While You Were Away ✈ (On Edition)

02. Count Vronsky

"Fuck you, Aaron Johnson!" I squirm, kicking a fist as I lay on the bed, waiting for the meant-to-calm Seven Blossoms tea Louise is fixing me. She says hot mugs are the only source of peace I can find outside Aaron Johnson's arms... Well, guess what? Tea do shit. Nothing in this world but the source of my troubles (ironic, isn't it?) can make me feel better. Maybe tea can put my mind at ease, but the pain in my chest, it can only be soothed by he who caused it. Aaron is both my saviour and my tormentor, and I hate him for that.

I refuse to accept the fight was my fault, but neither can I blame it all on him. Aaron might be a dad, but I know he worries for me and Louise. He's done so much to help Louis, he's paid his rehab, his debts, even the rent of his apartment; he's witness at first hand how drugs destroyed Louis so I understand why he exploded in such a way. However, the stubborn little shit didn't even listen to my reasons nor the fact I smoked only one fucking time. He didn't even spare me a few minutes of his precious time in order to explain farther and tell him the ridiculous attempt concluded with Louise crying in my arms --after the first smoke-- cursing at Louis and their love.

Nonetheless, in a very, very, very, very deep corner of my heart, I feel guilty. At the end of the day, I was the one who spat the hurtful words, he never said a word that aimed to bruise me. It's not that I'm too young for him, he's only older for a year, but I guess he's used to behaving like a grown up. He's a father of two and married to an old witch, perhaps that's why he acts like my youth-lacking great grandfather.

For Christ's sake! He is twenty-five years old and he bosses me around as if I were a toddler. An average young man doesn't act in such a way unless he is married to a hideous, fifty-one years old woman. Hence, it's all Mrs Big Nose fault. Settled.

I hate her guts for so many reasons I could even make a list on it:

1). She's married to A.

2). She's married to Aaron.

3). She's married to the LOVE OF MY LIFE.

But whatever, let's not drift into thoughts of that woman. The point is, he drove all the way from London to Manchester, just to spend a rainy night with me and I acted like a complete witch. How do I dare to call his wife a witch if I act the same? Stupid, stupid Harper.

"You're watching it again?" Louise snorts, handing me the steaming cuppa with a smile on her face.

"Yes," I murmur, gloomy, the tea flowing down my throat. It's hot but tasty, and it reminds me of him. I shake off the thought. "Again."

"You're one of a kind," Louise comments, taking a seat beside me on the bed.

I want to reply 'That's what Aaron says', but I opt to reserve it, avoiding to show my skills at melodrama. Yeah, I might feel a little sad --maybe depressed even-- but I don't want to give too much away, not more than I already had. Besides, Anna Karenina is my favourite movie and it helps me to cheer up, just like tea. It doesn't matter if I'd play it twice since Aaron left.

The book is great too, I read it last Christmas. Somehow I feel connected to it, you know? I remember dad urging me to read it when I was a teen and I declining his offer every time, but when a year ago I acknowledged it narrates the story of a girl falling in love so deeply to abandon her husband and son, I ordered it right away at Amazon.

Count Vronsky is pure bliss, his personality fascinates me to another extent. He is the kind of gentleman I'd fall for over heels, so quiet, classy and elegant...

<<So Aaron>>, my bothersome subconscious interrupts.

Count Vronsky is not like Aaron, he wishes! They look alike because is Aaron's damn face and that's the only thing they have in common. Period. Now Miss Subconscious, shut up and let me watch the movie. Thank you very much.

Great, Harper, just great, now you're throwing tantrums and fighting with yourself.

"I love the dance scene," I say, hypnotized by the way Aaron's hands moves, how delicate is his touch on Kiera, how badly I want to be inside that TV, dancing with the man I love.

"Me too," Louise answers, marvelled as well. "If Aaron were my boyfriend I'd watch his movies all the time, too. He's so handsome."

"The most handsome," I concede. By far, his Count Vronsky look is my favourite.

"Thank you," a voice utters. His voice. My eyes dart toward Louise, who's just as astonished as me. The only difference between our stares is that hers is directed to the doorway.

Knowing well who's standing there I gulp, too nervous to turn around. Without making a sound, Louise leaves the room, patting Aaron's shoulders in a friendly manner on her way out.

I tighten the grip on the mug, looking down at its orangy colour in an attempt to calm my nerves. Tears are threatening to fall but I force them to stay hidden as I listen to his footsteps growing closer. Aaron sits in front of me, uncertain eyes looking for mine. When I look up, I murmur, "You're back."

"I had to," he says. "Driving away felt so wrong."

His fingers long for mine and grab them, securing my hands with his. As his thumb runs over my knuckles, I notice the watery look in his orbs and the shadow of relief across his features. Messier than usual, his curls tickle my nose, proving to myself that this isn't a lack of sleep delusion, much less a dream with Count Vronsky.

"You're back," I repeat, this time between tears. Silly as always.

He nods without a word, coming closer, locking our lips. It's criminal, passionate yet sweet and slow, fluttering with affection and care. As the world vanishes around us, the sound of thunders and raindrops cease, they collapse in a heartbeat, our heartbeat, pounding impossibly fast, racing each other. A kind of desperate conversation, one we couldn't have with words.

"I'm sorry," I whisper on his lips.

Aaron rests his forehead on mine, "Me too." Distancing our temples, Aaron looks me dead in the eye, "Please don't do that again. Ever."

With a promise, I agree to his request. Once the mood has cheered up, I throw myself into his arms, snuggling by his side, "I can't believe you're here this late. Your wife will kill you."

Wordless, Aaron grabs my legs bridal-style and lies me on his lap. He's cradling me like a baby, playful, pampering my cheeks with kisses and my ears with laughs. Then he pecks my forehead, lingering his lips on the skin prior to look down in seek for my eyes.

When our gazes merge, his calloused fingertip on my lower lip, he speaks, "Listen to me, Harper. To me, you are my wife."