Chapter 19 #4
The tenderness in her voice combined with the perfect pressure of her hand pushes me over the edge I’ve been teetering on. My release hits me like a wave, pleasure crashing through my body with such intensity that my knees buckle and the world tilts sideways.
Everything goes white. There’s a ringing in my ears, a roaring sound like ocean waves.
My vision narrows to a pinpoint and then expands too fast, making the bathroom spin.
I can feel Mina struggling to hold me up, her arms wrapping around my waist with surprising strength for someone so small, her voice sharp with panic cutting through the fog in my head.
“Cristiano! Cristiano, can you hear me? Oh, God. MOM. I need help! Someone help!”
The whiteness starts to recede slowly, reality returning in fragments. Mina’s arms gripping my body tightly. The spray of the shower beating against my back. The vicious agony in my abdomen that feels like someone has taken a knife to my surgical site and twisted.
“I’m okay,” I manage, surprised to find myself still on my feet, both my forearms braced against the tiles and about half my weight leaning on Mina’s small frame. “I’m okay, Mina. I didn’t faint.”
“You almost did.” Her voice is shaking badly, trembling with fear and possibly anger. “Your eyes rolled back. You went completely white. I thought you were going to collapse. Oh God, this was so stupid. You just had major surgery, and I let you— I shouldn’t have—”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.” I lean heavily against her, trying to get my legs back under me while the room continues to spin lazily. “I needed this, Mina.”
“You need to lie down. Right now.”
I couldn’t agree more.
She turns off the water with one hand while supporting me with the other, demonstrating a kind of strength I didn’t know she possessed, then helps me step carefully out of the shower. I have to lean on her as she wraps a towel around my waist.
“Sit,” she orders, guiding me to the edge of the tub with gentle but firm hands.
I sink down gratefully, spots still dancing across my vision. She grabs another towel and starts drying my shoulders, my arms, my hair. Her movements are quick and efficient, but her hands are trembling.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and when I look up I realize she’s fighting tears, her eyes bright. “I’m so sorry, Cristiano. I should have made you get out when the plastic started coming loose. This is my fault.”
“It’s not your fault.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “I wouldn’t have let you stop me. You know that.”
She blinks rapidly, trying to hold back tears that are determined to fall anyway. “You could have fainted and hit your head. You could have torn your stitches open.”
“I wanted you so much I’d rather risk dying than push you away. That’s not on you, Mina. That’s on me and my complete inability to be sensible when it comes to you.”
Mina kneels in front of me, her face pale and tight with worry, and carefully peels away the plastic covering from my bandage. The dressing underneath is mostly dry. Some water got through at the edges, but not enough to soak through to the wound.
She replaces the bandage quickly, her fingers gentle but efficient, smoothing fresh gauze into place with the kind of focused concentration that tells me she’s trying very hard not to think about what just happened.
“It’s fine,” she says, more to herself than to me, her voice still shaking. “No tearing, no bleeding. You’re fine. It’s fine.”
“I told you I was fine.”
She looks up at me, and there are tears streaming down her cheeks now, no longer held back.
I cup her face with both hands, wiping away the tears with my thumbs, feeling the dampness on my skin. “Don’t cry, Mina. Please don’t cry. I can’t bear it when you cry.”
“I’m not crying,” she sobs, even as more tears spill over.
She wipes her face and stands, helping me to my feet again.
She’s supporting most of my weight as we make our slow, careful way to the bedroom.
Every step sends a dull ache through my side that promises to become much worse once the endorphins wear off, but I grit my teeth and keep moving, one foot in front of the other, leaning on Mina and trying not to collapse.
When we reach the bed, I sink onto the edge with profound relief. The room is still spinning slightly, but my vision is clearing, the white spots receding to the edges.
Mina is still wearing nothing but her soaked bra, water dripping from her hair onto the floor. She arranges the pillows behind my head with fussy precision, making sure I’m comfortable and that everything is exactly right before she’ll let herself stop moving.
“You’re soaking wet,” I observe, noting the way water is still dripping from her hair and her bra.
“I’m fine. Just rest. Please just rest and let yourself heal.”
I watch her sniffle and swipe tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand.
“I was so scared,” she whispers, and her voice breaks completely. “When you were in surgery. When you nearly collapsed in the shower just now. Every time I close my eyes, I see you dying, and I can’t—I can’t lose you, Cristiano. I can’t do this alone anymore. I don’t want to.”
The words steal what little breath I have left.
“You’re not losing me.” I reach for her hand, lacing our fingers together, holding on tight. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
“You saved Leon.” Fresh tears stream down her face, faster now, like a dam has broken. “You gave him part of yourself without hesitation. You’ve been so strong, so brave, and I’ve been so suspicious, so—”
She swallows and meets my eyes. The confession tumbles out of her like she can’t hold it back anymore.
“I want us to be a family. I want to stop being afraid all the time.” She breaks off, sobbing. “I’m so tired of running from you. I’m so tired of being alone.”
My throat closes up completely. I can’t speak, can’t breathe, can only pull her onto the bed beside me.
“Lie down with me,” I manage to say.
She hesitates for just a moment, then carefully settles on the bed beside me. I turn my head to look at her, and she’s staring at the ceiling, her jaw tight, breathing through the sobs that are threatening to rise up her throat.
“I’m okay,” I tell her again, needing her to believe it. “I promise I’m okay.”
“You’re not okay. I almost killed you because I couldn’t control myself.”
I reach for her hand, lacing our fingers together, holding on like she’s the only thing keeping me tethered to the earth. “Even if I had fainted and given myself a concussion, it would have been worth it to have you touch me like that.”
She turns her head to look at me, and there’s fear and tenderness in her eyes.
“You’re crazy,” she whispers.
“I know.” I bring her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “But I’m your crazy man. If you’ll have me.”
She doesn’t answer with words. Instead, she shifts closer, turning onto her side, and her free hand comes up to my hair. Her fingers thread through my damp curls with a gentleness that makes my body sing.
Just like when we were children and I was hurting. When my father had been violent and I’d hidden in the garden, she would find me and hold me and make everything better just by being there.
This is what I’ve been craving for five years. Not just the sex, not just having her near me. Her fingers in my hair, soft and soothing. Choosing to stay with me even though she could leave.
The sensation makes my eyes drift closed, makes everything else fade away except the gentle pressure of her fingers and the warmth of her body beside mine.
I don’t know who I am without Mina.
“Is this okay?” she asks softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Yes,” I breathe, and my voice is thick with emotion. “Don’t stop. Please don’t ever stop.”
Her fingers keep moving, stroking through my damp curls, undoing all the frantic energy that I’ve been holding in my chest for five years.
“I’ve missed you so much,” I hear myself say. “Every single day. I never stopped missing you. Never stopped loving you.”
Her fingers keep moving through my hair, gentle and constant. The sensation is pulling me under, making everything soft and hazy around the edges, but I fight to stay awake just a little longer.
I don’t want this moment to end.
“I’ve thought about our wedding day,” I hear myself say, the words slipping out.
Her fingers pause for just a heartbeat. “Cristiano, don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not being ridiculous.” I keep my eyes closed, my voice drowsy. “I’ve pictured it a thousand times.”
“You’re delirious from nearly fainting.”
“What’s the harm in imagining?” I ask quietly. “Just for a moment. Indulge me.”
She’s silent, but her fingers start moving through my hair again, and I take that as permission.
“Don’t you want to know what I see?” I murmur.
Another pause. Then, so softly I almost miss it, “Fine. Tell me your fantasy.”
I let myself sink into the vision I’ve carried for so long.
“You’re in the garden. My garden. The place where I fell in love with you when we were children.
You’re wearing white. Something simple but perfect.
Lace, I think. Something that looks like it grew from the garden itself, like you belong there among the roses. ”
“That’s very specific,” she whispers, but there’s no mockery in her voice. Just wonder.
“I’ve had years to imagine it.” I can see it so clearly behind my closed eyelids. “Your hair is loose, the way I love it. The afternoon sun makes it look like it’s threaded with gold. You’re barefoot in the grass because that’s how you always were in the garden when we were young. Free.”
I pause, drinking in the memory that hasn’t happened yet.