Golden eyes watching our every move
Losing time without the sun or moon
For one sweet, perfect moment, he imagines the world can be made right between them. Imagines their sins could be erased and they could return to the magical perfection they had experienced that night so many months ago now. But he should know by now it was a foolish thought. A foolish dream.
With four simple words, he brings his own hope crashing down. It seems he can only shove his foot further into his mouth. He certainly couldn’t hope to change what had happened.
Each tear that tracks down her cheek sends a stab of pain arrowing straight through his heart. He wants nothing so much as to draw her close, to reassure her he would never leave again. But he is not certain he has that right. Not certain he ever had that right.
He can’t seem to help himself though. He presses closer, his lips coming to her cheek, pressing against her skin. As though that simple act could dam the tears as they fell. Could take them away, as though they never existed. He had never meant to hurt her, never would have wished such a thing. But still, somehow he had. His foolish, naive ineptitude had proven his own downfall.
Even now he’s not entirely certain he could find the right words to explain. To tell her how he had so wildly jumped to conclusions. To admit he’d been too hurt to ask for better explanations. He has never been good with words, never had deal with his emotions. He’s not certain he knows how to. But still, for her, he would try. Even if he failed miserably.
Drawing in a breath, he eases away, his eyes rising to peer uncertainly at her dark, tear-streaked features. “I…” he begins, before halting almost immediately, brows furrowing. “You…” He clears his throat before trying again. “You said… you’d made a mistake,” he finally manages to rasp out, his gaze dropping from hers. “I thought…” He takes a steadying breath then, reliving the painful memory. “The mistake… I thought it was me.” Pause. “That I was the mistake.”
He should say more, but how does he explain he had assumed she had regretted their night together? Even now, it pains him to remember that night. To remember how it had felt, how his heart had broken into a hundred pieces.
“I could…” He stiffens at the memory, remembering the moment he had understood why she had smelled different. “I could… smell… him,” he finally manages to stutter out. It’s not quite right. It hadn’t been him. Tunnel. His gaze flicks to the child now playing with his children. It had been her son. A son that had smelled of someone foreign. “I just… I assumed.” He closes his eyes then, not sure how to make it right. Not sure how to tell her he had foolishly thought she’d wanted to be with someone else. That he’d been oblivious to her pain. “I shouldn’t have. I’m so sorry.”
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