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Sunday, June 13, 2010
“When you wake up, you should probably go ahead and ask me to marry you,” I whispered in the dark to a man who—quite literally—owned my heart. Fair and square. There was a nightlight on in my bathroom down the hall, but other than that it was completely dark and quiet. When I’d woken up, from thoughts I still wouldn’t allow myself to think about—when I had the choice—I was sweaty, in a warm bed with Casey. Except, not in the way I would prefer to be.
Over the past week I’d been in a haze from the strong painkillers, and I was still sleeping at the weirdest times even though they’d all but worn off by then. However groggy, and regardless of the hour, every time I woke up, he was there ready to talk. Ready to make me laugh. Bring me something to drink. Feed me to the point of nausea.
He seemed calm, which I was thankful for in that moment. Relaxed and peaceful. He
needed rest, and I felt obligated to leave him alone, so he could catch up on the sleep I knew I’d deprived him of. He had to be exhausted. He was always awake when I was.
So I lay there absorbing him and reflected. My heart rate slowed from the dream as I let my mind wander around our new reality.
I’d been home for a few days. It was Sunday—I think.
Days blended together. I measured time by what television shows were on and what he was trying to feed me. Breakfast. The Today Show. Lunch. He was watching a cooking show. Dinner. The news. If it weren’t for those minor clues, and the light from the sun and moon filtering in from outside, I’d have no clue what time it was at all.
It was dark out when he carried me to bed. My bed? Our bed? There was so much that wasn’t clear. So much that needed discussing. Defined. Lines needed to be drawn. Sad as it was, I was still nervous that it could get worse before better. Would Grant cause more trouble? Would I have to go through a trial? I wanted to sever myself from the past, not continue living in it. My mind traveled into dark corners, so I focused my thoughts on him.
The beautiful man beside me. His physical appearance and the word ‘beautiful’ were exclusive. It was everything about him. His kindness. Passion. He loved me unconditionally. Goodness oozed from him and coated everything it touched. Including me.
I needed him forever.
M. Mabie lives in Illinois with her husband. She writes unconventional love stories and tries to embody "real-life romance."
She cares about politics, but will not discuss them in public. She uses the same fork at every meal, watches Wayne's World while cleaning, and lets her dog sleep on her head. She has always been a writer. In fact, she was born with a pen in her hand, which almost never happens. Almost.
M. Mabie usually doesn't speak in third-person. She promises.
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