If I Look Back

As I gently untangle myself from Ben’s arms, he groans softly and rolls over. I pull on the first shirt I find and tiptoe through the darkness into the kitchen and out onto the patio for a smoke. The air is chill on my bare legs but I am thankful I have Ben’s long-sleeve shirt on rather than my t-shirt. I tuck my legs up into the chair and light up.

It has been several weeks since the Oslo incident and Ben wasn’t quick to forgive me. But during our “disagreement” over whether or not he needed to know my plans, we agreed to officially “date” each other, there by giving him the right to know my whereabouts, etc.

After my smoke, I slip back into the apartment and peek around the corner into the bedroom; Ben is still rolled up in the sheets, snoring softly, just as I left him. I smile before shuffling into the bathroom. I brush my messy hair; wash the smeared make up off my face and brush my teeth.

When I open the bathroom door, I am surprised to see that the kitchen and back porch lights have been turned off. The back door is still open and the chill breeze rushes up my legs, giving me more than just the chills.

“Ben?” I call hesitantly, wondering if maybe he’d gotten up to turn it off but I don’t receive a reply.

I step slowly into the main room and from the dim light of the front porch light I am able to see that he is not in bed anymore.

“Ben?” I call again, receiving no reply. When I turn to see if maybe he’d gone outside, I feel a hand slip around from behind and cover my mouth. I immediately panic. My eyes are wide as saucers and I begin reviewing my basic self-defense skills in order to decide what to do.

“Don’t move my dear,” a voice says with a heavy eastern European accent. I relax, it’s Ben having a laugh. “I have come for your soul!” He dramatically spins me around before nipping at the skin on my collarbone.

“Idiot!” I holler, smacking him lightly on the shoulder. “One: don’t ever scare me like that again and two: Dracula sucks blood. He doesn’t steal souls.” He releases me but absentmindedly grabs my hand, intertwining his fingers with mine.

“Damn,” he whispers, truly upset that he’d messed up a detail of his performance. He drops my hand and strolls off into the main room.

I flick on the bedside light while he paces, muttering about how to make his Dracula impression better. But he freezes and stares when he looks back at me. I begin to feel self-conscious and start examining my appearance for the cause of his studious glare. But I look like my normal self. I have clothes on; well I have panties and his button-up on. My hair feels normal and I know I just washed my face.

“What?” I ask eventually, wondering if maybe he’s upset that I’m wearing his shirt. I run my hands over the fabric, attempting to flatten out any creases.

“How have I missed all those tattoos all this time?” he asks, flabbergasted.

“I always turn the light out.” I say simply before moving to my side of the bed and sit down with my back to him. I move up against the headboard and pull my knees into my chest as he settles onto his side, still examining me.

Suddenly, he pulls on my left foot causing me to lose my balance and slip down into my pillows.

“I am sorry!” he apologizes and he rights my posture so I’m sitting up with my foot still in his lap. “I just want to see. I can’t believe I haven’t seen these.”

I just sigh. My tattoos are something I’ve always considered to be entirely selfish and personal. I haven’t spent a lot of time explaining or justifying them to others. The only other person on the planet who knows about them all is Linnea and the only reason she knows is that she has a few of her own so we’ve discussed. We’ve even gotten a few together.

“Shall I show you?” I ask, timidly. I was never sure of how Ben would react to a tattooed lover but I guess I am about to find out.

He nods eagerly so I begin with my left foot that is still in his hand.

“I have an anchor for my grandfather who always used to say ‘live with the stars to guide you and an anchor to hold you.’ It was my first and it’s supposed to look like a dirty sailor tattoo.” He finishes looking at it before looking at me, waiting for me to explain the next one.

“Okay, so then on my right foot I have a helm. It goes with the anchor. More of a ‘I get to guide my way’ kind of thing.” He holds my right foot gently in his hand while he looks at that one. “Then up here,” I say gesturing to the top of each thigh. “I have ‘All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost; from the ashes a fire shall be woken, a light from the shadows shall spring’ in Elvish script. God, that is nerdy when I have to say it out loud.” But I fall silent, suddenly very conscious of how tenderly he is inspecting my legs.

“It’s beautiful,” he whispers before lifting his eyes to meet mine. I am speechless and for a moment we just stare at each other. “I’ve noticed this one before,” he says without breaking eye contact but he runs his thumb over my wrist. He leans closer and gently kisses me but pulls away to let me explain.

“Oh,” I say, forcing my brain to start functioning despite his intense gaze and the desire to kiss him again. “Well, ‘lagom’ is a Swedish word without a direct English translation. But it essentially means ‘not too much nor too little; the perfect amount.’ The Vikings used to say ‘laget om’ which referred to the amount of mead each man could drink from the horn so that each warrior would get a fair share.”

“What inspired you to get it?” he asks, finally looking away from my eyes to look at the wording on my wrist. Once again, his touch is gentle but sensual.

“I needed to remind myself that I was enough.” I whisper.

He pulls me into his arms so that I am sitting in his lap, facing him with my head resting in the crook of his neck.

“Why would you not be enough?” he asks, into my hair.

“It’s not a story I discuss anymore. I’ve come a long way from it.” He just sighs and wraps his arms a little bit tighter. I know he is tired of hearing that response to questions about my past but he is slowly beginning to understand.

“Did you want to see the rest?” I ask after a few minutes of toying with his fingers.

“Wait,” he begins. “There are more?” His eyes are wide but eager and I smile as I pull out of his grip. I feel the blush creep into my cheeks as I begin to unbutton the shirt. I move to sit in front of him but with my back to him.

“On my right side, I have a hamsa, or the hand of Fatima, which is a symbol of protection.” His fingers are warm and for some reason I am not shy even though I am almost totally exposed to him. “And on my left side I have a compass.” He turns is attention to the other side but it’s only a few minutes before I feel his hands on my back. “In the center I have a lotus and the one on my shoulder says ‘om jag ser tillbaka, är jag förlorad’ which means ‘if I look back I am lost’.”

“They’re all beautiful.” He says after a few more minutes of silence. He pulls the shirt back over my shoulders, allowing me to wrap it back around my body. As he lies down, he pulls me into him so that my back is against his chest. “They suit you.”

I can tell from his voice that he is tired. So I pull the covers up over us and he buries his face into the back of my neck and partially in my hair.

“Good night, Beautiful Lilly.” He whispers against my skin.

As he begins to fall asleep, I stretch my bottom arm out, the length of his arm and softly drag my nails along the palm of his hand and up along the inside of his fingers. He shudders. While I have always loved men’s hands, Ben’s are by far my favorite.

I grab his other hand that is draped over my waist and trace the edges of his fingers.

He pulls the arm that was underneath me up under my pillow and reaches around the top so he can run his fingers in my hair. I’ve noticed that no matter how we’re laying, he always finds a way to touch my hair.

I gently massage the palm of the hand that is still over my waist and within minutes I feel his breathing change and his body relaxes.

Once I know he’s asleep, I allow myself to begin to fall asleep too.