The Things I Couldn't Say #wattys2016

Part VI

I stood at the top of our semi-circular staircase and braced myself. My feet burned with pins and needles and leg muscles twitched through the weakness. With a shallow breath I gripped the banister and lowered my right foot onto the descending step. My left foot followed. Only seventeen more to go.

My walker sat at the bottom of the stairs, wedged into an empty space among the clutter. John's boxes, and our dreams, were still packed – lining the outer edge of the foyer. Had it only been eight weeks ago that I asked him to move out?

Thirteen.

Twelve.

Eleven.

The dizziness hit on the ninth step. I sat and waited for it to pass.

John poked his head out from the kitchen. "You okay?"

My hand slid off the banister. "Yeah. Just catching my breath."

He followed my gaze to the boxes. "I've been meaning to get those moved and unpacked." He turned to me. "You still want me to unpack, right?"

I didn't know what to say. Yes, because I need you? No, because I hate you?

John swallowed. "I meant what I said in the hospital ya know."

He had meant it. Still did.

I'd been home for thirty-three days, released back into the wild and left to function without doctor supervision. Sink or swim.

It felt like a lifetime ago that I laid in that uncomfortable bed, day after day. Eyes red and swollen from crying. Mom had left after I lost my temper with all her fussing. It was the first time in twelve days being alone, without John or Mom babysitting me. I used the time to bargain and weep, willing my legs to move.

Unaware of the passing hours, I was surprised when John entered my hospital room. He was pale, shoulders slumped and dark purple bags sat under his blue eyes. Thick stubble adorned his face, hair still damp from a shower. My heart sank as the guilt rolled in. How did we get here?

He walked over to the bed and kissed me gently on the mouth. His kiss stirred me as it always had, even after seven years. "How was your afternoon?"

"Same as always." I used my elbows to re-position myself to a half seated position. "How was work?"

He flopped himself in the visitors' chair.  "Long. I just wanted to get back here and be with you."

Silence sat like a fog in the room. I didn't know how to respond to his love anymore. The animosity was too new. There was so much I wanted to say, but my head was heavy and thick. I stared down at my lap.

John stood up and covered the distance between the chair and the bed. He sat on the edge and brushed my bangs away from my eyes. His hand rested near my temple and his thumb stroked the side of my face. "Kiddo, I'm so fucking sorry." His voice cracked. "I know I messed up. You have no reason to trust me but I'm begging you to let me in." His eyes filled with tears. "You can't do this on your own. Give me another chance to prove I can be the man you thought you married."

"John, this is too hard. I can't talk about it right now."

He put his hands up. "You don't have to make a decision now. Just let me take care of you until you get better. If you still want me to move out in a few months, I'll go. I know you're tough, but you're going to need help until you're walking again."

"But I'd be using you. I'm not going to change my mind about staying together."

"I know. But that's on me. I know what I'm asking, and I'm willing to take the chance. I want to do this."