Perspective (MJ)

Her Necessity

Her Necessity

His tired eyes slowly dance around me as I quickly place on my clothing, my thoughts mostly occupied of what occurred a few nights ago. My eyes watch him undress out of his dark blue shirt, revealing his bare back which faces me. His strained sight gazes at the different sized patches as he slowly tilts his body left and right. He brushes his short curls backwards, bringing out a stressed and long gone tear stained face. A low groan emits from his mouth when his fingers tentatively graze over the small bruises that have managed to linger on the skin of his neck. He exhales, palms gently rubbing over his reddened cheeks-I nervously chew down on my bottom lip as he applies cream to where the butterfly rash is laid. After a few long moments, he lays his head down in his large hands and sighs heavily, winces hitting the hair like sharp spikes of rain.

These past few nights have been difficult for the both of us to get through, but he's a strong man-he's enduring the pain and getting through it.

I get out of the bed and make my way over to him, placing a hand on his warm back. He jumps a little at my sudden touch but almost immediately, he relaxes. I hate the way all of the saddening problems he's enduring keep flashing back or piling on top of each other. It's blatant that it's affecting him and I want to help him in order for him not to remain emotionally damaged-or even physically.

"Would you like paracetamol?" I ask him gently, my fingers trailing up to the nape of his neck. He shakes his head, a little violently, exhaling and inhaling in a slow pattern.

"I didn't know you were awake," he sighs, raising his head. His hands reluctantly take hold of mine, thumbs slowly stroking my palms. It's almost as if I can feel the pessimism that's practically beating with his own heart.

I don't want him to feel like this anymore.

Without me noticing, the structure of his smooth face presses against mine. I swallow down all of my emotions when I feel his warm tears land onto my cheek. Pulling him closer to me, I bury my face into his neck, trembling at the vibrations of his shaky sobs and heavy cries. I inhale him-his presence tingles, sparks and rushes through my veins. I'll insist, explain and recite repeatedly until he officially believes that I don't care about the conditions he withholds. He's still beautiful and it doesn't change anything between us. Whatever happens, either euphoric or heartbreaking, he'll always be the possessor of my heart.

-
My head rests against his bare chest; I intentionally drive my attention away from the window which reveals a grey, gloomy depressing sky that expresses more miserable emotion than the one which is settled on Michael's saddened face. I intertwine my fingers through his slender and comforting ones, my eyes finally making the decision to gaze into his heart melting irises. These past hours have consisted of comforting, loving and deepening confessions that have made my truths, believes and affection for Michael even stronger than it already is.

"Why don't you just leave knowledge in your mind that I'm here for you?" I tell him softly, pressing a gentle kiss on his heated skin. His glassy, red eyes meet with mine, leaving me worn out at how exhausted and suffered he comes across as. Getting the impression that he doesn't feel like speaking, or the right moment to do so, I wrap my arms around his back, deciding to carry on.

"Vitiligo, Lupus-they don't matter. Even if they do affect your appearance, you'll still be the beautiful man you are. Michael, it's something I don't mind repeating. Insomnia can be fought-it's not all about medication. It's about overcoming your insecurities, allowing yourself to let go of the pain you hold in your heart and having faith in yourself-which I know you do."

He sighs, turning his head to the dreary clouds in the sky. His adam's apple sinks down his neck as a hard swallow is taken in. Assuringly, I place my palms on both sides of his stomach, eyes slowly glancing at the pale tiny patches scattered around the middle. He notices; slight anger and hurt fill inside him, resulting in him attempting to hastily remove his body away from my hold. But I rest my hands on his shoulders, forcing him to look at me.

"You're a beautiful man," I say breathlessly, my heart pounding as my sight is overwhelmed by the beauty that is laid right beside me. I cannot recall how many times I have told you this but I need you to accept it. You don't see me degrading you or wanting us to split up just because of conditions and struggles-they don't stop me from loving you."

"I need you, you already know that. But I can't pretend that I don't fear you leaving me," he raises a hand to my cheek, slowly caressing it. "Wouldn't you be better off with a man that wasn't insecure, didn't hurt himself or you?"

"Please don't say that. Everyone in this world is insecure about something whether it be about a condition or accepting themselves. I'm an insecure woman who does have troubles accepting herself and many other things too-but you're there for me, and even though those insecurities don't disappear, you make me forget them. You don't hurt me intentionally-I guess we both hurt and upset each other in some way but we always end up confiding in each other to make amends, depend and contend. I know you have harmed yourself in the past but know you have knowledge that I care for you, and I'll try to make sure it won't ever occur again," I painfully pour out to him, using a thumb to tentatively trace the outline of his lips. A hot exhale hits against my skin, leaving me blazing all over. "I wouldn't be better off with any other man. I'm only better with you."

"Tell me what you're saying is true," he whispers, resting both hands on my cheeks. I nod; I'm ready to say that all that has been said throughout our togetherness has all been authentic, prepared to go on a journey of speech and love with him.

But the touch of his mouth on mine has faded all away my upcoming words and worries and I'm hoping that it had faded his away too. I know between separations of deep and breathless kisses that he's crying and somehow pleading for me to take the pain away but I first want him to know that I won't ever leave him and whenever he finds himself saddened, he can turn to me.

"Don't you understand Michael? I just can't stop loving you. And I never will." He gazes at me with an emotion of melancholia and love; almost abruptly, he presses my face onto his chest, deeply touching me that has me wondering and already knowing where this will slowly lead to.

And as everything becomes more intensified and intimate, I find myself trying to carefully, and tenderly take the pain away.