Caught

36.

It was difficult to find words after all that. Even though we escaped the stunned crowd in the bar and Maya with tears of joy in her eyes and ended up alone on a deserted street in the cold autumn night, I still had no idea what to say.

I only knew one thing. That I had to touch him to make sure it was truly him, that he was really alive.

Shira didn't speak either. Silently, he lifted my chin and pressed his lips gently against mine. I held on to the kiss like a thirsty man to a spring of water, my fingers winding through the silky black hair. I closed my eyes, aware only of his presence, his soft lips on mine, his hands lightly caressing my neck.

I hugged him tighter, reaching under the fabric of the shirt and touching his naked back. I felt his skin crawl. It was either because of my touch or the cool autumn air.

Our hesitant kiss gradually deepened, becoming fiercer, more passionate. As I ran my fingers over his heated skin, a small voice deep inside me whispered that something felt different, that something was wrong.

But my focus was slipping away with each passing second, overshadowed by the presence of this amazing man in my arms. It was only when I moved my hands to his chest and clearly felt another flaw on the smooth skin that I pulled away.

In one swift movement, I rolled up his shirt and set my eyes on his bare chest, dimly lit by the fluorescent light of a streetlamp. The sight cooled my desire better than a cold shower.

And then I understood why it had taken him so long to return.

I froze, my eyes taking in all the scars while my stomach clenched with fear. Some of them were round, bullet marks, others straight, perhaps from a scalpel cut.

"Shira," I gasped in shock, my voice shaking. My attention was drawn to one of the scars, relatively small, lost among the others, but so close to his heart that I couldn't understand how it was possible that he was still breathing.

These terrible wounds on his body spoke of the pain he had endured, of the long struggle for life, not only on the battlefield. But they were also a reminder of his determination, perseverance and strength. They were a proof that he had gone through fire and blood to come back to me.

And in that moment I loved him so much it hurt, so grateful that he didn't give up, endured the pain and came back to me.

I looked up at him.

"What happened that night?" I asked quietly, not sure if I could bear to hear his answer.

Those blue-grey eyes remained fixed on my face, still bright, confident and unbroken even after all the suffering he must have been through.

"I don't want to think about that right now," he pulled down his shirt and took my hand. "I just want to be with you."

I felt guilty that I'd escaped without a scratch, while he...

Yes, I had escaped unscathed, at least physically. My scars from the weeks and months when I thought he was dead were not visible. But I had faith that Shira could easily heal those wounds. Perhaps I would be able to heal his as well.

Longing for some semblance of normality, I asked, "How about I invite you to my place for coffee?"

He smiled amused at my question. Even to my ears, the line sounded absurd. Our relationship had never involved dates and coffee invitations. Our relationship had been marked by violence, blood, a struggle for survival and a few stolen moments of love, passion and tenderness.

He nodded, squeezing my palm and intertwining our fingers. "Let's go."

~~~

Shira slept in my bed and I was watching him in silence.