The Boy with the Whiplash Tattoo

Four

I'd begun to doze off again when I was woken by a grip around my hand. Freezing, terror filling my vision, I stared in horror down at Aaron's face.

But his eyes were shut tight and his breathing shallow and regular. He was still asleep.

The touch of his hand was warm and dry and soft. A gentle grip, full of promise. He squeezed my fingers softly, and my heart fluttered, but I scolded it and reminded myself that he was asleep. He had no idea who was holding him and I had probably just become a comforting yet muddled part of his dream.

This was the closest we'd ever been, he'd never touched me before. We didn't kiss on our wedding day, and he wouldn't even hold my hand. We did it in an registrar office, and nobody in those places cared about things as important as tradition, or happiness.

I didn't even have a ring.

I fell asleep with my back to the wall and my head leaning dangerously close to his face.

The next morning I woke in bed, with the blanket tucked around me. I cursed myself for not waking before him. I didn't want him to know what I'd done. Now he would just hate me more.

He wasn't in the house, and I set to making breakfast alone.

At least my stupidity had accomplished one thing. He'd gone out for the first time since we were married.

For some reason, without him there, the house seemed emptier. I didn't want to admit it, but I had grown used to his presence, and now the loneliness echoed deeper inside my chest.

The front door opened, and I had to fight to keep a grin from spreading across my face. But then I remembered the night before, and the smile disappeared of its own accord.

"Good morning," I said, and didn't look at him.

My heart was pounding. Maybe he would kick me out, or hurt me, or worse-maybe he would never talk to or look at me again. Not that he really did anyway.

He grunted.

"I made your breakfast."

I looked at him hopefully. He didn't return my gaze but he did say, very softly so I almost thought I misheard,

"Thank you."

Why? Why did those simple normal everyday words make my soul and heart sing when they came from him.

I knew the answer.

Because I wanted to believe that I was forgiven, or at least that there was hope.