13 - What about this one?

Heat radiated between our bodies, so I took the liberty of tossing the heavy quilt to the side. It hit the wooden floor with a thud and sat alongside the clothing we stripped ourselves of moments ago. With my arm pressed against his chest and his hand drawing loops around my exposed hip bone, I found comfort in his fingers. They felt cold as they moved across my stomach and brushed against my abdomen, tracing the lines and dents that tattooed my body and skin. What about this one? he asked. I looked down at the jagged scar, which started at my belly button and extended under my breast. I giggled, found his hand, and joined it with mine. Guiding our fingers up and down the rising skin. His fingers trailed up to my collarbone, circling a mark no larger than a cigarette burn. And this one? he asked sweetly.

We spent hours together, exploring the ripped-up portions of my body that hadn’t fully healed and never would. With my fingers intertwining around his, I felt safer telling him what scared me the most about myself. I spoke of my faults and inability to form friendships with new people. I spoke of the guilt I feel for leaving my friends behind and the larger guilt of not feeling too terribly for moving on. I spoke of the fact that I want to do so many things, but I know I won’t live long enough to check each box off of my list.

He sat patiently, lit by moonlight that filtered between my blinds. In the moments of silence, the quiet was so strong that it felt like I was alone, but his touch reminded me I was not. I asked him to stay with me until I fell asleep, and he said he was going to either way.

I turned towards him in the dark, nuzzled my head into his chest, and smiled against his skin. I smiled for his touch and how it kept me safe, even if his fingers were freezing. I smiled for his ears, the parts of him that listened to me with full intent. I smiled for his smile, the teeth that accidentally clinked against mine during the rush. We needed each other that bad. I smiled for my ability to be strong and independent while being held. I smiled for my strength, endurance, and ability to yield and ask for help.

This story is a lie. I’ve never felt this safe or special in another person's arms. I just like to dream about what it would be like.