Just to Hold You Close and Tight

Placing a hand on my sheet-covered shoulder, Ray said, “Does… does it really hurt that much?”

“The pain in my chest, my back, my neck, and my face? No,” I replied, shaking my head. My tears still flowed freely.

“No,” I repeated. “It’s the pain in my heart that hurts more than I can bear.”

He used the sheet to wipe away my tears. Although it wasn’t direct physical contact, it made me feel a little better. Realizing this forced me to ask a question I didn’t want to.

“We – you and me – will never be right, will we? We will always be wrong, awkward, and difficult.” I felt despair wash over me.

He nodded slowly. “If you want you and me to be us, it will always be bittersweet. Just so wrong and just so right at the same time.”

More tears feel, and he patted my shoulder.

After a long silence, he said, “Do you know how torturous it was to be completely helpless while he was hurting you?”

I shrugged, but I had to keep myself from gasping in pain. The movement hurt. “I probably won’t ever know for sure, but I bet it’s something nearly as torturous as not being able to touch you.”

He shook his head sadly, saying, “That’s not fair. I can’t touch you either.”

“You almost can,” I replied, eyeing the hand on my shoulder. “It will never be enough, but at least it’s something. You have something, and I have nothing.”

His eyes burned in agony. “You deserve so much more than nothing. If I left, would you find it?”

“No,” I cried quietly. “I don’t want anything but you.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, looking at me curiously. “Absolutely positive?”

“Of course,” I replied, moving over so that I only occupied half of the hospital bed. I tapped the place next to me and said, “Sit. If you can’t look at me, close your eyes and hold me.” It probably came out as more of a command. I was tired, and I just wanted him to listen to me.

Not as reluctantly as I would have expected, he hopped next to me. He lay down and turned me so that I was facing away from him. To my pleasure, he wrapped his arm around my waist, but he held me as if I was more fragile than glass.

I ignored the small protest my back gave; it couldn’t stand up to being so close to Ray.

“Bittersweet is the perfect description,” I said, scooting closer to him. “You can’t touch me, but you can hold me.”

“Love is bittersweet,” he breathed into my ear.

My heard skipped a beat. He had said love, but did he mean it that way? How could he love me already? I wondered, although I was sure I loved him. I knew because I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I couldn’t stay away from him. We were obviously meant to be. Hadn’t out lives been so decidedly intertwined that even death could not unwind us? That was love. But is that what he felt?

“Love?” I asked feebly, afraid of what his answer would be.

He hesitated, obviously afraid of answering me. I realized the way I had asked him made it sound like I didn’t want him to love me. However, he still answered, “I don’t know what else it could be. This wanting, this needing to protect you and keep you save. Needing to be near you whenever I can. At first I tried to tell myself it was because you were the only one to talk to. I didn’t want to be alone, but… The way it made me happy when you wanted me to stay, I knew it wasn’t that I didn’t want to be alone. I just didn’t want to be without you. Because I love you, even if you don’t love me.”

“But I do love you,” I whispered. “How could I not?” Saying it made the tears flow faster, because I knew that telling him wasn’t nearly enough for us.

He didn’t answer me. When I finally stopped crying, I was tired, but I didn’t want to sleep. I wanted to feel Rays arm around me.