Diamonds Dancing

Forty Eight

He was dying.

He was sure of it. The excruciating pain could not be described or explained in a matter of seconds for it was everywhere. Crawling up his body, sinking into his veins and blackening his damaged brain.

He couldn't breathe, despite the air flowing in and out of his lively body, he was suffocating,

The last time he remembered feeling so low was approximately one year and two months ago. The very day she passed away and left him to rot in his own personal hell.

Fucking hell, he thought.

He hadn't given her death much thought as of late until he was noticed that his lungs were collapsing on him again. He was slowly dying and she wasn't the one person stuck on his mind that he wished would save him from himself.

Not anymore.

It had been over a year since her passing, he felt that terrible guilt spread like a wildfire. It had been over a year that he stopped fighting and let the demons win.

As he stared at her delicate features, eyes closed and brows lifted in a deep slumber, he felt that god awful pain squeeze his heart tighter.

Only a fucking year and he had done the one thing he swore never to do.

Every time her eyelashes fluttered against his bare chest, he became hyper-focused on her shallow breathing.

She had stayed.

That was a no brainer, given the fact, the kids were fast asleep by they reached the manor. He didn't bother for the small talk, or any talk for that matter as the silent arrangement between them spoke for itself.

She was staying with him for now, and they would decide the rest in the morning.

It had been eight months since he saw the first glimpse of revival. Eight months since he met a complete stranger who affected him in more ways than one.

He laid there the entire night, wide awake. Even when his eyes started to burn and his vision became hazy as dawn crept in through the sheer curtains, he couldn't seem to close his heavy lids.

The ex-nanny was curled against him, sleeping in one of his old t-shirts.

He made note of the odd twitching of her left eyebrow, and the random nose scrunch she did. She gave a happy sigh as she melted further into his warm embrace.

Rika Sato-Johnson fit perfectly against him. His fingers tangled in her obsidian locks, weaving in and out as he stroked her head in slow motions.

This was the same woman that came to the hospital for him with silly homemade meals. The same woman who refused to give up on him. And here she was, in his bed—in his arms.

It felt right, as if she belonged there.

She had stayed, he swallowed back the overwhelming thought.

He had said some things he wished he could take back and never let escape from his mouth. All because he was bitter and angry.

Angry at himself for moving on so quickly. Bitter that someone could barge into their lives so easily and not realise the mark they had left.

He slowly trailed his hands down, digging his palms into her skin gently, then back up, just as slowly. Light spilt into the room as the morning sun grew bigger and bigger.

"Mm.. That feels nice.." She croaked, penetrating his racing thoughts with her soft-spoken voice. The back rub was quite clearly working.