(revised)
They had sent a letter, two weeks after my return. The same letter they would send to every soldier who had been a prisoner of war. "Hey, we know you must be broken because we sent you into that mess, but it's not our fault. We can't really do much, but here, we made that program to help you get used to life after the war. It's called a Civil Resettlement Unit 'cause we don't want you to think you're crazy." I had immediately thrown that piece of bullshit into the trash before Freya could see I had received it. I did not need to adapt to civilian life, I needed to get my life back, the one without the nightmares, without the pain and the self-hatred. I wanted to be able to laugh at my sisters' jokes, listen to my mother's gossips and pretend to care, play football and drink beer with my friends, and spend the night with the girl of my dreams in my arms, all that unspoiled by the thought that I had killed and that I had almost been killed. If only life had stopped. If only it had waited for me, things would have been easier. I might have been able to forget the dreadful things I had witnessed. But things were completely different now, my life was not mine anymore, and the moments I had missed could only be added to the memories of the people I had lost. Yet, I had to move on, but one thing was for sure, doing workshops in the countryside would not help me find peace.
"You might want to consider the idea," James tried to convince me. I had instinctively come to him to unload all the things I couldn't tell Freya. He was the only one who understood that madness.
"I've considered it and came to the conclusion that it would be a waste of time," I gave him a gruff response.
"They made these programs to help guys like you," he insisted.
"Guys like me? You mean insane guys like me? Completely messed up? You can say it."
"I mean guys like us. Traumatized men. I'm no better than you."
"You didn't have to attend one of those, though."
"They weren't in place yet when I came back. Might have been useful," he observed.
"Shut your mouth," I threw my empty pack of cigarettes at him. "You escaped from Germany while I was waiting to be liberated. You're the brave one. I'm the pussy. You're fine."
"Well, you clearly aren't. No offense," he said as he threw the pack back, which I caught before it could hit me.
"None taken," I laughed. I had come to the point I could not even take my life seriously.
"I really think you should give it a chance," he insisted. "They'll know how to help you there... more than I can help you."
"How? You're the one who's been through that shit with me, while they stayed safe in their offices. They sent us to war, to death, for decisions they had made; they let us fight for them while they watched from afar, and now that they see they sacrificed us, they create some kind of program just to say they're doing something for us."
"I know it's fucked up," he sighed.
"Honestly, I don't see how talking about my experience can make me feel better. They can't fucking understand."
"If you don't do it for yourself, do it for her," he was not ready to give up.
"Please, don't bring her into this," I rolled my eyes.
"Alright," he conceded. "But think about it, talk about it with her. It's only four weeks."
I nodded, more to give him what he wanted than to say I would follow his advice. After years away, four weeks should have indeed appeared as nothing, but it seemed like the end of the world to me. I didn't want to leave again. I was scared to lose everything if I was away one more time. Just thinking about it made me sick.
"Do you have something to drink?" I asked as I rubbed my face with discomfort.
"Yeah. Help yourself," he nodded towards the dresser behind me.
I got up and made my way to the dark piece of furniture, something that was probably as old as the flat it had never left. Its imposing mass would take all the space in the kitchen and absorb all the light. That was how I felt sometimes, like a piece of furniture, sucking the light out of life to replace it with darkness.
I opened the door of the top cabinet and analysed the bottles lined up inside, looking for the only alcohol I wanted to drink, the one that made me feel at home. Once I noticed the bottle of Scotch whisky I knew James was keeping there, I took it out, but as I proceeded to close the cabinet, my eyes got caught on photographs stuck on the inside panel of the door. They got my attention for I instantly recognised Freya in them. There was one portrait of her taken in the countryside, probably recent, and another one where she wasn't alone. I detached the latter to have a better look at it and felt like someone was stepping on my heart. She was holding a tiny baby wearing a christening gown in her arms. My son. My own child. She was glowing on that photo, addressing a beaming smile to the camera. She looked so beautiful and radiant. It should have made me feel better, to know she had managed to be happy without me, except on her right was James, standing proudly with his arm wrapped around her waist. One could have thought they formed the perfect couple, the image of happiness. They looked like a family, but it was my family. Not his. With this scene before my eyes, knowing James had kept these photographs away from prying eyes, Bernard's words came back to me; even if I had refused to listen to him or believe him at the time, his voice had now filled my head, and the meaning of his words suddenly made much more sense. He might have been right. My best friend and my wife. Together.
The jingling of glasses put on a table made me focus back on James, and the face of friendship transformed into that of the enemy. I could not trust him anymore. I walked to the table and poured myself a glass of whisky, in silence. I drunk it down in one go as James raised his eyebrows in wonder at my behaviour. To give him the answer he was looking for, I violently pressed the photograph against the table, right under his eyes, and I waited for him to meet my gaze to get the truth out of him.
"Did something happen between the two of you?" I asked directly.
"What do you mean?" he answered, surprised by my sudden aggressive tone.
"Did you and Freya have something while I was away?" I rephrased my question.
"No!" he defended himself.
"Do you love her?"
"Why are you asking me all that because of a photograph?" he tried to avoid my question.
"Answer me," I said quietly, determined to get what I needed to hear from him.
"Mate, what's going on?"
"Do you love her?" I insisted.
"N... listen," he ran his hand across his face, trying to find the courage to say something. "I... I don't want to lie to you."
"You love her," I observed.
"I have... had feelings for her, it's true..."
"Shit!" I swore as I clenched my fist and made a step back, trying to control the frustration that filled me. "Fucking hell!" I was not expecting it to be so painful. I wished he had denied it.
"But she loves you! There's no room for someone else in her heart," he tried to make things better.
"Fuck you! Because if there were room for you, you would have tried something?"
"No! That's not what I meant! I wouldn't have done that to you!" he got up to walk away from me, offended.
"But maybe you did..."
"I didn't do anything but what you asked me to do if something happened to you! You made me promise!"
"I didn't ask you to steal my life!" I shouted at him, finally expressing what had weighed on my heart since my return.
"What the fuck do you mean?"
"I'm back and nothing is the same!" I lost it. "My son asks for you as if you were his father. You've witnessed things I will never be able to experience, while it should have been me! Not you! I feel like an intruder in my own life, as if you were the one who should be there instead of me!"
"I'm sorry you feel like that... I know how it is."
"No, you don't! Don't pretend to know how I feel! You don't know how it is to come back home to learn you were dead in the heart of all the people you care about, to discover you left a child behind and that your best friend betrayed you."
I had to force myself not to break something out of rage for my whole mind was now subjected to spite. I did not know what to believe anymore. I had lost all my bearings.
"I didn't betray you! I kept my feelings to myself. I've never tried to be more than a friend to her!"
"She's my wife! You know how much she means to me, you've been there from the beginning, and still, you let yourself get close to her!"
"They told her you were dead! I had to be there for her, but I didn't choose to have feelings for her. It happened that's all. But that's not what I wanted!"
I could have punched him in the face, so angry to know that these last two years, he had been with her, he had loved her while I was rotting in a camp. I felt cheated.
"I don't want you to approach my family ever again! Don't talk to my wife, don't try to see my son! Stay away from them, you understand?" I warned him.
"Come on, mate! You're overreacting! I told you I would never do such thing, you're my brother!"
"Brothers don't stab each other in the back," I said as I let the photograph fall on the table, holding his gaze. Of course, he wanted me to go to that training thing, so he could spend more time with Freya while I was away. He disgusted me. I had nothing else to tell him, I had no respect for him anymore, and so, I turned away and left, slamming the door on our friendship.
*
"Freya!" I heard him call as soon as he entered our flat.
"I'm at the back," I informed him as I finished dressing Tomas after he had woken up from his nap.
His steps were loud as he made his way to Tommy's bedroom, and when he appeared, I instantly felt that something was wrong. It was written in his eyes. His manners conveyed a sentiment of unease as he could not stand still, looking everywhere but at me.
"Put him in his bed," he ordered me.
"Why?"
"Put him in his bed, please," he insisted as he ran a hand across his face. His breathing was heavy, his eyes elusive. I could not recognise my husband.
I obeyed. I knew it was not the time to argue, but I feared what would follow.
"Do you love him?" he let out immediately after I turned to him.
"What?" I was completely lost.
"Do you love James? Please tell me the truth!"
"No! I don't! I love you!" I denied, quite shocked by his question.
"Please tell me nothing happened. I couldn't bear it," he pleaded as he took my face in his hands. He was so tense he almost hurt me.
"No, I promise. Nothing happened," I repeated his words as I let my fingers meet his hand, hoping he would relax under my touch. His eyes were darker than usual, I had never seen him so troubled, and I had no idea what to do to help him. To my great surprise, he was the one to engage the kiss, but it was not passionate. It was raw, begging for something from me, as if words weren't enough. He was scared.
"I couldn't bear it," he let me know, resting his forehead against mine, trying to settle his breathing. For a brief moment, he did not try to hide his vulnerability, but as quickly as he had opened to me, he withdrew behind his high walls and left my touch.
"What happened with James?" I asked him, afraid to know the reason of his interrogation.
"Promise me you'll never see him again," he ignored me.
"What do you mean?"
"He's not welcome in this house anymore."
His voice had turned harsh, his body and posture had nothing inviting anymore.
"But why?"
I couldn't believe we had reached that point.
"Why? You perfectly know why! You know he loves you!" he gave me the answer I didn't want to hear.
"And I know I love you," I reassured him. He had no reason to be scared, no reason to doubt me. I was his.
"Please, Freya. Promise me..."
"But what about Tomas? He's his godfather. He loves him."
"I know," he raised his voice. "He loves him so much I sometimes wonder who the father really is!"
"Don't say that!"
"What? I just say what everyone else is thinking."
"Is it really what you think?" I asked, hurt by his words.
"Did you really want me to come back? Or maybe you were happy with him by your side? Maybe you would have preferred me dead!" he thundered, anger having filled his eyes.
"Stop that now. You're being unfair, and mean!" I raised my voice too.
"And what? I'm mean because I ask questions?"
"Because you ask the wrong questions! You don't trust me!"
"How am I supposed to trust you when I come back to that? To discover my best friend, who's been with you these last years, loves you? I don't know what happened during those two years. I don't know what he did, what he tried with you. I have no fucking idea if you were ready to replace me," he yelled at me, his voice frightening Tomas who started crying, adding to the chaos of the scene, worsening the situation.
"You've got to believe me. Why would I lie to you?"
"I don't know. Why would I believe you?"
"Please, stop shouting now, you're scaring him," I tried to reason with him as I looked at Tomas who was in tears.
"I don't care! He's always scared of me anyway! What does that change?" he refused to cooperate. "Now tell me why I should believe you?"
"Because I'm your wife! Because when I was faced with the same questions when I met your Victoria, I chose to believe you because I know you!"
"Victoria?" he asked, genuinely unsettled by the mention of that name.
"Yeah, your girlfriend from home! Remember her?"
He gave a nervous laugh and raised his eyes to the ceiling.
"Are we seriously talking about a girl that I kissed when I was a teenager?"
"Yes! Yes, we are! Because you're making a huge deal of something that shouldn't matter! You've to trust me like I trust you, because we're married!"
"Maybe it was a mistake..." he said very naturally, as if he did not realise the meaning of his words.
"What?"
"Maybe we shouldn't have married. Maybe we're not meant for each other."
"How dare you say that?" I felt tears burn my eyes.
"Everything went too quickly. All this. Us. Living together. Tomas. We weren't ready."
"We?" I said in a trembling voice. "I was ready! I don't regret any of it! Do I have to remind you that you were the one who wanted to have a child!"
"But not like that!"
"Well, I'm sorry he's not the child you wanted! We're not the family you wanted!" I yelled at him as angry tears started trickling down my cheeks. "And if you regret your engagement, then I don't want to see you here!"
"Get out! Now!" I pushed him out of the room before he could say anything. "You don't want my love, you don't want my help, you think we were a mistake? Then go, erase that mistake. Start over!"
He probably did not expect me to react like that, but he did not fight me back. He didn't go back on his words. There was no apology in his eyes, they were just shut off. The reaction I was expecting never came. He didn't argue and he left. It took me all my strength to look at him walk away and slam the door on us, and only when the sound of his steps in the staircase faded away, only then did I allow myself to move. I dried my tears and went back to my son to kneel before him and give him a forced smile I wanted to be reassuring, but it was distorted by the overwhelming pain that I now suffered. I wanted to disappear, cry until I could feel nothing, but I had to stay strong for him.
*
The streets of London were almost empty on that early evening, everybody refusing to step outside into the heavy rain that had started pouring in the afternoon; everyone but some lonely souls sheltered under their umbrella or hurrying to the closest underground station. And me, completely drenched, but with nowhere to go. I had been wandering in the streets at random, trying to forget what I had done, but I kept seeing the expression of pain on her face, I could hear me pronounce those ugly words to her. I had pronounced them, knowing I would hurt her, it was the point. I was suffering and I didn't want to be the only one, I didn't want to be alone. I had succeeded, I had hurt her. I had broken her heart, but she would recover from it. She had to realise she couldn't love me if she wanted to be happy. I was good for no one, not even for myself. I was lost, I had no idea how to feel better, and all I could see was that the burden I had brought back with me, the one I could not get rid of, was weighing on my shoulders, and on that of the people who were trying to help me.
It was the reason I didn't want their help. The best thing I could do to protect them was to reject them, to scare them away. And because I knew they would refuse to listen to me if I tried to explain it to them, I had found hurting them to be the only solution left. I was conscious that it was wrong, but I was just making bad decisions on bad decisions. I would try to convince myself that I could get better, but the anger I had inside of me would just become too much to handle, and I refused to let anyone suffer the consequences any longer. And so, I was torn between the love I felt for her, the unconditional affection I had kept for her in my heart, and the disgusting jealousy, the frustration and rancour I experienced when I thought that she had continued her life without me, which I felt like an injustice. I knew these feelings were not justified, my reactions were disproportionate, but nobody could understand what I was going through, and I remained lonely, even when surrounded.
Once back, people had expected me to dive right in, as if I could resume my life as it was before, but the truth was that it was impossible. I had tried, made the effort, but it was impossible. I could not ignore the scars on my body, or the pain that came back when I least expected it and prevented me from using my arm correctly. I could not give Freya the love she wanted, I couldn't touch her and kiss her without thinking that I had failed her. I couldn't hold her without thinking I could break her. And I couldn't watch James without fearing the worst and being overwhelmed with horrible thoughts of what could have happened during my absence. Even if I knew him, and I knew her. Even if I knew they would not do that, those irrational thoughts would always win, because I was scared he was more to her now than I used to be.
Somehow, my feet had taken me to the river, and I stopped on the bridge to look at the dark water flowing below me. I rested my forearms on the railing and observed the eddies forming around the pillars and the raindrops breaking the evenness of the surface. I imagined what it would be to jump into that darkness. Would the water swallow me? Would I disappear to never come back? Would it be better for everyone? It was the same questions over and over again, the same obsessive thoughts that I tried to silence in vain. Fighting them was exhausting for they would never completely leave me.
There was no escape from that past, no salvation. It would be with me for the rest of my life. This feeling of suffocation would never go away. The impression of constantly drowning, swimming and fighting to reach the surface, but seeing it draw away instead. I just wanted to get my life back, all the good things I had before the war stole them from me. I needed to laugh for the silliest things with Freya again, and I wanted to become the father Tomas deserved. Yet, all I could see when looking at him was all the things I had missed; I hadn't felt him kick in his mother's womb, I had not witnessed him come to life, nor seen him grow up. I had missed his first steps, his first words, his first smile, all the defining moments of his early life, and now I had to come into his life and pretend all these things did not matter, that I could do without them, but the truth was I was scared he would not love me, that the fondness I started to have for him would not be received properly.
I could cry, nobody would notice for I was completely drenched, but I refused to. I raised my eyes to the sky, welcoming the raindrops against my skin, hoping it would erase all my problems, make me someone new. Water was dripping down my face, blurring my vision. My soaked clothes were stuck to my skin and my wet hair falling before my eyes. I was probably a poor spectacle to see, and yet, nobody paid attention to me. I could have just been pulled out from the sea, it would have been the same, except this time I was not wearing my RAF uniform, no one was there to help me, and I was not relieved to be alive.
*
I pushed the front door of our flat with apprehension, not knowing if she would be there and if she would let me in, but it was her father I met in the entrance, and he seemed as surprised to see me as I was to see him.
"Is she here?" I asked something first.
"No, she's out, looking for you. But she should be back soon, she's left a while ago already," he let me know.
I said nothing. I felt ashamed, guilty to put her through that.
"Come on, son. You look like you're freezing. Got put on dry clothes before you fall sick," he invited me to go to my bedroom. "I'll pour us a drink, something to pick you up."
"I think I've had enough of that for today," I informed him.
"I'll make tea then. It will warm you up," he added as he left for the kitchen.
As I entered my bedroom, I get rid of my dripping wet shirt which had turned into a second skin and shivered in the cool air. Everything seemed bleak when she was not there. She was the one who brought warmth into our home, and I had suppressed it. Without her, life was worthless.
I opened the wardrobe to grab the first thing I would find, but my eyes stopped on my uniform, that I had stored there since my return, hidden from my sight. It had been my biggest pride. I could remember parading around my parents' house the first time I wore it. I felt unstoppable. But the boy I was that day had no idea of the consequences that would arise from taking the responsibilities that went with it. He didn't know it would bring out the best and worst things in his life.
I looked away, refusing to think about a time that was now over, and I grabbed a jumper and a pair of trousers at random before closing the door abruptly. I undid the button of my soaked trousers and let them hit the floor with a thump. I took off all my clothes and didn't bother to dry myself before putting on the clean ones. I didn't check myself in the mirror and left to the kitchen where George and Tomas were waiting for me.
"Sit down, son," the man told me as he approached with a cup of tea that he put before me on the table. He pressed a firm, consoling hand on my shoulder before sitting in front of me.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
I looked at my cup as I stirred its content with a spoon, focusing on the whirl I was creating, unable to remain still.
"Empty..." I finally admitted as I observed Tomas who was playing on his own, not paying attention to us.
"It's okay. You've been through a lot. You need time to adjust. Returning to normal life after what happened to you, it's hard, but you're surrounded. We're here to support you."
"It's probably not worth it. I'm not sure there is something to save about me," I almost whispered as I wrapped my hands around the cup of tea, letting the warmth of the porcelain burn my palms.
"You might think, what does this old fool know about what I went through, but I know a bit. I can get how you feel. I've fought a war too. I've dedicated my life to the cause, I've asserted myself through that, and when it was over, when I had no fight to win anymore, I felt like I did not know who I was, that I had lost myself somewhere along the way," he put words on what I had been feeling for days, the feelings that had choked me for so long.
"All I know is that I'm not the same person anymore."
"I get that. But the Andrew I met the first time my daughter introduced him as her boyfriend, he's still there, inside of you," he reached across the table to press his finger to my chest. "I can see that. Freya too. She knows who you are."
"But how can she help me if she doesn't know what I've been through? Nobody knows. Nobody can understand."
"She needs you to let her in. You can't push people away. You need their help."
"But I don't want her to know those things... I don't want her to share my burden."
"She's your wife for a reason. That's what marriage is about. You don't have to go through that alone."
"Did she tell you what I did to her? What I told her? It's not working anymore. Too many things happened. We were separated for too long..." I let out, ashamed to have harmed the daughter of the man sitting in front of me, the one who had made me promise never to hurt his child.
"You know it's not her fault. It's not Tomas's fault either. But most importantly, it's not your fault," he did not answer my questions, he didn't have to. Instead, he pronounced what I had no idea I needed to hear.
"The way you feel, the way you react. It's not your fault. But you can't let them win!"
"They've already won. They stole my life from me," I didn't believe things could get better.
"You've to take your life back, son. You've got to do that for you, and your family."
I looked down and observed a drop of water fall from my hair to crash on the wooden table. I didn't know what to say, I could only feel that weight on my heart getting bigger. He was right, but I somehow refused to acknowledge it. I could feel his eyes on me, waiting for a reaction, a sign that I was listening, but I would disappoint him. I had nothing to say.
From the corner of my eye, I saw him fumble in his pocket to get a paper, which he unfolded before flattening it on the table so I could see it.
"She gave me this earlier," he said, observing my response. I had recognised the letter I had thrown away in the morning. I looked away, knowing what the rest of the conversation would be about, and I had no desire to discuss that topic.
"Listen," he started carefully. "She didn't ask me to talk to you about that. I'm not trying to tell you what to do, I'm just an old soldier talking to a young one, okay?"
I relaxed a bit in my chair and agreed to listen to him. I respected him. He had always treated me fairly. Although he had that something intimidating about him, because he was my father-in-law, he was wise, understanding and the type of man you felt comfortable speaking to, so, I didn't try to leave and I focused my attention back to him.
"People who stayed here at home, they can't understand what it was like to be on the battlefield. They'll never understand what you've been through, even the closest people in your life, even if they try, they won't even get the slightest idea of how you must feel. I experienced that, the feeling of loneliness, of being misunderstood, the nightmares. I know it all. But you've got something I didn't have at the time. They're acknowledging your suffering. You can get help and try to get your life back."
"You've got everything to be happy. You've got to take that chance before it's too late. My daughter will never leave your side; I know that for a fact. She loves you very much and I know you love her too. You've revealed something in her that I had never seen before. She's still there. You could have lost her, we all could have lost her that day, when she gave birth to our Tommy. We could have lost both, but we still have them in our lives and we're lucky. You've got to make the most of that, enjoy your time with your family, fight for them and for you, because you deserve to be happy together."
I looked down as I felt my eyes fill with tears, hoping George would not notice it. I had learnt through my sisters that Freya had had a complicated delivery, that both her and our son had looked death in the eye. I could have come back to an empty home, grieve for a wife I had left too early and for a son I would have never known. It made me feel even worse about it, knowing I had not been there to support her and share her pain. She had never told me about her suffering, but I could just imagine how she had struggled, and how she was still struggling today because of me.
"So, take that opportunity. There is nothing to be ashamed of; nothing wrong about asking for help. It doesn't make you weak or worthless. It gets some strength to acknowledge you can't do it alone."
I ran a hand across my face, letting his words sink in.
"I'll let you rest now, you must need it," he said as he got up. As he walked past me, he squeezed my shoulder as if to remind me he was there for me.
"You'll get better, son," he declared before ruffling my hair in a comforting fatherly way. "Take care of yourself, will you? And take care of my daughter too."
And with that, he left me with my thoughts, his words echoing in my mind, and when I looked at Tomas, so innocent in his chair, I knew he was right. I was lucky to have a family.
*
I went back home with a lump in my throat, and an overwhelming feeling of defeat. I had not managed to find Andrew. I had looked everywhere, asked James, his parents, his sisters, visited the local pubs, the parks... but nobody had seen him, and I felt terribly guilty knowing I was the one who had told him to leave. I had been so stupid to take it that way and not try to be wiser, remember he needed help. I was scared, I just wanted him back, I needed to know he was okay and not alone. He could not be alone, not considering his state.
It was getting darker outside, and the rain had not decided to stop, as if the world was against us, reminding me how cruel life could be. I felt like standing alone against the universe, unnoticed, unheard; and that feeling of loneliness was only increased by the silence that filled our flat. It should have warned me as soon as I had stepped in, but my mind was elsewhere and I only noticed it later that my father's jacket was not hung in the entrance anymore, and that his hat was not on the table where he had put it.
My heart skipped a beat. He was supposed to look after Tomas. I had asked him to stay with my son, so if he was not there, it meant something had happened. Maybe something bad. Or it meant someone else was home. Fuelled by hope, I hurried to the back of the flat, where I finally saw light coming out of our room, and when I caught sight of them, I held back a sob, deeply moved by the scene unfolding before my eyes. Andrew had taken him to our room and they were both asleep in our bed; my husband settled against the headboard, his eyes closed and his features finally relaxed. A children's book was open at his side, and my son was nestled in his arms, sleeping against his chest. There, both sound asleep, they formed the picture I had always wanted to see since I had known I was pregnant. It was the dream I had secretly kept to help me go on when Andrew had been missing. The hope I had nurtured when he had come back home. And there, unexpectedly, my wish had been fulfilled. The two most important people in my life had tamed one another. After weeks of ups and downs, of worries and struggles, the dark clouds had dispersed to let a patch of blue sky appear, and yet, I hurt.
That feeling of relief was stifled by all the fears, wounds and concerns I had repressed and that now overwhelmed me, taking advantage of my weakness, the fact that I had finally lowered my defences. I turned around and ran away, finding refuge in the kitchen, where I could let my tears run freely. We had told the worst things to each other that day, things we had immediately regretted but that we would never forget. War was vicious, it changed people forever and damaged the souls. It continued even when it was over, creeping into the lives of soldiers and their families, driving them apart. I had no idea how to behave with my husband anymore. I couldn't predict what his mood would be from one minute to the other, and even if I knew it wasn't his fault, I selfishly hoped he would try to get better.
His tall frame appearing at the door startled me and I instantly turned my back to him to hide my swollen, reddened face. I didn't want him to feel responsible for my tears. I shouldn't have been surprised to see him there, he had become a very light sleeper. I should have been surprised that I had not woken him up earlier instead.
He approached me, slowly, carefully, not knowing if I wanted to see him, and I cowered, for fear I would fall into pieces the moment he would touch me.
"Come here," he implored me, his voice cracked with remorse, but I couldn't move. The sound of his voice only triggered a sob in response.
"Come here," he repeated as he delicately reached for me to draw me in his arms, crushed to see me so sad.
He wrapped me in his embrace, pressing me so close to him, and I dissolved in tears the moment I smell his perfume. I clung to his jumper and buried my face in his chest as I could not control the sobs shaking my body nor the tears dampening his clothes.
"I'm sorry," he stroked my hair before pressing his cheek to the top of my head. "I know I've been saying sorry a lot lately, as if it's the only word I know, but I truly am sorry. I didn't mean what I told you. Marrying you was the best decision I could have ever made. You're the best thing in my life. When held captive in that camp, all I could think about was you. It was only you and it's always been you. You're the reason I'm here today, love."
It was the first time since his returned that he greeted me with a sweet name, that he didn't call me Freya, as if he didn't know me. It was him I had with me at that moment, my husband, not the stranger.
"You need to let me in," I finally managed to utter something. "I'm here for you. I'm your wife."
"I know," he sighed as he tightened his embrace.
"Whether you like it or not," I added on a more playful tone to let him know I was not mad.
"Well, I should be the one to say that," he snorted. "You're the one who's to deal with me."
"Yeah, then let me deal with you. Let me help you."
"I will. It's just... I wanted to protect you from all this."
"You don't have to... I can see it consumes you, and I don't want to lose you a second time," I whispered against his chest.
"I know. I promise I'll do everything I can to feel better. I don't want to lose you either. I'll be a better husband. And a better father. I want to be there for our son. I want you both to be happy," he confessed in a low voice before he kissed the top of my head, burying his face in my hair as if to reassure himself. I could hear his heart beating fast in his chest. I knew he was scared, and I knew it had asked for a lot of strength for him to lay himself bare in front of me, to acknowledge he was not the invincible soldier he had convinced himself he was during the war in order not to lose his mind. He had learnt to never show his weaknesses.
"I'll do it, love. I'll go there. I'll seek help."
-
Alright, this one was a long one. And it's probably not my best so I apologise. Lots of angry dialogues and swearing, and yelling at each other. I've spent so much time writing everything, rewriting and proofreading the whole thing, that I don't even know if I like the result or not haha.
As you can see, there isn't a big development compared to the previous chapter, it's just that things get worse in a way. Our boy Collins is still struggling and his friendship with James is not at its best. (Sorry #teamFarrier). I know Andrew can be super mean, but don't hate him, he's not doing that on purpose. He needs a little help.
Please tell me if you liked it by voting <3 and you can always share your thoughts in the comments :) I really hope you still enjoy that story, even after 34 chapters!
See you soon for Chapter 35, aka the last chapter of From Where I Stand :(
And thank you for reading!