Chapter Twenty-seven
Whenever I saw Abel, I was filled with powerfully conflicting emotions: a rush of affection and happiness mixed with a painful tug that was hungry for more.
My whole body yearned for him and while I did my best to suppress that yearning with logical reasons why a man was not what I needed in my life right now, the burning desire was growing stronger with every moment in his company. And I was terrified by it.
Maybe it was inevitable – the unsatisfied sexual tension between us.
At times, the need to release that tension was almost too overwhelming to control.
If it were anyone else, someone I didn’t feel so close to, maybe I would have just succumbed to it; burst the bubble and removed it from my brain.
But this was Abel. And aside from the fact I currently relied on this situation for my accommodation, I respected him and cared for him too much to be flippant about it.
On top of all that, I had the suspicion that a night with Abel would do little to satisfy my yearning.
More likely it would open up a can of worms and I had no capacity for that right now.
When I walked in to find him in the kitchen, I kept my hands in the back pockets of my scrub pants for safety, but he seemed to have done away with the physical distance thing and he just walked straight to me and pulled me into a hug.
‘I missed you,’ he said easily, unaware of the galloping stampede it ignited in my tender little heart.
I missed you so much. I think about you all the time.
I couldn’t even talk for fear something inappropriate would tumble out. I just focused on the hug and the smell of him and how strong his arms felt around me. Steady my heart!
‘I’m sorry about all the cleaning,’ I mumbled.
I felt him chuckle. ‘You’re the best housemate. It’ll never be the same without you here.’
‘Well. The fridge will get dirtier. And you’ll have less neurotic vibes around your home. So, I guess you’re right. It probably won’t be quite the same.’
I started to extricate myself from his arms before I could get too comfortable there, but he held me firm, his gaze steady on me.
‘And the garden.’ His voice was suddenly soft, his eyes tender. ‘You’ve made the garden beautiful.’
‘I’m sorry …’ I felt myself colouring. ‘I should have asked if it was okay.’
‘It’s so okay.’ He pulled me to him again and I felt his breath on the top of my head as he whispered, ‘I love it, Mary.’
My chest swelled, and I let it. I let it swell into him, the feeling of being held by him, of being seen by him, and maybe even of being wanted by him.
‘It’s nothing much yet, but in spring and summer there will be flowers.’ My head was still against his body, and the warmth inside me started to ache.
He just held me, and when he spoke there was a sadness in his voice that echoed the sadness in my heart. ‘I can’t wait to see it all. But I’ll be sorry you’re not here. I’ll miss you, Mary.’
It was rare for us to speak so candidly to one another, but raw and tender as I felt in that moment, I didn’t shy away from it.
‘I’ll miss you so much, Abel.’
Eventually we steadied and pulled apart.
The evening was easy and warm and there was an unmasked closeness between us laced with something bittersweet.
It was so easy to imagine falling in love with Abel; a part of me knew I already had.
And sometimes I could even start to imagine that he could love me back.
But life was too complicated right now, and I didn’t trust that taking the next step wouldn’t damage the very special thing we had.
So, I leant into my self-control. There was only a short window of time left and I wanted to cherish it.
After we’d eaten and cleaned up, we sat in companionable silence in the living room.
I had my laptop on my crossed legs on the couch and Abel sat in his armchair across from me.
My exam was four weeks away, and every spare moment was spent soaking up content.
I was getting better at concentrating in his presence and was mostly taking in what I was reading about the nuances of managing paediatric congenital heart disease.
When I looked up from my screen, I saw Abel’s journal was open in his lap. I couldn’t see the page but he was drawing.
‘What are you working on?’
‘Just doodling.’ His eyes met mine, not giving anything away.
‘A new picture?’
‘Yeah. It’s called Dream Catcher.’
I laughed. He was clearly making fun of me. Bringing back unpleasant memories of Vivian’s.
While I was immersed in the details of a neonate with shock from duct-dependent congenital cardiac disease, I sensed Abel move.
‘I’m going to bed. Happy studying.’ He gave my shoulder a squeeze as he went upstairs.
The room changed in his absence. Study lost its glow.
I managed another twenty minutes before tiredness overtook my functional brain.
As I gathered my things together and put them in a pile on the coffee table, my eyes landed on the art journal Abel had returned to the bookshelf. He’d shown it to me already, so surely it wouldn’t be too improper just to have a little look?
I couldn’t resist, so I picked it up.
I studied the faces and the images again. The drawings were so beautiful. It had been weeks since he’d first shown me, and in that time I’d come to know him even more deeply, making the images seem even richer.
When I turned to the final page, my breath caught in my throat.
It was me. It was undoubtedly me. But I looked more alive than the image I saw when I looked in the mirror.
My features were softer than the tight, scrutinising face of my reflection.
This version of me had been taken through someone else’s body – into their eyes and their brain – and expressed in their hands.
Abel’s eyes and brain and hands. And the image he’d created of me was beautiful. I was beautiful.
In the bottom right corner of the page in his scrawl were two words: Dream Catcher.