38. Sarah
38. Sarah
The door closes behind us and we stop laughing. For a moment, we just stare at each other. The pulsating sound of Donna Summer’s ‘I Feel Love’ drifts up from the disco downstairs.
The air between us feels charged, and I barely notice the throbbing in my head that just ten minutes ago felt unendurable.
His eyes scan my face with concern. I’ve always felt so safe looking into those eyes. In hospital, and before that, on my very first day in Camp Bastion. I feel safe staring into them again now.
‘Can I get you a glass of water?’
I nod, sitting down on the edge of the bed while he takes a bottle of water from the minibar and pours me a glass.
‘Here you go,’ he says, holding it out for me. He takes my tablets out of his jacket pocket, twists the cap and shakes two into the palm of his hand.
His skin brushes against mine as he hands them to me, and a thrill of desire shoots through me. ‘Thank you.’
He is still looking at me as I swallow the painkillers, but I don’t want him to look at me with concern. I want him to look at me with the same intense longing that I feel for him.
I turn my face away and reach down to undo my sandals.
‘Let me,’ he says, kneeling down in front of me.
The satin straps are thin and the buckles fiddly in his huge hands, but his fingers as they work are sure and steady. He gently slides the sandals off, then he closes his hands around my ankles and leaves them there. It is as if he is anchoring me to him.
I don’t ever want him to let me go. Afraid to meet his eyes, I stare down at the thick carpet, letting my hair fall over my face. I don’t shake it away. Carl is so close to me, I feel conscious of the ugly scars on my forehead.
But just as I am thinking about them, Carl reaches up, brushes my hair off my face and tucks it behind my ear. I shake it free. Let it fall over my face again.
‘It hides my scars,’ I tell him.
Gently, ever so gently, he reaches up a second time, and draws my hair back. But this time he keeps his hand on the side of my head, holding my hair firmly away from my face.
‘I want to see your scars,’ he says. ‘I want to see you.’
As my eyes meet his, I am struck all over again by how incredibly handsome he is. His deep blue eyes, the colour of my hospital scrubs, his crazy expressive eyebrows. His mouth. Without thinking, I reach forward and trace my thumb across his lips.
He kisses my fingers. ‘You’re beautiful. All of you. Scars or no scars. And you never have to hide them from me. You never have to hide anything from me. All that matters is that you’re here. You’re safe.’
He kisses my fingers again, then he takes the glass out of my hand, gently places it on the floor, and leans forward. He kisses me on my forehead, on my scars.
I think of how the puckered skin must feel beneath his lips and, embarrassed, tilt my head to one side, but he tenderly threads his fingers through my hair and coaxes me back again to face him.
He keeps his hands there, holding the sides of my head for a few moments, before leaning forward and kissing the scar tissue a second time. He kisses my eyelids, the end of my nose and then, finally, just as I am dizzy with anticipation, his lips are on mine.
His mouth feels warm and wonderful, and I close my eyes and kiss him back, slowly at first, but then it changes into something more urgent. A deep, searching, needy kiss. Because Carl is the one. The one who can make me feel like me again. Make all the pain stop.
I want to give myself to him completely.
But then Carl pulls away and rocks back on to his ankles. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he says. ‘Your poor head. You must be in so much pain.’
His face, as he searches mine, is distraught. It’s the same look he gave me when he backed away from me outside the community centre, and as he sat by my side in hospital.
He gets to his feet, runs his hands through his hair, his eyes no longer on mine.
This can’t be happening again. He can’t be pulling away from me again. I can’t bear it. ‘Carl,’ I step towards him.
He backs away. ‘You don’t understand,’ he says.
‘Understand what?’
From somewhere deep in his chest, he lets go of a long sigh. ‘I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for all of it. I told myself I was doing the decent thing. I told myself you were Danny’s. That night – that night after the dance rehearsal – I never should have walked away. I should have been there for you.’ He looks at me again then. ‘I was so preoccupied with protecting myself that I turned my back on you, let you walk straight back into his arms. Let him hurt you. I should have protected you from him. Forgive me.’
‘If you forgive me ,’ I tell him, reaching up and putting my arms around him. ‘For hurting you at Jenni and Cherub’s. That night, I wanted to kiss you more than anything. The only reason I didn’t was because I felt guilty. I felt guilty about Danny. Guilty for never having felt for him what I felt, what I feel, for you.’
I kiss him. ‘It isn’t your fault that he hurt me. It isn’t really his, either, but it doesn’t matter any more. Danny and I are done. I should have been brave enough to end things a long time ago.’
He loops his arms around me. ‘You’re the bravest person I know,’ he says, kissing the top of my head.
I’m not brave at all.
There will never be anyone who means as much to me as Carl.
I can live without Danny. But I cannot live without Carl.