In the morning, I wake up earlier than Camillo, who snores lightly under the covers.
Daylight is shining through the tent flaps, and through the thin material of the hospital walls I can hear the bang of pans - women preparing for breakfast.
8am.
I think about how much has changed since yesterday morning, when I was forever stuck counting down the minutes of the clock hanging to the far left of my own hospital bed.
My voice is a little sore from giving orders to Emily yesterday, but overall I'm feeling much better than I have in days. Admiring the way the sunlight reaches every curvature of Camillo's tan cheekbones and neck, I rest a delicate hand on his chest next to his heart.
It's beating.
Fast, like little butterflies.
"A-Adeline?"
"Hey, you."
Camillo's eyes open suddenly, the sweet honey brown a welcoming sight for sore eyes.
I have missed the way the skin wrinkles around the corners of his mouth as he smiles, and seeing it now makes me want to cry.
Trying to get out of bed, Camillo flinches at his injuries, causing me to reach out with both my hands to stop him from accidentally pulling out his IV bag inserted into his left arm.
"Stop that. You're healing," I point out to him, gesturing towards his surroundings.
Camillo blinks slowly at me like a child, and the energy in his eyes disappears. He's clearly confused.
"Where... where are we?"
"Where are we?" I almost laugh ridiculously, outraged at the thought that after all he has been through, this is what he has to say.
"Camillo, you have 2 broken ribs, a bullet wound, and a fractured bone in your leg. You're in the hospital. I... I thought you were dead."
Unintentionally, my voice cracks at the end of my sentence, which causes Camillo to look concerned for me.
"The hospital? Are you okay? I -"
Not being able to stop holding it in anymore, I grab both Camillo's cheeks with my hands and kiss him hard to shut him up.
His lips taste like salt - my tears.
He's still worried about me, after all this time I thought his feelings would fade, and even when I'm trying to focus on him.
Coming away from the kiss, Camillo's eyes soften.
"Adeline..."
Camillo's hand moves up to wipe my tears, but I brush him away.
"You almost died," I sniffle miserably, remembering what it felt like to be totally and completely empty.
"I'm fine," he emphasizes seriously, although he can't hide the small wince he makes when he shifts his weight on the bed.
I shake my head viscously from left to right. "You almost died, Camillo. They found you unconscious under piles of rubble after you tried to save me. You idiot. You ran into the way of an explosion before I got to say that I love you."
There.
The words are suddenly out in the open, for both of us to hear.
At the powerful words, Camillo chokes on air a bit, covering it up with a cough, but all I can think is that I finally did it.
I have nothing to hide, and everything to offer him.
My strength, my fear, my love.
When he needs it the most.
Almost as if he can see it, Camillo's eyes glisten with his own tears.
But happy, this time, instead of sad or mad.
His voice is raspy as he says, "You don't know how long I've waited to hear you say that."
Now it's his turn to kiss me, and I don't push it away.
"You're unbelievable, you know that?" I say, wiping my face.
"What's so unbelievable?" He asks, laughing at himself now, too. "That I'll fight wars, just to hold you in my arms? I thought you already knew that, woman."
Unexpectedly, Camillo puts his hands on my waist, carrying me up in the air until I am sitting on his lap.
"Don't -" I start, not wanting to hurt him.
"I am fine, Adeline. Just let me hold you for a bit."
Sighing, I give in, not wanting to argue with him anymore.
He bites his lip, and with the way he looks at me I've never felt so appreciated by someone, never felt so fragile and warm.
"So beautiful," he murmurs, trailing a hand down the slope of my shoulder.
I shiver, not wanting it to stop, but then Camillo comes across the piece of gauze still wrapped around my wrist, and then he notices the bandages on my knees.
He gives me a pointed look. "What is this?"
"It's nothing," I reassure him, but with once glance at his deadpan face, I could tell he didn't believe me. "It's just a scratch."
Suspicious, he frowns. "If you say so."
"Speaking of which, I need to change your bandages."
I consider the time difference between his initial injury wrappings and now, deciding that it's probably wise to check his wounds to make sure they are not infected before the skin closes properly.
Reaching over Camillo's body, I grab scissors, water, and some more wrap-bandages from the nursing tray next to me carefully so that I don't put any pressure on his ribcage.
"Take off your shirt," I direct, opening up the bottle of disinfectant.
Eyeing the equipment in my hands, Camillo seems uneasy with me handling his injuries. "I don't think that's the best idea -"
"What's the matter?" I asks seriously, not sure why Camillo is acting nervous. "Does blood bother you?"
He's too quiet, and now it's my turn to be suspicious. I lean forward and press my lips together. "You're a soldier, you know."
Embarrassed, his cheeks grow a little red, but he tries to play it off as if nothing is wrong. "No... it's just... umm..."
"Well, it's either this or get infected, Cam, so you'll have to just trust me."
I gaze deep into his eyes, a little bit miffed that he doesn't think I'm good enough to take care of him - like I'd do something wrong or hurt him.
"Okay, fine." Camillo sighs and nods his head, giving me permission to continue, so I do so.
Helping him lift his hospital given t-shirt over his head, I pour a little water onto a cloth to clean the angry red wound, the hole-like gash in his skin.
"Here. See? This is where you got shot, although I don't know how, and..."
My voice trails off at the end as I examine Camillo's chest, because there's something there I didn't notice until this morning.
Is that another injury?
My eyes squint harder as I look closely at the skin around Camillo's bare torso, little circled lines too faint to be recognizable in the dark, or from afar...
Cigarette burn marks.
My supplies almost fall out of my hands, and my stomach drops. "Is this what I think it is?"
Camillo is hesitant now, although he tries to hide it, l holding a straight face and not looking at me straight on. His head drops down, as if he were ashamed.
Why else would he find it so hard to tell me this?
In my head I connect the dots easily, as if the memories were mine and not someone else's.
The scars are his father's work, no doubt.
The alcoholic.
He grimaces. "Probably."
I take it in - his hurt, his worry, his bravery, his mystery and sadness.
I want to ease that pain, I want to help him.
I accept it, with open arms.
"Camillo," I stress slowly, making sure he understands my point. A point that I myself have ignored for far too long. "Life is too short," I tell him honestly, "to be afraid."
I place a hand over his heart, like I did yesterday when he was asleep. Nothing can take him away from me now.
"You see this? I'll always be right here..."
My fingertips trace the peck of his heart as well as his scars, both old and new. Past and present are a part of us - our souls - no matter where we are.
"And here. And here. And even here. Because I love you, Camillo."
Camillo lets out a shudder at my touch, brushing my long hair to one side of my neck. I love the effect I have on him - calming and peaceful.
But still strong.
I dip my cloth in water, and begin cleaning around Camillo's wound so gently it won't cause any pain.
Cleaning the split blood, torn skin, and broken pieces.
Putting a fresh bandage on.
He is thoughtful for a long moment, and I take it in stride.
I work in the silence.
"I love you too," he whispers into my ear as I finish up, and in that declaration I hear something else along with his words.
Or, rather, someone else.
Your love will be enough, darling.
"It is enough," I say quietly, while closing my eyes.
Skin against skin, closed eyelids against the dark. I savor the light, the newfound faith I found in myself.
Camillo looks at me, both perplexed and amazed as I sit there, but I smile anyways at him, because I don't care.
Finally, I realize what my mother saw in me all those years ago.
She saw herself... in me: A woman whose love reaches the ends of the earth and wraps itself around her family as tightly as it can.
A woman who held the best of her close to her heart, even throughout the worst.
Whose love was enough, simply because of that fact.
"Camillo."
"Adeline?"
He raises a brown eyebrow at me, and to his surprise, I kiss it and rest my forehead against his.
"I've changed my mind."
I close my eyes, bracing myself for his response.
One second passes.
Two.
Does he understand what I mean?
He doesn't say anything.
"If you still want me," I add.
A wedding.
A cottage in the woods.
Two kids.
A lifetime of promises.
Still having my eyes squeezed shut, I don't hear anything, so I peek open an eye and bite my lip.
And I'm met with the biggest grin I've seen from Camillo my entire life - so different from the solemn expression of our previous conversation.
"Adeline."
It's not a question, but a statement now. There's a clear emotion glowing in his voice, his face, his body.
"What?"
My heart beat flutters, and I hold back a breath.
"Adeline, when we get home, I'm buying you a ring."