Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Clear and Bright: Chapter Twenty Five: Oatmeal



I've laid here for what seems like hours...

Thinking... about everything, nothing. How nothing is everything with him.

Him... the man who wants to give me the world... and nothing, if that's what I want.

Of course it's not that simple. He's not that simple. He's anything but. He's perfectly imperfect... but he's mine.

What to do with mine on my first night home?

He told me we could do anything I wanted. I could have anything I wanted. Well... except the one thing I wanted most...

There was no choice to make. No decision. I just wanted him.

Relaxed.

Happy.

Secure.

Confident.

And he gave it to me. I didn't have to ask.

I took a chance... bringing that pain back into focus, making him feel it again...

And as cruel as it felt to do... as cruel as it was...

It made him see.

He stopped doubting.

Me.

Himself.

His want.

His need.



His need for me isn't too much.

He knows that now.

I won't look at it from across the room...

Wondering why it's there and why it's so intense and so frightening...

No...

I'm not afraid of it.

I'm not going to run from it or hide from it.

I'm going to run to it.

Climb inside of it and try to fill it. Fulfill it. Be it.

Let it wrap itself around me. Hold me. Keep me.

Like he is now in our bed.

Our bed.

Thinking isn't all I've been lying here doing.

I'm feeling.

Him.

His legs tangled with mine.

His strong arms wrapped around me, cradling me. Possessing.

His hands...

One wrapped around the back of my neck...

The other cupped over my ass.

Even when he sleeps...

I am owned.

And I won't fight it.

I won't try to break free.

I won't try to escape.

This is not a prison.

It's home.



His face is buried in my neck, his breath gentle tickles on my skin. I move my head just so slightly and kiss the top of his, his silky dark hair tickling my nose. He moans softly and his grip becomes firmer. On both.

I am possessed.

By him.

And I never want it to change.

I never want him to release his grip or let me go.

Except I do...

In this moment...

Because in this moment I want to see.

I need to see.

I stroke my fingers gently through his hair as I attempt to shift out of his hold. His hold that gets tighter instantly, like I knew it would.

This won't be easy, getting him to let go, but I try again, with a smile on my face. I like that it won't be easy. I don't want it to be, but I still need to see.

I move my hand slowly along the curve of his arm, the one that's across me, over his bicep and down, past the bend and up his forearm to his wrist, hidden in my hair, to his hand. I trail my fingertips over his around my neck and gently try to pull them free...

Not only do I fail to do so, and feel them tighten dominantly in response, but his other hand comes off of it's treasured prize and exacts a punishment for my efforts. Well, damn.


I thought his movements were merely instinctive before, and I still believe they were... until now. I don't think he's asleep anymore. Actually, I'm hopeful that he isn't, because I get enough of that when he's awake, I sure as hell don't want it to happen when he's not even conscious.

I look down and am met with warning, narrowed eyes- which I expected- and greet them with a delayed, pouty "Ow."

He gives my ass a rough squeeze, accompanied by a stern "EARNED."

Was not! "I just wanted to... "

"Get away from me. CLEARLY."

"No, that wasn't... "

"ISN'T recommended."

"I wouldn't... "

"You did."

"Yes, but only... "

"Be careful, Claire."

"Ugh!"

"Ugh? Really, little girl?"

"Yes. Really. UGGGGH."

"Well, since you're sure... "

"OW!" Damn him!

"Your mouth does the cutest thing when you say Ow."

"Want to see what else it can do?"

"For your sake, you should show me that you know how to close it."

"I think you'd like it better open."

"Go back to sleep, Claire."

"Actually, I was just getting up." I try again to extract myself from him, but my efforts are futile.

"Actually, you're not." Mr. Vicegrip isn't having it.

"I thought I wasn't a prisoner here?"

"Somewhere else you'd rather be?"

Out from under the storm clouds would be nice... "It's not as black and white as that, but yes."

His eyes grow dark, and not in a good way. "You might want to elaborate, sweetheart, because I'm seeing red."

"I'd like to request that you don't."

"I see what I see, Claire. You painted the picture."

"That's all I want."

"What?"

"To paint the picture. Something I wanted to see. You can't give me that. I can only give it to myself."

"Oh... "

"Please don't try to take that from me. That's too much."

"No... I wouldn't... I didn't... "

"Can I get up now?"

"Of course you can... Claire, I'm sorry... I really didn't... "

"I know."

"I would never... "

"I know."

He unfurls himself from around me, letting me up, his brows furrowed. I place my lips on the place where they meet and try to kiss his guilt away. "I love you. I would have explained if you'd have let me."

"You shouldn't have to."

"It's okay."

"No it's not."

"It can be if you let it. I'm asking you to let it. A little sunshine never hurts."

"It's the middle of the night. There's no sun."

"I could do something about that. Bring it to us... "

"I'd like to see that, but that's not what you wanted to see."

"Well, Mr. Guillory, as you would have it, I'm trying out this new unselfish thing... I don't know how good I am at it, but I've been taking lessons from this amazing man... He's really the master at it, amongst other things... "

"Just wait till you see what else he's the MASTER at." He puts a finger to my lips and trails it slowly down...  down my chin, my throat, between my breasts and down my stomach, stopping between my now-trembling legs. He flips his hand and strokes his finger back and forth over the quickly soaking layers of fabric that cover me, before cupping me firmly in his hand.

My mouth is open and my breathing ragged, and he smiles devilishly at me with lust-filled, black as night eyes. Then he laughs. "Key word in that... wait."

Evil bastard. "Are you sure? Because I'm pretty sure the emphasis I heard was on MASTER. And just so we're clear... I don't have a problem with that. As you see fit and all of that."

"Good to know, sweetheart, and precisely why you'll wait."

"Can I remind you of something you once said to me?"

He laughs and shakes his head. "You mean can you try to twist something I once said to you to help you plead your impatient case?"

"Would I do that?"

"YES, you absolutely would. But go ahead, amuse me."

"Well, prepare yourself, because your words are about to bite you on the ass. You said... "

"The only thing I'm preparing for is to THROTTLE my ass. You can thank your words for that."

Oops. Maybe I can salvage his ass...

I mouth a series of silent Ows at him, hoping that whatever cute thing my mouth does when I say it will distract him from carrying out my punishment. His eyes fall intently just where I want them, on my mouth, and my last Ow lands on a long, beautiful finger.

Since he put it between my lips, where I desperately wish he'd put something else, I use the opportunity to show him what his own patience is depriving him of. I swirl my tongue around it and pull it seductively deeper and watch him with fascination as his eyes blaze and his breath hitches. I moan appreciatively, my lips moving down and slowly back up again, never taking my eyes from his. I want him to know how positively adoring I can be... and I want it to weaken him. I know I'm probably only making matters worse for myself, but as long as he doesn't pull it free, I'm not going to stop.

Pull it free he doesn't, but he issues a deep, husky warning on my next downward movement. "The more you torment me, the longer I'll make you wait for what you really want."

I release it with as much suction as I can muster, and declare sweetly, "You put it in my mouth... I thought it was an order. I was merely trying to be obedient."

"A blatant LIE, beautiful."

Well, that backfired... "Certainly not! I would never! A misunderstanding, perhaps? You confused me."

"And now you can't stop. I fear for you." His hand moves slowly, but purposefully over my ass, and I'm pretty sure I'm in deep shit.

"Well, thank you for your concern, it's really very sweet, but I'm not afraid." Okay... THAT may be be a lie.

"Aren't you?"

"Of you? No. You LOVE me."

"I'm glad to see that you're not confused about that."

"Not at all. It's very clear."

"But not so bright."

"Sometimes. Sometimes it puts the sun to shame... but not always, no."

"At least I know you're still capable of truth."

"I promise to never give you anything but."

"It's a little late for that. You broke that promise before you made it."

"That's up to interpretation."

"Yes it is, sweetheart. MINE."

I feel his hand still and then leave me. Not looking forward to this. "Am I about to say an Ow that will be heard around the world?"

His hand returns to me, but it's only to stroke my hair. "I'm feeling merciful, so no. But, for your sake, go paint your picture, before I do issue an order."

"Actually... painting can wait if you... "

"NOW."

Oh well, I tried... "As you wish."

I climb from the bed unpunished, and walk to the closet to grab my favorite sweatshirt. With it in hand, I turn back to look at him as I reach the bedroom door, expecting to find his eyes on my ass, but that's not what I see at all. His head is back on the pillow, his mouth set, the heels of his hands pressed firmly against his closed eyes. He looks almost... defeated. Did I do that to him?

I want to go to him, but I stay where I am. "Jaimin?"

"Yes, Claire?" he answers, not moving.

"I love you."

He still doesn't remove his hands from his eyes, but the corners of his mouth lift into a smile. That's all I needed to see, and I turn and walk from the room. I'm halfway down the hall when I hear him...

"I love you too."


                                                                    ~



The little bird with the big brown eyes. My eyes. Eyes that sparkle now. Eyes that shine. No more tears fall from them.

Wings, now healed and strong, but tired from the storm. Fluttering downward as it lands. Lands in sunshine. Lands in warmth.

The skies surrounding it are dark. Swirling with chaos. Chaos around this calm, bright haven.

She saw it from afar. Felt it.

The little bird kept going. Fighting her tired wings. Fighting until she reached it, the calm. The one place she could land and rest. Stay.

The sun shines down on her. The strong, firm hands cradle her. They were waiting. Waiting to hold her. Waiting to calm her fears. Waiting to take her home. Carry her. Feed her. Protect her from the storm. Keep her safe. Keep.

She felt it.

I feel it.

Near.

Close.

Here.

A shiver runs up my spine.

Because he's here.

I turn slowly, my heart pounding in my chest at the mere presence of him.

Watching me from the open doorway.

His eyes roam over me and a smile touches his lips. I know I'm a mess... and I know he thinks it's beautiful.

He gestures around himself, his voice quiet, "Is this alright?"

"I left it open," I answer, knowing what he's asking.

"And that?" he asks, gesturing to the slightly opened window.

I shrug, because I really don't know why. He crosses the room and closes it with a sigh.

"It snowed," I say with a smile. "Do you like snow?"

"I like diamond snow." He winks and walks towards me. I feel my neck heat and my legs wobble.

He strokes my cheek and lets his fingers trail down the side of my face and neck as he moves behind me and wraps his arms around me. I close my eyes and settle against him, into his warmth.

"You're freezing, Claire."

"Not anymore."

"Please don't get yourself sick," he whispers into my hair.

"No. I promise."

He sighs and holds me tighter, and even though I can't see his eyes, I know the emotion that lies in them. I feel it.

"Your visions are lying to you." His words tell me where his eyes have fallen, and how they misunderstand. "Or you're lying to yourself."

"I see what I see. It's truth to me."

"Then why didn't you paint yourself in the hands of the storm?"

"I'm surrounded by the storm."

"But not held."

"It's not so black and white as that. And I am."

"That's not what I see. You're letting the colors take the truth away."

"You are the storm. It's there. I didn't hide it."

"You want sunshine. So you created it where it didn't exist."

"No... "

"Whose hands are they, Claire?"

"They're yours. You know that."

"They're wrong."

"No they're not. They're exactly yours. I know how good I am, you better acknowledge it".

"They look like mine. I promise you I know how brilliant you are."

"You should."

"I do."

I feel his heart thump against my back at his own simple words, just as mine does. His lips brush lightly against my neck in acknowledgement before he speaks again. "But they're still wrong."

"How are they wrong?"

"If they were mine, the trusting little bird would be crushed."

"You think that, yet you don't let go."

"I can't."

"We both have our truths, Jaimin. They may exist separately at times, but they fit together perfectly. They need each other. Alone they're just... "

"Lost," he whispers.

"Cold," I whisper back.

"Outside," we say together.


We stand motionless for a few moments, letting our shared truth settle around us. It's a powerful truth, undeniable and all-consuming. Not even he can argue it, and I know he won't try, but I also know he struggles with it's acceptance.

His arms loosen around me, and he turns me gently to face him. His hands come up to cradle my face, and the tenderness in his eyes flows from his mouth, "I want them to be right. For you. I swear I do... I want it so much, Claire."

"I know you do."

"I'm sorry I... "

I interrupt him with a Shhh and place my hands over his on my face. "You said you trusted me. Let me trust you, Jaimin. Please? Just let me trust you. And trust yourself. I promise you'll see. I promise you they're not wrong."

His eyes are sad as he looks past me to the painting and I'm afraid I've lost him again. I try to pull him back the easiest way I know how. "You could use them... there's something you could do with them right now that would make me very happy."

He expels a frustrated sigh, and returns his gaze to my face with warning eyes.

"What?" I ask innocently.

"Do I want to ask?"

I smile sweetly and nod my head. "You do."

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, and I pull his hands from my face and kiss each palm before placing them behind me.

"Making it easy for me, are you?" he asks with a smirk.

"No... you won't need to. I just wanted to give you something. Don't you like it?"

"I like it very much. I'd really hate to have to leave it, even for a second." His eyes return to warning as he grips me firmly.

"Only when you've had your fill."

"That will be never, sweetheart. Now, what is it that you'd like to request I do with them? And, before you ask, I pray God has mercy on your mouth."

"I'm just hoping that you will."

"Claire."

"What? I'm hungry. I'm only requesting that you and your wonderful hands make me breakfast."

"Actual food?"

"Yes. Isn't that okay? Did you want me to ask for something else? Because, if you did, I can... "

My words are turned to a giggle as his lips meet mine. His kiss is quick and playful and I squeal as I'm thrown over his shoulder, and carried from the room and down the hall towards the kitchen.

"Maybe you really are rubbing off on me," I muse, "because I must say, this is a splendid view you've provided me with." I rub my hands over him appreciatively, before giving him a playful two-handed smack.

"You're going to pay for that, you courageous little brat. Mark my words... "

"Then you definitely should feed me," I say with wide, playful eyes as he sets me on my spot on the counter. "Looks like I'm going to need my strength."

"That you have exactly right."

"I have you, that means I have everything exactly right."

"Wow, I better feed you quick. You're so hungry, you're getting delusional."

I roll my eyes as he moves away from me, starting on breakfast. But I can't let him have the last word.

"Hungry? Yes. Delusional? NO. My head is quite clear, but thank you for your concern. And just so you know... my heart is even clearer. It's so bright in there, it would blind a lesser man. Good thing you're you."

"Are you planning on letting someone else in?"

"Never. It's yours. I gave it to you, and I know you'll never share it."

"Don't I already?"

What? How the hell are we back here? "No, you absolutely do not. You own it completely."

There's doubt in his eyes again when he looks at me, and I'm baffled as to where it came from. He looks away again, and I sit quietly for a while, just watching him and trying to make sense of his sudden vulnerability. I can't, until a long ago familiar smell tells me what he's making me for breakfast. Now I understand...

"I know what that is, Jaimin, and I love you for it, but I don't want it if it makes you doubt me or how much I love you. How much I love only you."

"It's a memory for you. Something you can't forget. Given to you by someone you gave everything to..."

"Not everything. I wouldn't be here if I'd given him everything. HERE. With you. I'm right here, damn it, don't you see me?"

"Of course I do. And I hear you, too."

Is that supposed to scare me? "GOOD."

"CLAIRE."

"Wants sunshine. Please."

His eyes tell me he doesn't know how to give it to me right now. He can't do it. He's jealous, and even though he shouldn't be, he can't turn it off. He's suffering to give me something he believes is important to me. It breaks my heart. It's not worth it, and I want him to stop.

I have to help him. "Dump it out."

"No. You want it. I want to give it to you."

"No I don't. Not anymore. I should never have asked. I'm sorry, Jaimin. Dump it out. Please?"

"It's just oatmeal, Claire."

It's so much more than that to him. I'd have to be blind not to see that. "To me, not to you. Give me something else. Anything. Please just dump it out."

The tears fall unstoppable from my eyes. For his struggle. For his pain. For his selflessness.

Unstoppable. My tears, and now my pleas, desperate... "Please? Please dump it out. I don't want it. I don't want you to make it. Make something else. Anything else. Just not that. Please, Jaimin...  Carrots! Make carrots! I'll eat them. I'll do it for you... "

He turns off the stove, and rushes to me, staring at me in horror. He wipes my tears, but they don't stop falling, and he gives up and clutches my face in his hands. "Please don't cry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you like this. I... God, please stop, sweetheart... I'm an idiot... a stupid, jealous, idiot who's acting like a child. I'm so sorry it hurt you. Please don't cry, baby, please... I'm sorry... so sorry... "

I try, but can't catch my breath, my violent sobs even more irrational than his jealousy. My chest heaves and my hands clutch at him desperately, my words not cooperating. "H-h-h-hu-h-hold m-m-me. P-p-pl-please."

He doesn't hesitate to give me what I ask for, his arms wrapping around me instantly. I wrap my own around his neck, holding him to me as tightly as I can, but it's not enough. I can't get close enough. He lifts me from the counter and lets me wrap myself around him like a clingy, needy child, as his sorrowful words continue to flow from his mouth.

They're not empty, I know that, but it's not enough that he gives them to me. I need more. I need him to never have to say them again.

"What can I do, Claire? Tell me what to do... "

I can't let go. I can't move an inch, even to look at him, and my words cry out into the air behind him. "Know. J-j-just know. Can you d-do that for m-me?"

"Yes. I can. I do. Breathe, baby, please."

"Do you?"

"Yes, sweetheart. I do."

I have to see now. His eyes will tell me the truth, even if his mouth can't. I know he would never lie to me, but would it really be a lie if he was lying to himself, too? He wants to know, of that I'm sure, but only his eyes can tell me if he does.

I wipe my face on my sleeve and thread my fingers through his hair, tilting his head up so our eyes meet as I pull back enough to see what I need. There's sadness and regret there, and even vulnerability, but I see the knowing underneath it all. It's there...

But I want it to stand up and fight.

With me.

For me.

For him.

I twist his hair roughly in my fisted hands and pull. His brows raise in response, but his eyes are confused.

Please understand... "I need him."

He doesn't. "Him?" And instead of narrowed, angry eyes, I see only misunderstanding and pain.

I pull harder on his hair and will him to understand. "Yes, HIM. Please?"

Still no. Where the hell is he?

You know how to bring him here. If you need him that much. If it's worth it to you.

Nice of you to join us. And yes, I KNOW.

I sigh in frustration at his continued confusion and drop my hands to his shoulders. "Put me down, please."

His brows furrow, but he sets me back down on the counter tentatively.

I take a deep breath and give him a small smile. "Well, as long as he comes, I guess it really doesn't matter for what. Him. That cocky, arrogant son of a bitch that stomps around here in control of everything. I was hoping he would show up."

Cue narrowed eyes... He's HERE! You really are a masochist...

His voice drowns out the one in my head, "He's never very far away, little miss MOUTH."

"You made me," I declare sweetly.

"Why'd you tell me to put you down first?" he chuckles, moving his hands down my hips and under me.

"Well, it was a gamble, you might have put me on my feet."

"Like I could now?"

I pout and nod my head and he squeezes me roughly. "Yet, he's the one you wanted. Needed."

"He's the one that knows. That's why I wanted him. Needed."

"I know, Claire... whether he's here or not. I'm sorry that you not knowing that hurt you. That's my fault, sweetheart."

"It does hurt me. I've never given anyone what I've given you. What I will give you. You doubting it or not understanding it... me... it hurts. I don't know what I'm doing wrong. This is new for me. You're not the only one that doesn't know how. I promise I'm trying... "

"You're not doing anything wrong. You're perfect."

"No I'm not... "

"Yes, you are. The only wrong here is me. I'm not worthy of you. Knowing that makes me irrational sometimes. Defensive. Stupid."

I shake my head, but his hands still my movements. "And knowing that you love me anyway, and that I'll do nothing to try to stop you... that storm is rough on both of us."

"You know, spoiled brat storms are pretty rough, too... but I expect you to endure them for me, because I probably can't stop. Actually, in all honesty, I probably won't even try."

"You're adorable."

"So, you can buy me a raincoat and life jacket for Christmas, and I'll get you a bottle of Valium and that burny stuff you like to drink. Oh! And ask for an increase on your credit limit-- since my birthday probably depleted it-- and we'll weather the storms together. What do you think?"

"I think I love you."

"Well, I know you do. Now, FEED ME."

His eyes flash to the pan on the stove and back to me, and I shake my head. "Something else," I plead.

"You brought him here... " He gives it a gentle stir and takes a bite, shocking me. "and he wants you to eat it."

"But... " I start, but am met with a spoon at my mouth and serious eyes.

"It's only oatmeal, sweetheart. To both of us."

"Is that really what you want?" I ask, already seeing the answer.

"Yes. I can't give you everything if you won't let me. I need to give you everything, Claire. Don't deny me that."

I shake my head again, and open my mouth for him. He smiles and returns to vulnerable one more time. "This is new for me, so I have no arrogance to give it to you with, but I promise that if I got it wrong, I'll keep trying until I get it right."

That was about so much more than oatmeal... 


But the oatmeal...

A soft moan escapes me as he slips the spoon into my mouth and my tongue is greeted with warm, heavenly simplicity. It's not the same as what I remember, although whatever memories I had have now been obliterated completely with one perfect spoonful.

"Careful, you'll make me jealous," he warns.

Maybe his own words can help us both. "It's only oatmeal, sweetheart. And you should never be jealous of anything. Ever."

He sits the pan on a towel next to me and lifts another spoonful to my mouth. "I'll work on that."

I let him feed me and try to gauge his mood, and who's here with me now. I think Mr. Sweet and Sensitive is back for the moment.

"So...  is it how you remember? Is it what you wanted?" He takes a bite for himself as he waits for my answer, and I can't help but wonder how difficult it really is for him.

It's only oatmeal.

It should be. But he's him...

Yes he is, and you better answer him.

"It's perfect. Thank you."

"That's not what I asked you."

"Okay... well... I can't really answer what you asked exactly, because once your hands touch something, all that came before just... fades away."

"Don't patronize me, Claire."

"I'm not. I wouldn't do that, or disrespect you that way. I don't know what you want to hear, but it's delicious and perfect, and that you made it for me and are standing here feeding it to me is... "

"Did he feed it to you?"

Oh, Jaimin... "No. You're the only person I've ever let feed me anything. There's something very intimate about it... to me. It takes a lot of trust... for me. And I've never...  Only you."

If I were on my feet, the smile he gives me now would knock them out from under me, but his words are still vulnerable. "No memories that... "

"It really was only oatmeal, Jaimin... until now."

"And now?"

"Now it's you. Now it's everything."

He bends and places his forehead against mine, his emotions clear in his wordless gesture, and his gentle grip now around my hips. I watch the rise and fall of his chest silently, letting it lull me into the peace I know I've given him.

Peace.

Calm.

Perfection.

Him.

Him, who now moves his hands from around my hips to under me. Again.

Him, who has found his own heavenly simplicity.

Him, who moans softly as he savors it.

And me, whose stupid, greedy stomach is determined to ruin the moment.

"I'm sorry... I was supposed to be feeding you."

He starts to pull his hands from me and I grab his wrists, trying to push them back. "I'm not. Ignore that."

"You know I can't, sweetheart. And you know I'll find my way back there. Of that there should be no doubt."

"There's not." I give him a proud smile and wiggle against the countertop.

He responds with a low growl and takes the pan back to the stove, his brows furrowing.

"What's wrong?" I ask, confused.

"This stuff really thickens if you let it sit...  I don't like to reheat anyway, so I'll make it again."

"Can't you fix it? I don't want you to make it again."

"It won't take that long. Patience, my love."

"I'm not being impatient... it's just...  Can't you add milk or something? Please?"

"Is it that important to you?"

"Yes."

"Will you tell me why?"

"It's the first time you made it for me. It's special, and I want it. Even if you can't fix it."

He gives me an arrogant smirk, but his eyes are warm as he works to indulge my request, as I knew he would. My words left him no choice. None that he could make, anyway.

I watch him with pure fascinated adoration, unable to take my eyes from him. The sheer beauty of him takes my breath away. Him. His every movement... His hands. His arms. His shoulders. His neck. Every perfect feature of his face. His eyes... that now meet mine as he catches me staring.

His arrogant, smirking mouth... "See something that pleases you?"

"Yes."

"And what would that be?"

"Everything," I admit shamelessly.

"Is that so?"

"Yes. And don't pretend that you don't know how impossibly beautiful you are, Mr. Guillory."

"I didn't say I didn't know, sweetheart." He winks at me as he sets the pan back on the towel next to me and takes my face in his hands. "But next to you, I'm just another ordinary face."

I fight through my mushy state just enough to roll my eyes at him and he chuckles and kisses the tip of my nose. "We're going to have really pretty babies."

I suck in a breath as the image floods my mind. The image he doesn't know I have. The gift he doesn't know I was given.

"Did I say something wrong? I know we've never talked about that... "

"No," I whisper. "Not wrong at all. They'll be beautiful."

The way his face lights up melts every inch of me, and is worth every storm I've had to endure. It's worth all of the ones I know have yet to hit. It's worth everything.

I know that there is a smile plastered on my face, and I know that that's everything to him. He strokes my hair adoringly, and his struggle to focus on the task at hand is visible in every part of him as he takes a deep breath and pulls his hands from me. He picks up the spoon and brings it to his mouth, blowing on it before moving it to mine.

"Can I ask you something?" he asks as I open for him.

He smiles as I nod my response with a mouthful.

"Would you really have eaten carrots?"

I cringe, making him laugh, but answer with shocking truth. "Yes. For you."

"You love me that much?"

"I love you more than that much."

His eyes follow the spoon as he brings it again to my mouth. I watch as they settle there for a moment when I open, mesmerized by the trust he now understands it takes from me. Trust and something else.

I know when his eyes meet mine this time that he truly does understand now. Whatever storms that lie inside of him, yet to rage and swirl around me, will never again be born out of doubt. He'll never again question my love for him. Never tell me not to trust him.

And maybe, like me...

He'll never, ever forget the first time he made me oatmeal.