Despite It All
© 2001
by Patti

Thanks to NK for helping me with this.
*

It stung. A lot. So much that as hard as I try to focus on your brown eyes in front of me, my vision becomes clouded by a film of some unfamiliar, clear, liquid.

Tears. Shit. It had been years since I cried.

Blinking, I try in vain to clear my sight -- struggling to look into those brown eyes The emotion that fills them circles around, in a monochromatic kaleidoscope . This isn’t the first time you’ve hit me, but it certainly was the hardest. I close my eyes -- nailed to the floor -- and lamely try to figure out how we became what we are now.

I was late. Four ˝ hours late. And I didn’t call. I had to stay late at work -- another avoidable problem that had earlier been overlooked. But when the shit hit the fan at the last minute -- of course -- I was the one who had to fix it.

On the drive home all my thoughts went to how much I was looking forward to losing myself in those brown eyes of yours. How I longed for you to run your fingers through my hair…to touch my face in that way of yours, that lets me know that it’ll all be okay. I wanted to hear your words, soft on my neck as we fell asleep in each other’s arms.

I was met with all of that.

The swiftness of your hand meeting my cheek as I walked through the door was unbelievable. The crack that echoed throughout the house was heard echoing in the room. As I tried to push you away, the feel of your long fingers gripping my hair, pulling me closer to your hot, panting, mouth drew me closer to you.

“You’re fucking late. Four and a fucking half hours late. You didn’t call. Where were you? What were you doing? Who were you with!?”

Being so close, I could hear the worry in your words. The worry and fear that I had put there. I scared you that night. I…I fucked up. Fucked up good.

I clung to you—so afraid that you would leave me, I gripped you as tightly as I could.

Who else would want me -- you asked me that hundreds of times. Who else would put up with all my shit? Who else could deal with my laziness, and my irresponsibility -- my weakness and my stupidity and everything else?

No one--just you. Because you love me that much. You are amazing.

I lick my lips and a sharp, metallic, saltiness invades my tongue. Slowly, I open my eyes and try so hard to look into your pools of brown but I’m too ashamed. I’ve done it again.

I look down at my shirt and see the streams of red from my face. Wiping my nose I wish I had a tissue—I wish didn’t act like this so you wouldn’t worry so much.

The vermilion streaks that adorn my trembling hand do nothing but remind me of how much I love you.

And how lucky I am that you love me back.

There’s a nudge at my palm and I see you pushing a small tissue into my hand. I look up and see matching tears on your face. Oh baby, I’m so sorry I fucked up.

“JC”, you whisper, moving closer to me, arms outstretched. I can’t help but smile.

“I’m sorry babe. You know how much I love you…how much I live for you.”

You collapse into my arms with your confession; and as your tears soak my now ruined shirt, I bury my head in the crook of your neck. Inhaling your perfume, I lose my fingers in your soft, long hair.

“No, Bobbie. I’m sorry”