Holy Ground

Part 4

A month had passed and the dates continued. I'd take her to a small restaurant, we'd share wine and stories I already knew all about, before I had to take her back to the hospital and sleep by myself yet again.

She was making progress, they'd tell me. She was starting to remember things about her past, what happened to her parents, knowledge she had gained whilst in college. Even the name of some of her favorite students.

Nothing about me. Well, nothing of substance, anyway. Nothing that would make her realize we've been through all of this before, all of the first dates, first touches and kisses... So we kept on reliving it, and I kept hoping it would help her remember.

A month had passed and the doctors finally decided she could go home with me. We introduced her to the idea through a nice nurse that had become sort of a friend to her ever since she woke up.

From what I heard, she asked my wife if she'd like to spend the night with me after one of those dates we kept having, and after a fit of giggles, she admitted that she did. And so that night, when I picked her up, I knew there was the possibility that I might not be sleeping alone tonight.

I couldn't really focus on that thought. I didn't want to create expectations only to be left feeling empty and alone when I got back to that large, cold bed. And so I focused on her, on how happy she seemed to be, spending time with me.

I took her dancing that night, and it'd been so long since I'd seen her look so ecstatic. She'd always loved to dance, and I loved any excuse to have her body tightly pressed against mine. But even when I had to step away to get us drinks, she kept her body slowly moving to the beat of the song, smiling with her whole face when her eyes met mine.

I never wanted her to stop dancing. But when she looked up at me from under her eyelashes, gaze so uncharacteristically shy, I couldn't stop myself from licking my lips at her quiet invite.

"Do you want to take me home?" She couldn't understand the impact those words had on me. Home. She wanted me to take her home. We couldn't arrive there fast enough. I watched with intense gaze as she stepped foot in the house we'd decorated together, taking notice of the way her eyes looked at the details, the paintings she had chosen, the colors of the wall we had painted together.

I'd fucked her right on the floor of this living room more times that I could count.

"Do you like it?" I asked, and she nodded somewhat timidly, like she didn't think she fit there somehow. The thought concerned me almost as much as it infuriated me. "Do you want a glass of wine?"

When she shook her head, I smiled patiently at her, waiting for her smaller frame to approach me so I could cradle her face between my hands. "Do you want to go upstairs?" This time she nodded, even though my question was barely over a whisper. We were close enough for her to understand it.

I kissed her then, eager to touch her, to taste her lips and caress her body. I absentmindedly thanked myself for the fit of rage that had me breaking all of the picture frames inside the house weeks ago. That moment of vulnerability stopped me from freaking her out tonight.

She hid her face in the crook of my neck as I carried us upstairs, just like she always did whenever we were going to bed - both to sleep and not at all. And then, after I'd put her down on the floor and reached for the edge of her dress, she stopped my movement with a gentle hold on my wrist.

"I-I've never done this before." And it hurt. It hurt because she had, I'd been the one to take her virginity a few years ago. The memories from that time flashed before my eyes as I looked at the face of the woman I loved and saw another version of her, one that I'd yet to uncover. "But I really want to do this with you."