, brushing the backs of her fingers against your cheek, running them through your short hair.

“I love you,’ she says simply and you can feel the elation rise within you. You laugh softly, sitting up, holding her against you. Her thighs wrapped around your waist, her knees on the bed, your head against her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around you. You squeeze gently, never wanting to let go, knowing now that you never have to.

Communication restored.