He looks at me and nods in silent encouragement. My hands tremble as I hold the phone. Will the quaking never cease? I close my eyes trying to find the courage, the strength to do what I know must be done.
Breathing deeply in an attempt to get control over my body I create a new text message. With tears in my eyes I begin to type in his name. Why am I always crying? Is it simply fear, or is it also regret wetting my cheeks? There had been so many possibilities; I had been filled with hope for the future. Now all my dreams are gone, vanished into nothingness like they had never existed.
This is all too much to handle. I can’t do this.
But I must.
And so I type:
Sorry I took off. I was confused but I must have been crazy to leave. I love you. Can you forgive me? I need to see you again.
I add a heart emoji and hit send. Is this enough to convince him? Waiting for him to respond, the anticipation almost crushes me.
I can’t take my eyes off my phone, but for some reason it’s getting blurry. Spots dance in front of my eyes but I’m unable to look away. Suddenly I feel strong arms around me, pulling me close, embracing me tightly enough to calm the shaking.
It’s my protector, my hero. He has done so much for me, there’s no way I could ever repay his kindness. And yet it’s impossible for me to trust him. He doesn’t need the money, so why is he really helping me? What is his agenda? What’s in it for him? Why is he still here?
With the phone pressed between us I’m finally freed from my fixation. My mind wanders in unexpected directions as his hand brushes soothingly over my hair. Is it possible that he is as generous, as compassionate as he seems? There has to be more, doesn’t there? I’ve only known him a few days. It’s too soon to believe he’s the kind of person he appears to be.
It feels so good to be protected this way though. To be able to depend on his strength when mine has become so fragile is such a relief. I can’t bear the thought of losing it. Not now, maybe not ever.
The ding of a text message interrupts my meandering speculation. For a minute neither of us moves. I’m terrified of his response. The arms squeeze me one last time before releasing me.
Glancing at the screen my stomach drops in alarm as I read what he has written.
This post is in response to the daily writing prompt Anticipation and is part of something longer I am working on.