Coming Home

Chapter 41 - Delicate Feeling

The bed was uncomfortable and sleep evaded me. Logan had fallen asleep hours ago. His breathing, deep and slow, was loud in the quiet room. He lay on his side, facing away from me. This close to him I could see the faint scars he had on his shoulders and back. I knew how he had received each and every one of those marks. There would be a new scar on his stomach to add to those, from where he had been stabbed.

Slowly, my hand crept forward to touch the smooth skin of his back. My touch was light enough not to disturb his sleep. I traced the shape of his spine, lower and lower until it reached the waistband of his trousers, then gently around to his stomach. My eyes studied the back of his neck; the bone of his spine was barely visible between his muscles. I took the time to look at him, to commit every detail of him to my memory. When we had been together I would sometimes study him in the dark of night. I was certain he always knew - of course he did - but he had never said anything.

My palm rested on his abdomen, over the scar he bore because of me. I spread my fingers to cover as much of his stomach as I could. I wanted to hold him tightly to me. Beneath my hand his muscles tensed and I panicked, worried he’d woken up. He shifted slightly but settled.  The smell of him was overwhelming. I felt myself drifting off and blinked rapidly. It was all too easy to fall asleep when I was tucked against Logan’s side, only now I didn’t want to fall asleep.

“I heard what you said.” His voice made me physically jump, like when you you’re sleeping and feel yourself rolling off the edge of the mattress. My cheeks heated with embarrassment because he had caught me touching him. He had probably been awake this whole time. “At the airport. I heard what you said.” His voice fell into a whisper and I had to concentrate to hear. It took me some time for my mind processed what he was saying.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” I feigned indifference, drawing my hands away from him and sitting up.

“You said you loved me.” Now, I said nothing only sat and looked into the darkness, feeling humiliated. My stomach sank. All this time he has known how I feel and it makes no difference. He still treats me like a stranger.

 

He sat up, crowding me on the small bed. “Look me in the eyes and say it. Tell me you don’t love me.”

“I-I didn’t say anything. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I should just admit it, I thought. But that would mean admitting to myself that I was in love with a man who would never truly love me in return. A feeling of panic crept over me. I didn’t want to do this now; we had been getting on so well. I wasn’t ready to go back to not talking to him, not being able to touch him when he slept.

“Don’t lie to me! You know. I can see it in your eyes that you know.”