by Haley Jenner
Walking into his body, I squeeze him tight. Burying my face into his chest, I inhale his scent. “I support you, Archer, please don’t question that. You have to know that you will always have my support. I just don’t understand and I’m scared. Each time you come home, I see the damage and it frightens me that you’ll go back to being empty and hateful. Shit, Archer, some nights you can’t even sleep in our bed because of the nightmares. You barely sleep. I’m fucking scared. How can you not see that?”
He pushes back slightly, recoiling from my words. “You think I’m fucking weak?”
“I did not say that. Do not put words in my mouth. You are the strongest person I know. But there are cracks, Archer. Even you know that.”
He pauses for a moment, pulling in a deep breath, before exhaling heavily. “Baby, you fix the cracks. You’ve always fixed the cracks. You love me regardless. Right?”
I’m shocked by his insecurity in this moment. “More than anything. Don’t ever tell me you doubt that. You’re my life, Archer. That’s why I’m so scared. I want you here. I have this awful sense of dread spreading through my veins that won’t pass. No matter how hard I try, I can’t shake it off. I know I shouldn’t put that on you, but I’m scared of losing what we have. I love you,” I tilt my chin up to meet his eyes.
Keeping eye contact, he drops his lips to mine in a quick kiss. “I love you too, baby. We’re good, Belle. Trust me. Life will be good for us. I know it.”
“How can you be so sure?” I worry. I admire his positivity, the trust he has in our love, I wish I could rely on it too.
“Because doing something with so much purpose can’t possibly be the wrong thing to do.
Because I’m prepared, this is what I’m trained for. This, what I’m about to do, I know it, Belle. It’s who I am.
And because the love I have for you is stronger than anything. I love you more than life, so I know, no matter what, our love is strong enough to beat fucking anything, beautiful girl.”
He smiles at me and the cage constricting my heart loosens slightly, it’s heart breaking and so fucking beautiful. He’s right, I have to trust what we have. I have to trust the love and commitment we have to one another.
He kisses me, slowly, deeply and I let that fire my trust in us. I let his promises seep into my soul and bury deep, offering the smallest comfort. But the dread I felt only grows with his absence.
Archer leaves and his contact to begin with is full of love and endearments. But as days grow into weeks and weeks into months, his contact breaks down. It becomes infrequent, broken and disconnected. He stops telling me he's safe. Eventually, he stops telling me he loves me.
Reflecting, those last few weeks, I wish I'd held on tighter. I wish I’d listened to what my body was trying to tell me. But apart from him dying, I couldn’t have imagined that my worst nightmare would ever become a reality. That 4 months later, Archer would leave me again by coming home.
Chapter Eighteen
Archer (4 months later)
I sit on the porch nursing my beer, smoke rested between my lips. Inhaling the bitter taste of nicotine into my lungs, I try to calm the nervous energy making my chest tight. I’m trained for war zones; for the most dangerous environments, yet sitting in my own home, I feel sick, nauseated. I’m a mess. I’m jumpy. I’m skittish.
Checking my watch, it’s already 4:56pm and I know Belle’ll be home soon. My chest tightens with that thought and I massage the space with my palm, trying uselessly to ease the pain.
I need another drink.
I switch out the cigarette hanging loosely from my lips, for my beer and drink deeply, finishing the bottle without taking a breath. Throwing the empty onto the pile of the others, it hits with a deafening clang. The sound ricochets through my entire body, vibrating through my feet before travelling up my spine, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. My heart races at an unhealthy level and I start sweating almost instantly. I take another deep drag of my smoke and wait for the nicotine to steady me before leaning down to grab another beer from the carton at my side.
They’ve long since warmed, the box damp with the condensation falling from the glass. Opening the bottle, I flick the cap along the porch, adding to the scattering of tops decorating the lacquered wood. I take in the mess I’ve made in the short hours I’ve been here. Empty bottles of beer surround my feet, bottle caps scattered in every direction, cigarette ash and butts fallen, disregarded at my feet. I should care enough to clean it up before Belle gets home. But I don’t. Don’t have the energy or the want to care.
I don’t know how she’ll take my presence. Excited that I’m home? Pissed that I didn’t tell her I was coming? I think I’d prefer her to be pissed, it’ll give me the wall I need built up to hide that I’m a shell of the man I was before I left. I haven’t even caught a glimpse of her yet but I already know that I don’t know how to just be anymore. I feel completely detached from myself and I can’t bring myself to be relieved that I’m home. Being here scares me, freaks the ever-living shit out of me. I need, absolutely fucking need to feel something when I see her. It’s the only glimmer of hope I have, that seeing her again will bring something back into my soul. I need that more than I need my next breath. I feel fucking dead inside and I need Belle to bring some spark of life to my rotting soul.
I watch her car pull into the street and my heart accelerates to point of pain. I light another smoke to occupy my hands, to busy myself with something other than staring. She hasn’t noticed me yet and jumping from her car, she looks ridiculous. A handbag, far too big to be necessary, hangs painfully from her forearm. A giant, colorful bunch of flowers held tightly in her other hand. Her face is hidden, the flowers obstructing my view. I watch as she works, with considerable effort, to lock her car while keeping all items balanced with precision. In another life, I would have found amusement in her wackiness. In the needless act to balance it all at the same time when she could easily make two trips, but then again, that’s not my Belle’s style. My Belle; my heart aches with the sentiment, if only she knew how worthless belonging to someone like me now was.
I watch her jean-clad legs move towards the house, concerned for her ability to navigate the stairs with her hands so full. Not enough to move though. I can’t, move that is. I feel like stone. My body weighted in place. My throat has closed over in panic at her close proximity and I want to disappear into the chair. I’m not ready to see her. What if it doesn’t work? What if seeing her doesn’t work?
Rounding the steps, she moves the array of flowers to watch her feet and catches sight of me, screaming slightly in surprise before I watch the flowers she had so carefully protected up to this point drop to the ground in a thump. Her handbag soon follows until she stands at the bottom of the stairs. Shell-shocked. Her breathing is rapid, and her bottom lip trembles slightly, but she bites it tightly, almost drawing blood to stop it. Her large brown eyes scan me quickly; taking in my shaved head and scruffy beard. Taking inventory of my body, making sure everything is whole. Satisfied I’m not hurt, her attention moves to the collection of bottles I’ve accrued at my feet, the cigarette butts on the floor, the bottle caps showering the porch.
Her eyes flick back to mine as she blinks, causing droplets to fall to her cheeks. “Archer”, her tone is soft, disbelieving. “I didn’t…. You didn’t…. Oh god,” her hand covers her mouth as she stutters around her words. “You’re home. You’re not hurt?” she questions, the fear in her tone masked by the catch in her throat.
I shake my head once in the negative. It’s the truth; I’m not hurt, at least not physically. Mentally, emotionally – I’m fucking critical.
Her legs move fast, running up the porch so fast, she trips slightly. Righting herself immediately she moves towards me, dropping to her knees to throw her arms around my waist, her face burying into my abdomen. My shirt dampens immediately with her tears, but I can’t bring myself to touch her. Instead I sit rock solid in my seat as she cries against me, telling
me how glad she is I’m home. That she loves me. That she missed me.
After a few minutes, she pulls back to look at me, wiping her tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. I struggle to look down at her. My throat is thick, catching on each breath and I will myself to work my eyes down as she watches on uncertainly. I scan my eyes over her, taking in her thick brown hair, loose over her shoulders, her face fresh, clean of makeup and dressed in a simple white tee and her jeans. She looks perfect. Her eyes are glassed over with tears, the shadows framing them giving away her lack of sleep. Her pink lips are bruised with the dark marks from her teeth marring her otherwise perfect mouth. Her creamy skin flushed at the cheeks.
My body wants her badly. My cock is hard. Rock fucking solid, but looking at her, I only feel sad. Lost even. I expected to feel more. Expected a magic fix to my broken fucking soul.
Belle watches me expectantly. Waiting. For something. Anything. But I can’t give it to her. So I just stare blankly into her heart-breakingly beautiful face.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispers. “Tell me you were coming home?” The hesitancy in her voice pisses me off. I’m fucking mad. At myself. At the world. But mostly at her, for not fixing what I needed her to fix immediately.
“So you could have thrown another ‘Welcome Home’ party like last time? No fucking way,” I snap, louder than necessary.
She flinches at my words. At the bitterness in my tone. Her arms retreat from my body until she only sits in front of me, not touching, her face filled with hurt. “I wouldn’t have…. I know how much that upset you last time, Archer.” Pausing, her attention falls over the porch once again, taking in my mess “How long have you been home?”
“A while,” I shrug.
“A while,” she tests, her head nodding softly taking in the half-empty carton of beer beside me. “You didn’t feel it necessary to call me? Come to the shop? Let me know you were home?” she accuses, turning her eyes back to me.
Sighing, I shift in my seat. “Needed some time to settle, Annabelle. Didn’t need drama as soon I set foot stateside.” I don’t know why I use her full name. I can’t recall a time I’ve ever done so, but with how detached I feel, Belle feels too personal. She notices, her eyes narrowing at the use of it.
“Drama?” she questions, anger making the accusation louder.
Finishing the beer in my lap I place the empty softly beside me before turning to grab another. Flicking the top along the wood her eyes follow its path before fixing back on me. “Can we not do this right now? Don’t need you to throw your attitude for no fuckin’ reason. I needed to time to decompress, to settle. End of story. Don’t read into it.”
“Archer, you’ve been gone for months. Months. We’ve barely spoken and you come home without a word. I’ve been counting every day, every minute I’ve had to spend without you and you don’t even care enough to let me know that you’re home. I am not okay with that,” she condemns me, rightfully so, but how do I tell her that more than anything, she is what scares me most? “Obviously, there is shit going on that I couldn’t possibly understand and I’m not stupid enough to pretend I could, but do not push me away. You don’t get to do that, because you promised, Archer. When you made the decision to leave, again, you promised that we’d be good.”
Our eyes remain connected as I stare at her blankly. Her wide eyes beg me to give her anything. A hint into how I’m feeling. I wouldn’t even know where to start. “Promises made in a time where I was under the stupid notion that fairytales existed can’t be trusted, Annabelle. You always knew I was an asshole, maybe the real me is just starting to break through the façade.”
Her brown hair moves with the shake of her head, gliding along the skin of her shoulders. “Don’t do that. Don’t hide behind your broken self, you’re better than that.” I snort out a laugh at her faith in my character. “Arch, baby,” she implores, squeezing my knee to draw my attention. “Talk to me.”
Closing my eyes against the sting, I swallow against the constriction in my throat. Blinking against the moisture in my sockets, I bring Belle into focus. “You don’t know what you’re asking.” My words are scarcely audible and are contorted with a mixture of fear and reproach.
She’s waits patiently, her face begging me to open up to her in some small way but all I can do it stare back. Eventually, her features clouded with defeat, she pushes herself up, straightening her posture and righting her clothes. I watch her jog down the stairs to collect her belongings before walking back up the stairs. Again, I don’t help her, only watching her struggle with the weight of her belongings.
“I’m glad your home, Arch,” she offers quietly not looking at me as she disappears through our front door.
I hear her moving around the kitchen. The tap turning on, then off again. The clink of a glass vase onto the bench. I can imagine her in my mind. I've seen it a million times before. Watched her get lost in her work, in her art. Closing my eyes, I can envisage her removing ruined flowers, moving colors to contrast better, sorting the different styles to ensure they're all on show. I let my body release a soft exhale at the familiarity of it all. It should bring me more peace than it does though.
I hear her feet move up the stairs, towards our bedroom. I listen as she moves around the room, opening and closing drawers. Packing away my things, tidying the mess I left. I sit for a long while and listen to her movements. Hoping, fucking praying for it to bring me some sort of relief.
It doesn’t.
I hear the shower click on and I groan outwardly at the torture of it all. I wait a beat, maybe two, willing myself to stay put, but my body doesn’t agree and I can’t stop myself from rising to my feet and following her path up the stairs.
Moving to stand in the door of the bathroom, I lean against the door frame and watch her. Her naked body is a perfect as I remember, all curves and smooth skin. I watch as she washes away her work day, her hair tied in a pile at the top of her head, only a few strands having escaped, and wet, stuck to her neck.
She knows I’m there, can sense me. I see it in her posture; she’s tense, unsure. I continue to stare as she shuts off the water, her body not moving, standing naked with her back to me. Eventually she turns, grabbing a towel to dry the water from her body. I envy the towel. How stupid is that? To envy a piece of material. But watching it drag along her naked skin, I feel an overwhelming sense of jealousy. I drink from my bottle as I greedily take her body in with my eyes, starting at her brightly painted toe nails up her shapely legs, the small patch of dark hair decorating her pussy, her soft stomach, her full, perfect tits, nipples hard at my perusal, up the column of her neck to her flawless mouth before meeting her eyes. She doesn’t shy away from my study. Instead, meeting my eyes daringly, begging me to take her. To own her body.
I need to adjust myself. My cock is uncomfortably hard, straining my pants. I don’t though. Don’t want to her know the affect she has on me. To know I could come undone, painfully so, if I touch her.
Turning my back to her, I move towards our bedroom dropping my ass to our bed. Dragging my hands across my face, I attempt to rein in my need. Fuck do I need her, want her so fucking bad. Would it work? To touch her. Would it bring something, anything back?
Deep breathing I watch her enter the room, naked, walking straight towards me, challenging me to say no. Standing in front of me she rubs her hands over my shorn head, bringing them down to the back of my neck before skating her thumbs to cup my jaw and tip my face up to meet hers.
“Please,” my voice cracks. “Don’t Belle, I can’t….” I beg, not actually sure what I’m asking for. My throat feels tight, as though I’m suffocating. My eyes sting and I will myself not to cry. I feel hopeless. Useless in my broken state. She moves to straddle my lap, wrapping her naked legs around my body, fitting her body tightly to my own. Her eyes keep mine as she lowers her mouth on mine, not breaking eye contact, watching my reaction. I know what she’d see. My want. My need. But what haunts me most is the
possibility she’ll see my fear.
Her lips touch mine tentatively, softly and my breath hitches at the feel. I’ve been deprived of her intimacy, of her love for so long now; I forgot what it felt like. Dragging her tongue along my bottom lip, she pulls back to watch me follow her movement with my own tongue, to taste her on my own lips. She moves forward again and this time I can’t help but welcome her mouth. My mouth opens over hers and our kiss is ferocious and rough. On its own accord my hand winds into her hair, holding the back of her head, keeping her close. I taste her. I consume her. I lick inside her mouth. Bite her bottom lip. Kiss along her jaw, down her neck and back again. Kissing, biting, tasting.
Belle’s lips meet my ear and she whispers desperately, “Arch, baby, make love to me.” It feels like a bucket of ice cold water thrown over my entire body. I pull from her touch, turning my face away from her. Her legs instinctively tighten around my waist and my cock jerks at the movement. Figures, as cold and dead as I feel inside my stupid fucking cock is straining to get inside her. To feel her warmth. To feel her come around me. To blow deep and hard inside her.
“Hey,” she prompts, attempting to turn my face back to her, but I lift my chin from her grasp and keep my eyes averted. “Arch, baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…. I don’t know…. I…tell me what you need. Anything,” she urges.
I feel sick. Physically and mentally defective. Fucking flawed. I have the most beautiful fucking creature ever to exist sitting on my lap, naked, begging for me to love her, to touch her, to worship her body and all I can focus on is the oppressing fear paralyzing me. “Archer, tell me what you need,” she pushes.
“I can’t give you what you want, what you need, Belle. I……FUCK,” I finish on a yell.
She moves to brush her fingers along my face again and I recoil from her touch. The hurt in her eyes is profound, as she pulls away, looking more and more unsure of herself. I drop my head to the center of her chest, trying to get the rhythmic beating of her heart to calm me. I wait for her heart to jump-start my own. I wait for the jolt, for the impact, for the shock.
