Of Saviors, Warriors and Their Best Kept Secrets

"Somehow you answered my call, reaching out I feel I'm rising up, you give me Grace."- Grace, Simon Webbe

She sat on the sturdy wood table, using her feet to rock the chair in front of her. Her smile was pained, the love she felt etched on her skin. She listened intently as he spoke, filing his words away, to be played in her head over and over again. Between the two of them, they managed to talk about everything under the sun. Unimportant, irrelevant things. She laughed, low and husky, at something he said, her dark eyes lighting up. She could hear the hiss of his breath, every time he took a drag of his cigarette. That sound would haunt her dreams over the next few weeks. She knew she said some very odd things, her brain was wired differently. But knowing he would always respond to the most inane comments, with something equally ridiculous, tightened the vise he had, around her foolish heart.

She had so much she needed to say, all of it painful, none of it avoidable. And yet.. It had been months since she'd felt peace, however fragile. She'd felt stifled and claustrophobic for a long while, and his voice was like a breath of fresh air. It could wait. All those pesky details, issues could wait.

She stared at her blood red nails sightleslessly, marveling at how easy and familiar talking to him felt. Like they'd been doing it all their lives. Like there weren't thousands of miles, and too many lonely years between them.

As she hung up the phone, she realized she'd laughed more genuinely in the past hour than she had in the past year. Her thoughts had flown effortlessly and fearlessly, because she knew in her bones, that he found her mind fascinating. She may not acknowledge it too often, life had made sure she constantly second guessed herself, but today she knew.

He was responsible for the strength in her spine, for her confident smile, for everything that was good in her.
She'd been sheltered before, but a rude awakening had shattered some of her faith. Yet he never changed. He was the same person he'd been six years ago.

She would speak to him again, tomorrow, maybe the day after that. After more than a year, she found herself looking forward to her tomorrows. He had done that for her. Without trying to, simply by being him, and by taking her as she was, he had done this.

She stared out the window, at the old swing that creaked in the middle of the night, and the blue glow from someone's night lamp. Her smile was faint, hopeful and her eyes gleamed with a secret she'd never share.