For Emma, Forever Ago

Iver broke out of sleep like a man emerging from under water. He jerked upright, one hand clutching desperately at his chest in a clawing motion, the other wrapped in the soft bedsheets. He gasped, feeling all over against the pain of the bullet in his chest. For a long moment he sat still, staring into the space in front of him without seeing. Then, as the world began to take shape around him, he remembered where he was. Strangely, Emma wasn't beside him. He ran one hand over the sheets where she had been the night before. They were cold. Frowning slightly, he pushed the bedsheets away from his body and made to stand. Before his feet could reach the floor, a lightning bolt tore through his chest. The feeling was that of being crushed from the inside out. His throat seemed to contract as he gasped for air, and he was clutching at his chest all over again. Electric shivers crackled down his spine.
Managing to reach down without falling out of bed, Iver fumbled with the clasps of his suitcase. He had lain it beside the bed the night before, he remembered. Right before he and Emma...
The pain deafened the rest of the thought, wiping it from his mind. Throwing open the top of the case, Iver let himself fall from the bed to the floor. His fingers were clammy as he pushed aside his clothing, searching desperately. He could feel his heartbeat through his chest, each pulse a new bullet. Finally, he found what he was looking for. Grasping the rectangular glass in one hand, he jammed the needle point into the lid of a container and drew out a small amount of clear liquid. It glistened gold as the dawn sunlight fell through it. His lips broke open in a gasp as he pressed the needle point against his skin, gasping as he felt it break through, the liquid pouring into his veins.
The reaction was instant.
The pain faded away, leaving him shaking and weak. For a brief moment, he felt like a hollow husk of a man. His heartbeat hammer in his temples, and his lips broke open to drink in the air as he slumped back against the wooden dresser.
“Iver!” the woman's voice from the doorway was the sound of heartbreak. “Oh my God!”
She was beside him suddenly, her drawing his head into her chest. She cradled him against her breast, one hand gently stroke through his hair as his trembling eased. She bent inward, drawing him closer, and pressed her lips and nose into his hair. He could smell flowers on her, and coriander – but below them, something more earthy and real; the smell of soil after the rain, sweat, pencil led. Smells of his childhood. Raising one arm, he hooked it around her shoulders and used it to draw himself up. Breathing out heavily, he sat back more comfortably against the dresser and gave her a wan smile.
“I'm okay.” he assured her, wrapping one calloused hand around her smaller, more delicate one.
“What is it?” she asked, her eyes searching his own.
“Bullet wound.” he swallowed, twisting his neck first one way and then the other to ease the kinks from it. He tightened his grip on her hand tenderly. “It's better, most days. I have ... medicine ... for it.”
“Medicine?” she pressed slightly, eyes worried.
“Morphine.” he admitted.
“Does it hurt now?” she asked, easing her fingers from his own and laying them delicately against his chest.
Her voice trembled slightly, and he smiled at her kindness. She had changed very little, he realized. Not like him. He enjoyed it – it was almost as if he had never left. There was a darkness behind her eyes that had not been there before, but he knew better than most that all people age with hurt. They travel hand in hand through life.
“No.” he whispered through his smile. “The medicine makes it better.”
“We were going to watch the sun rise this morning.” she said softly, turning over her shoulder to stare out the window. As she did, the light rays caught across the side of her head and turned each hair to a thread of polished ebony. It caught in her brilliant raven eyes and made them shine, returning them to life. “We've almost missed it, I'm afraid.”
As she turned back around, he leaned over to meet her. Using the hand around her body, he pulled her close and pressed his lips to her own. For the first instant, she was taken away by surprise. She breathed sharply through her nose, eyes widening in surprise. Then, she next, she let her eyes fall closed and sighed between his lips. Easing away from the cabinet, Iver slowly lowered himself to the carpeted floor. Emma followed, face still held close to his own. They traded the kiss, passing it back and forth like a church collection – first him drawing her closer by the arm around her neck and then, as he let the pressure go, her hands on his face as she kissed him back harder.
“You've been practising since I've been gone.” he mumbled, feeling her smile against his lips. Her thumbs stroked the sides of his face beside his nose as she held her face an inch above his own, staring down at him. The light coming through the window shone overhead, turning her into a darkened silhouette. Her sundress was spread over his lower body, her knees straddling his hips. He forgot it all as she smiled fiercely, eyes shining with humour.
“So have you.” she teased. “Take a fancy to an army man while you were gone, huh?”
He grinned back up at her, insolent and happy. There was something about this woman that he could not understand. It was not in the way she looked, or the way she acted, or even the way that she was – thought it probably had something to do with all of them. It was in her ability to open him up like her favourite book, how he had no secrets from her. It was in the bravery of her love for him, and the softness of her hands. It was in her lightness. She was like the wind. There was rain in his lungs, and at the touch of her lips it became a hurricane. Without one another, each was beautiful – worth treasuring, looking it, being inspired by. But when either became wild and touched the other, they were awe-inspiring. Beautiful, terrible, terrifying, and oh God, they were real.
“You know we're not going to get to watch the sun rise.” she whispered, raising her eyebrows slightly.
“If I get to wake up and look at you like this,” he whispered, stroking thumb across her cheek gently, “I never need to see another sunrise in my life.”
She lay down on top, reaching one arm up over his head and resting her cheek against it. He tilted his head sideways to kiss her.
“I think I'm in love with you.” he breathed the words out into the bedroom air, taking her free hand and folding it into his own against his chest. “How can I love you so much, all over again, already?”
“I never stopped.” she whispered back. “I never will.”