Beautiful Girl

Forty Two

The darkness has fallen outside their little world. Shadows have crept through the window inside this room.

'What happens when I hug someone else in front of you? Will you cast me out and make me an orphan again?'

'Never,'  he answers at once. 'I can manage my shit now. I even have a therapist.  Stellar dude, questionable methods of therapy. He had me write letters  to you. Daily.'

'Where are these letters and why have I not received them?'

'I  thought you would tear them at once without reading, so I didn't send  any. There are diaries worth of things that I have written to you...' he  confesses like an overburdened sinner, but she is all too aware of his patterns.

'You're deflecting. Will you throw me away again in a fit of jealousy?' she queries mildly.

He purses his lips and it takes him a very long moment to respond.

'I'll  be a beast. I will be your beast. I will be jealous. I will always be jealous of any man who gets to be near you, who gets to touch you, but I won't let  silence and distance creep between us. I haven't turned into a  saint, my love. I will kneel for you, I will crawl for you, I will beg  for your affection...but I will also let my jealousy mark you. I will  fight with you; I will apologize to you. Even when you're angry with me,  we will sleep in our bed—you will sleep in my arms, and I will cling to  you because at the end of the day, what holds true is that  you're mine, and I am yours...'

Somehow she is supine on the sheets and he is half-draped over her, their legs tangled together.

"Why don't you just say you'd prefer I experience everything with you? Why this charade, darling? This farce of being magnanimous? You'd really let me have dalliances with people who aren't you?" she whispers, her hands on his chest as she lays a soft kiss on the edge of his jaw. He stiffens, and she almost giggles at the deer-in-the-headlights look he wears.

'What will you have me do? Will you take me back without exacting your pound of flesh? Will you let me crawl into your life just like that? Without breaking my heart?' he asks her.

'Do you want me to?' she parries.

'Will you if I do?' he counters.

She reaches up, winding her arms around his neck and then she whispers into his ears, 'Will you fuck me right now if I ask, Arnav?'

He flips them in a heartbeat and now, she is the one who is lying all over him. 'You only want me for my body?' he teases as he nuzzles into her neck, playful again.

'And other things,' she replies as she threads her fingers through his hair. 'I like your curls. They suit you.'

'I don't like this emaciated look you're sporting,' he tells her as his hands run over her back, noting how her bones are sharper than before.

'This is fashion—it's called being fit. I even have abs,' she tells him proudly.

'I like flesh on your bones, jailbait. I like your cheeks rounder and your stomach a little soft.'

'You're a very old fashioned man—practically a neanderthal,' she grumbles.

'But you like this neanderthal, don't you, my love?'

'A little,' she deflects. 'Will you cook for me?'

'Are you not angry with me anymore?'

'I am temporarily appeased. You might offer me sustenance to extend the period of appeasement.'

'What do you wanna eat?' he asks as he sits up. She's still in his arms. Maybe he is making up for the lost time, but she finds that she also doesn't wanna let go. He was always her refuge...her home. To have it all back—the strength of his arms when he picks her up, the warmth of his back when she clings to him—she missed it more than she could ever put it in words.