I have never begged anyone to stay,
But I said please that day.
We can work this out.
I have never prayed for anything so badly,
but I remember begging the universe that if it could hear me somehow,
all I want is a chance to make it work.
'I can't'...
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Sicily was incredible, especially those last three days with Roman around-it felt like the honeymoon we never had. Funny enough, having family and friends there just added to the magic of it all.
But as perfect as it was, I was ready to get back home.
To settle back into our lives and figure out what our future together will look like in the wake of everything that happened recently.
Although I wasn't here during the whole ordeal with Lucian, the aftermath of it still lingered around us, in occasional news stories about it, or the hushed conversations that people would have about it occasionally.
Being back has also brought some old concerns with it. In Sicily, Roman's nightmares seemed to fade after that first night he arrived, but now they've returned. The first night back, he woke up breathless, his face shadowed with whatever was haunting him.
"Roman..." I whispered with concern.
"It's nothing. Go back to sleep," he muttered almost angrily, grabbing a shirt and slipping out of the room. I couldn't quite tell if his frustration was directed at himself that the dreams returned or if he felt a sense of embarrassment about it altogether.
After a few moments, I got up too and found him in the living room, staring out the window with a bottle of water by his side.
I sat down next to him, leaving a bit of space, letting the quiet fill the room around us.
I know abit too well about PTSD, about nightmares and anxiety...time and support from family and professionals at different points in my life helped me get through it...I hope time will work for him, because I know he is too proud to seek help.
"For someone who's seen so much death, you'd think I'd be used to it by now" he said softly, his gaze distant.
"It was different. He was your family. it's okay to feel bad about it." I replied gently.
"Even after everything he did?" he asked.
"Even after what he did..I never wished death on him..not like that anyway..and certainly not with you standing there so it can traumatize you." I said.
"You know he had a gun pointed at my head. twice...The second time..he was going to do it. He was going to shoot me. The look in his eyes..he was going to do it..so when I heard a gun go off......" he trailed off.
I reached for his hand and clasped it in mine.
"You should probably talk to someone about this." I suggested, again.
He smiled a little. "I'm talking to you, aren't I?"
"I'm no professional." I laughed, and he pulled me onto his lap so I sat sideways.
"I don't need a professional....just you." he said.
