Burn the Pages

let me be myself.

I already know what he's going to say. I can hear the floorboards creaking and his footsteps padding closer but for just one more moment, I don't want this to end. Because for the first time in a long time, my thoughts are still and I am at ease. It's something like I've always wanted. I've always wanted to find the "off" switch in the back of my mind and turn my brain off so I can just relax and be me without a million things running through my mind. I've found that. So despite the fact that I already know what he's going to say when he gets in here, I'm going to try and pretend that I don't. Just so I can keep this moment in time.

If this is all I ever do, I don't think I mind. If the only thing I ever do is stand in the kitchen in front of the window with all the lights turned off, watching raindrops trickle down the window glass... well I can die happy.

"B..." his voice is behind me, but I don't move. I don't want him to know I heard him. At least not yet.

"Hey B." He tries again but still nothing from me.

It's kind of scary how well I know him. How I know that right now, he's rubbing his eyes while he yawns and drags his house slipper feet along the hardwood. How I know that he rolled over and instantly sprang up as soon as his arm felt the empty sheets beside him.

He knew where I'd be. On nights like this, this is where I always am, in my pajamas with a warm cup of tea, standing in front of the biggest window in the house and just watching the raindrops as they fall. The more I think about it the more annoyed I get because just once I'd love for him to just leave me be. For once I'd like to come down here, watch the rain and not live with the lurking knowledge that he's going to come down at any moment and insist that I come back to bed. It's not like this is new behavior. It's not like he's still trying to learn me. We've been together three years, married for two and a half. If he doesn't know me by now, I don't think he ever will.

And at that thought, my lips tug at the corners. Maybe I should be a comedian. I'm a lot funnier than I give myself credit for. Because if there's anybody on this earth who knows that you never truly know who you marry, it's me. Maybe I should excuse him coming down here to drag me back to the bed. Maybe I understand that he doesn't know if I'll come back or not. Maybe he really is still trying to get to know me. And maybe, just maybe --

"Brooke," his sleepy voice is absolutely mesmerizing. It shoots a chill straight up my spine as soon as I feel his lips blow breath onto the skin on the back of my neck. Hands. His hands. Wrapped around my waist. And next, lips. His lips lightly pressed to my temple. "Shoulda known you'd be down here. Weatherman called for a thunderstorm earlier." Another kiss. "Come back to bed."

"I can't sleep." My voice comes out softer than I expected it to. It feels like he shouldn't have been able to hear it. It feels like it should've shattered in the air. But I know he heard. I know he did. Because if he's not good for anything else, he's good for listening to me.

"But I know you're tired." His fingertips graze the bare skin on my hips. Back and forth, back and forth. His thumbs play with the waistband of my pajama pants, peels the elastic back, then lets it snap back against my hips. "You were up at like six this morning."

"I took a nap around noon."

"Yeah?" he asks and I nod. "What else did you do while I was gone?"

"Nothing."

I don't think I should've lied. That's the one thing he's asked of me, through it all. All he's ever asked was for me to be honest with him and never tell him a lie yet here I am, lying to his face. But how do I tell him what I did? How do I turn around, face him and tell him that I wrote a letter? A letter addressed to someone I don't even know anymore, someone I think he might have gotten rid of? How do I turn around and tell him that the letter was part of the counseling I signed myself up for?