Chapter 15

We sat in silence, just looking, as Zena trotted away quietly to get her an iced coffee.

Where the words I had to snap at Zena had about to pour out easily like water, but now everything I suddenly wanted to say felt like thick honey on my tongue.

I couldn't say anything.

All at once I felt relief, anger, humiliation, but mostly longing. A longing that had been quiet and subtle in her absence, but now she was sat right in front of me, came like the wailing of a mother who had lost their child. Louder and louder it came.

And it wouldn't heal. I had sadly accepted that, but now it felt overwhelming.

And she, she was just sat there looking. With nothing on her face to tell me what all her looking was for. The world around us had fallen away to whispers, my whole attention focussed on her.

Zena's return with her drink gave us a slight reprieve, as I firmly told Zena to keep her attention elsewhere for the moment. Which to my great relief, she acquiesced to more easily than I thought.

"Did Zena tell you I was here?" I finally asked.

"Yes," she replied softly, not offering anymore.

My jaw worked at the succinct answer, and that she now, of all times, was going to make me beg for conversation.

But I soon realised that it wasn't as painful to give myself to her, to allow myself this humiliation of six months of wondering where she was to perhaps know every single last detail. To perhaps hear her laugh again. To perhaps hold her again.

"I am glad you've come."

My admission evidently startled her, as it was unexpected following from my previous behaviour, but I saw a small smile grow, and I wanted to groan at my relief at seeing it finally, after six months.

"Me too," she breathed out in a sigh, "I was wondering what kind of reception I would receive."

I allowed her that with a small smirk.

"Yes, my track record would not do well to assure one of a warm welcome. But I mean it; I am glad you've come. If only to tell me you're well."

The smile grew as belief in my sincerity strengthened, and I couldn't help answering with my own.

"You are well, aren't you?" I added with some anxiety, as the sudden thought that the only reason she has come to see me is that she needed help. God knows her mother and father would be none.

"Yes I am well, but…" she trailed off with a frown, as though unhappy with her trail of thoughts.

"But what?" I asked insistently, rocking forward in my chair, placing my elbows on the table between us to get closer.

Her eyes flickered away for a moment, as though formulating the words before coming back to my own.

"But I am unhappy," she admitted.

The admission made my stomach clench in a way I had hereto not known it could do. And suddenly I didn't care that I didn't know where she had been the last six months. That I had worried for her every night, even in those nights where my anger burst forth like a beast, I was still worried. I didn't care about that.

All I cared about was her being happy.

"Unhappy?" I questioned.

She took a deep breath before answering, "Yes, unhappy." She frowned once more before continuing, "I have been for some time."

It hung in the air between us in its ambiguity; did she mean ever since leaving me? Or was it the even more horrifying conclusion that her unhappiness stemmed from before leaving me?

"I don't like the way we left things, and I don't think, or at least I hope, that you don't either."

I couldn't help swallow thickly; of course I don't, how could she ever think that I might be?

"I do not, and haven't since that night," I readily admitted, "And to tell the truth, I am unhappy too."

She smiled once again, and nodded quickly at my assertion, breathing deeply, as though my confession helped with the weight she seemed to be carrying.

"The night I left…" She stopped abruptly, needing to sort her thoughts, "The night I left, I never thought pain could be as visceral as that," she looked directly into my eyes before continuing, "My whole body ached at what happened, so much so I felt like I couldn't breathe…"

Her accuracy at describing my own experience after she left had me breathless and reliving that pain once more. Closing my eyes, I attempted to stem the tide that came with it; but it was no use, every nerve ending felt the torrent and a sob that had sat in my gut for the last six months burst forth.

Her hand found my own across the expanse of the table, and a heat of unused to embarrassment crept up the back of my neck at being caught so in a public setting.

After a few moments and deep breaths, I brought myself under control, and nodded at her to continue, I did however keep a hold of her hand. The act made her smile once again as she gripped me back with equal ferocity.

"I went to Martine's, she was a bit shocked to find me at her door at 11:30 at night, but I had somewhere to stay."

"Is that where you've been staying all this time?" I couldn't help but jump in and ask.

She shook her head slightly, "Only for a couple of nights, but I found a house share and so came, I mean, went to yours and picked up my stuff to move…" the sentence hung in the air slightly.

"I had noticed," I wryly shot back, giving her hand a slight squeeze to let her know I wasn't angry.

She blushed.

"Yes, I am sorry at how I handled that. I shouldn't have gone behind your back. But you must understand, I just don't think I could've handled seeing you."

I swallowed thickly at her answer, any bravado I felt quickly vanishing into thin air. She must have seen however, as she gave another gentle squeeze of my hand to bring my attention back to her.

"Not because I didn't want to see you, but precisely because I wanted to…" She admitted with her own wry smile.

It didn't make me feel any better, and I knew that she was trying to make me feel better about it. Wrongly so.

Over the last few months I had at least come to one moral conclusion for once: that it was my fault, and I'll be damned if I were to let her shoulder any of the guilt over this.

"Don't," I snapped out, more harshly than I intended.

This made her withdraw slightly, her hand pulling away from mine, but I wouldn't allow it, not now it was cupped in my own. Like a punch to the arm, it was helping me realise that this was all real, that she was here, and I wasn't going to allow her to take it back just yet.

"Don't apologise, it… It pains me too much to hear you apologise about anything to do with this mess. It was my fault, and my fault alone. So please, I'm begging you, just… Don't."

She nodded tightly once more, and I saw her swallow the tears that threatened to come to the surface.

We needed a break for a few minutes, after a few moments silence I knew that I needed to give her more time to relax, so she could carry on.

"Where have you managed to find a job?" I asked.

The question illuminated her features, "I'm a PA for a theatre director at the Huxton Theatre on Goodge Street," she answered with a smile.

Her smile took me back to a conversation where she was recalling having seen some small-time new director take on an interpretation of Paradise Lost. She was positively effervescent as she described the twists and turns, quoting Milton more than once. The way she lit up caused me a cavalierly promise to take her to the ballet soon to see Swan Lake, to once again see and hear conversation such as that. But this was mere weeks before that night, and the tickets still lay useless on her bedside table, as I couldn't bring myself to see the performance alone.

"It's something you enjoy?"

"Oh yes! I never thought I could enjoy work so much… It doesn't pay particularly well, but working with Mr Wilkin and what he wants to achieve is so gratifying."

"But you do earn enough don't you?" I couldn't help but ask.

She breathed out a smile, "Yes, I do. You know me, I don't want for much."

Her reply said everything that I ever needed to know about her, and yet I had missed it all, not even giving her the little that she needed… no deserved. Instead I carried my own demons onwards, and I allowed her to become their feast.

"Apparently I didn't know you well enough. Not in the way that you deserved."

She squeezed my hand in reply.

And that's when I realised, I still hadn't apologised.

Old habits die-hard.

Standing, I threw a few notes on the table, before offering her my hand and steering her out of the café in the direction of Hampstead Heath.

We walked in silence as I gripped her hand; the heat made both of our hands sweaty, but I cared not. I couldn't hear anything, the cars, other pedestrians or even the children playing on the Heath as we entered it. All I could feel, hear, and see was her. It was always her.

Stopping on a bench shaded by an oak, we soaked up the sights of the Heath; families playing, lovers whispering, friends laughing, all under the sun's gaze. Our hands, still clasped, were laying on the bench in between us as we gazed out down the sloping hill.

"I have often wondered if I should feel as though I am missing out on an important part of life by not participating or much caring in the social conventions." I admitted.

"Sometime's there's not much to miss out on," she admitted, still looking outwards.

"Perhaps, but lately I've come to realise that not all social rituals are superfluous to life. My life. And that perhaps I should make the effort to take part in them, and at least try to enjoy them."

"Sounds like a big commitment for you," and after a breath, "what's brought this thinking on?"

I breathed out a laugh and turned to her, making sure she turned to me as well.

"Can't you guess?" I asked. My heart thudding painfully at the prospect of rejection, but oddly enough I didn't care; as long as I told her everything that I needed to. It didn't matter if, in the end, she didn't choose me.

She smiled slightly, and shook her head.

"You."

Air seemed to catch in her throat as she looked at me, not expecting such notions to come forth from me.

"These last six months have been of torment. When you first left, I'm disgusted with myself at what thoughts I had. I blamed you. Blamed you! And for what? My own failings, my own irrepressible ego; and yet I still blamed you."

"I couldn't, wouldn't understand why you had left, and believed that if you couldn't deal with what I deemed acceptable, then good riddance. What a fool."

"For months I believed I was right and you were wrong. Can you believe that? In fact, do not answer that, I can guess your thoughts on the matter, and they'd be right; how could they not be? But finally I started thinking, what if it was me?"

She squeezed my hand, tears starting to fall, and for the life of me I nearly forgot where my soliloquy was going.

"I had prided myself on staying above social conventions, believing that I had the upper hand by not stooping to those levels. I cut myself off from wanting other's approval and doing what I did best; whatever was best for me. But you had left, so how was that best for me? The longing I felt for you took my breath away, and nothing I did to forget you worked."

"And do you know the saddest part of it all? It wasn't taking meals by myself in that God awful restaurant," she laughed at my review, "it wasn't forcing myself to have conversations with Zena to try and find out any scrap of new about you, it wasn't being ambushed by you; it was when you apologised to me."

I was shaking now, the full force of the last six months braying its way through me, knocking at every muscle, pulling at every fibre.

"Never, and I mean never should you of ever apologised to me. These last six months are my fault, and my fault alone, and I have spent them repenting. I'm sorry, more sorry than you'll ever fathom. Oh, my darling, beautiful girl, I am sorry! And if you have some small, minute part of you that could ever let me be a part of your life once more, I would jump upon it."

We both exhaled, teary eyed and shaking. I could feel her grip intensify as my own hand did, and it gave me hope.

"Oh, my darling, beautiful man, of course I do!"

A/N That's it! That's it done.

But to be honest with you, I'm not entirely happy with it, but with these two I could never write a happy-homelife scene. As strange as it sounds, it's something I image them to do in private, alone. You know what I mean? It was only meant to be a snippet into both their lives. But I'd be interested to hear other people's takes on it!

I know I never gave either of them a name either, so I'd be interested to hear if anyone had a name in mind for each of them?