ACHES

28. honeymoon

"Who was it?" I asked, finding him slumped over his guitar in the living room. My face was still wet, salt drying on my cheekbones.

He shrugged, "Nobody."

"Do I know her?" I felt as if I was standing before the sea, my ankles submerged in sand and the pulsing waves. He was far, far away. He could have been a siren, or a beam of light. It would be exhausting to swim to him either way.

He shook his head, staring at the floor. His eyelids fluttered, his cheeks looked warm.

I let out a thin breath, "Who was it, Matty?"

"It doesn't matter," he glowered at the hardwood. "I don't give a fuck about her. I never wanted anything to happen."

"Alright," I mumbled. I didn't have the energy to pry the information from him. I didn't want to know, anyways.

"I wasn't interested in her. I was just," he clasped his hands together, "I was just missing you."

"Okay," I said. I didn't believe him, or trust him, or understand what he was saying. I opened a bottle of wine, filling a glass. He wandered into the kitchen, sitting at the island. He watched me from the corner of his eye, eyes flitting to his hands when I looked in his direction.

I couldn't slow my heart.

I sat beside him, tilting my glass until it was empty. I filled it again. He picked up the bottle suddenly, throwing his head back and guzzling. I blinked, watching him empty the bottle down his throat.

"Half a bottle each is fair, don't you think?" He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. I stifled a smile, my chest still feeling empty. My heart echoed weakly in the hollow of it.

He reached his hand across the counter, covering mine.

"Let's go for a walk, sweetheart."

I followed him quietly, the summer evening quickly slipping into a heavy night. It was humid, and the air stuck to my skin.

"You know where we're going, don't you?" He murmured. His heels scratched into the pavement. I nodded, the orange street lamps passing over us. He turned into the park, our hands twisted together. He sat on our bench, pulling me onto his lap. I leaned into him.

"I trusted you from the moment I met you," I whispered. "You were a little shy at first."

He smiled, brushing his thumb over my cheek.

"I needed you," I sighed. "I still need you."

"I know," he kissed my cheek gently.

"You can't leave me," I said, realizing I was begging. "I can't do it alone."

"I'm not leaving you," he shook his head, bringing his forehead to mine. "Never."

"I don't mean just physically," I held his wrist. His palm was pressed to my thready pulse in my neck. "You can't check out on me."

"I won't," he said. "I won't."

I swallowed, "It was Jenna, right?"

He pulled back, and I saw the guilt swimming in his eyes.

"She kissed you?" A hot tear fell from my cheek, sliding down my neck. He nodded. I dropped my head to his shoulder.

"It was after I..." he trailed off, voice thick and rocky. I knew what he meant. "I just wanted you back. She's your only friend, I–" He choked, taking a breath. "I didn't know who else to ask."

"Ask what?"

"If you were okay," he mumbled. "To ask how long you had been this sad."

"What did she say?"

"She said she hadn't seen you," he picked at his cuticle. He shook his head, "She's a shit friend, sweetheart."

"So you kissed her?" I tried not to scream it. "I don't get it."

"I was drunk, and I asked her if she thought I deserved you," he looked at me, heart spilling out of his wrists. "She said she didn't know."

I nodded. He frowned and sighed, agitated.

"And why the fuck would she know?" He raked a hand through his hair. "I know you. I know us. It's my fault, I neglected you, I assumed you would be alright, I asked you to marry me and then fucked off overseas for months. It's my fault. I let you forget how love feels."

I kissed him. Because I missed him. Because it was worth it, being with him. Because when he was home, he eclipsed the emptiness in my chest. He was everything good.

He kissed me because he loved me, and that was always enough.

"Let's get married tomorrow," he cupped my face. "Let's sign the papers at the courthouse, I don't care. Just you and me, like it's always been."

I could only nod, listening to the crickets cry. The stars crackled above us, far, far, far above us.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

"Here," he handed me a ripped page, folded into a tattered square.

"What's this?" I asked, thumbs pressed into the familiar, soft paper. From his notebook, I was certain.

"Honeymoon gift," he winked. Then bit his thumbnail, eyelids fluttering.

"Is this my song?" I gasped, unfolding the note.

"It could be," he sat back on the couch against the armrest, my feet on his lap. "It's just ideas for now."

"Couldn't pick a melody?" I laughed, skimming over the page.

"Couldn't get it to fucking rhyme."

I giggled, "Should I read it out loud?"

"Absolutely not," he said, eyes wide. I waved him off, reading his desperate handwriting. He had written my name, Sweetheart, in careful letters at the top of the page.

When I can't sleep

I think of you,

Always sleeping

Pulled so quickly to peace

While I seem to

Thrash against the line

I think of you with your eyes closed and jaw slack

With your hair in every direction

With your dreams pulsing through your veins

I remember

Your hand on my back

My mouth, then your mouth

Doubled joys and halved heartaches

Your hand on my back

To remind me that, really, there is nothing behind me

And that – really –

I am completely sane

And I am so glad

That love is nothing at all what I expected

And that I dream of everyone but you.