Page 65 of Possessed By You
***
I miss you.
I summon the courage and send the message to Benjamin, clutching the phone, waiting for a reply. I’m not even sure I’ll receive one. Not even a minute later, my phone pings.
I’ll be with you soon.
Clearly, our argument isn’t over. I set the phone on the night table and curl up under the covers, unused to the empty space beside me. I fall into my thoughts, imagining if he’d never been revived in that hospital.
This bed would always be empty.
I’d always be staring into space.
I’d have lost my heart.
Simply thinking of a life without him is enough to irregulate my heartbeat. I shoot my hand back out for the phone, and this time I dial him, holding the phone to my ear.
“Yes?”he answers, his voice full of frustration and a minuscule hint of amusement.
The sight of him on that gurney, covered in his blood, consumes my mind. I try to think of something to say, an apology. But none of that feels right.
“What is it?”he asks gently, knowing he hasn’t lost me.
“I love you,” I whisper thickly, wishing I could erase that memory from my mind. Out of all of them, I wish I could get rid of that one.
I hear his breath catch.“I love you too.”
***
Despite how bad I feel, when Benjamin enters the apartment, I leap up from the couch. He’s dressed in a gray t-shirt and jeans, his long locks concealed by a baseball cap. Dizzily, I cross the room, feeling oddly childish.
We stop, body to body.
He smiles. I smile.
“I’d kiss you if I could,” he says, his mouth widening. His multi-colored bruises are starting to fade. I lift onto my toes, and he tilts his cheek into my kiss.
“You’re warm…you still have a fever?”
I take the overnight bag from his shoulder. “It’s manageable,” I say. “I feel much better.”
“Please tell me you’ve been resting.”
“I’ve barely left the bed, Ben. I promise.”
He’s walking well but slowly. He has to be careful. It’s nearly noon, so the sun is at full strength, illuminating the bedroom.
“Do you need help with the shirt?” I ask when we’re by the bed.
He eyes the shirt and nods. “If you could.”
I’m lifting the material carefully when he asks, “Are you working?”
The open manuscript is on the bed. I smile, guilty. “I’m doing it in bed, Ben. It’s fine.”
“Not while I’m here.”
“Didn’t plan on it.” I stand on tiptoes to get the shirt over his head. He grimaces then steps out of his jeans himself, turning down my offer of food.
