We said goodbye to the guys and everyone else at the airport and headed to the car which was already waiting for us. Chris had been silent and pensive the rest of the flight and so I did not bother him. The mood, however, seemed less tense, or at least that’s how I had perceived it, or was it maybe my optimistic desire to mend our rift that made me feel that way?
Chris walked next to me to the car; he clutched his bag tightly to him, as a child does with his blankie. The chauffeur spotted us and opened the door, we thanked him and my husband signaled for me to get in first.
“Thanks.”
“No worries,” he said climbing in after me.
He placed his bag on the floor of the vehicle and rested his head back, blinking rapidly before exhaling a long breath. I sensed something was not entirely all right, I glanced at him attentively, scrutinising him, but he just lay there.
“Are you okay, Chris?” I asked quietly, shifting a bit on the seat so I was facing him. He kept his eyes shut as he breathed in and out steadily, as if he was trying to collect himself.
“Yeah,” his voice cracked from the exertion of the show and so he cleared his throat, “Yeah,” he repeated clearer, “Just a bit tired, Jonny,” he whispered.
My eyes stayed on him for a few more seconds, but he remained the way he was. I sat back down, wondering what was wrong with him, besides the obvious of our argument. He did not seem angry, he had been tired, but there had been no trace of annoyance or contempt in his voice when he had addressed me and it raised my attention and sparked my curiosity.
Please, let him be alright.
He looked vulnerable and a wave of protectiveness surged within me. Still unsure of where I stood with Chris, I did not reach out to him as I would have done had the situation been different.
As we drove further into the city, he seemed to have achieved some balance, his eyes were open now, but they were dull, unfocused. Anguish was clearly set upon his handsome features.
Had I done this to him? I wondered, a lump formed in my own throat. How I longed to reach my hand out, to touch his fingers, to envelope him in a hug, to feel his arms securely around me.
I sighed. His eyes turned to me for a second before returning to gaze somewhere outside the window.
I remembered when these trips back home used to be filled with tension, but of a more intimate kind. We would usually head straight for the shower and laugh, play and make love there or in our bedroom before finally settling for some quiet time and finally sleep.
The closer we got to our home, the more upset Chris looked, I was puzzled. His eyes would shut tightly, his knees would bounce and he would bite his lips. I don’t think the chauffeur noticed anything strange with Chris, to anybody, it would just seem like a fatigued person, but I knew better. This Chris resembled a bit more the one who had cuddled me and the one that had crept into my bed one night when we were still not dating because he had had a disturbing dream and needed comfort, than the one that had stood in front of me accusing me of not facing the problems in our relationship, accusing me of not trusting him. Sad as he seemed to be at the moment, I liked this Chris better.
We arrived shortly after and we both thanked our driver for the ride before getting off the car and heading to our front gate.
“I’ve got my key here,” I informed him in a hushed voice. He nodded and waited for me to grant us access to our home. Once inside, we walked the short distance and I also unlocked the front door and let Chris in first; I followed him into the dark hall and flicked the lights on while closing the black wooden door.
