She Would Tear it Free

DAY ONE

He was sweet. Too sweet. She'd run into them before. The charmers, the lady killers, the masked fools. They’d always put their best foot forward, offering flowers with a loaded gun hidden behind their back.

She’d begun to expect it now. The fake-out, the 180 turnaround. So she’d become careful. Wary. Closed off.

It was too painful to even think about letting that gun get close again.

But she kept trying - despite the knowledge of that hurt - and so another was here, offering a smile and charming, witty banter. God, how she was a sucker for the witty banter. He had a sharp intelligence behind his eyes, but that blade was dulled by sincerity - softness.

That was…new. In the past, even when they were soft, there was something else there. An ignorance; a superiority complex; pity. But here, it was plain understanding. Acceptance. Non-judgement.

Dinner was nice. Not too revealing, and no red flags. Yet.

But there was going to be one. There always had to be one.

Next was the park. It was late, so it was much more quiet, and more intimate. Usually in these settings they always made a move, even if she’d made it clear that it crossed her boundaries for a first date.

But he didn’t even reach out. He walked by her side, hands in pockets, eagerly talking - conversing with her.

Conversation…without expectation? It was a cruel reality that something as simple as having a real conversation on a first date was so rare - or maybe she just had shit luck - but nevertheless she always gave them a second chance. Usually.

Could this time be different?

She quickly squashed that tiny flicker of hope kindling in her heart. She would not be won over so easily. Not again.

She would not be made a fool.

ONE MONTH LATER

They could only meet on Fridays, but she was more than okay with that. They both had lives, jobs, responsibilities - still, they would make time for each other.

They sent messages almost everyday, discussing whatever was on their minds. During the evenings, they would hop online to chat or play board games. She’d begun to find herself smiling before she laid down for bed; butterflies flying free in her stomach.

Every Friday when they met in person it was always a new adventure. A new restaurant, a little bookstore she’d never heard of, a rainy day where they played cards at the kitchen table.

Not a single time had he pushed for more. After he would leave, she would daydream about what it might be like to ask for it.

But he was sweet. Too sweet. Something had to be wrong. Just like all the others.

She refused to give her heart over.

Yet.

THREE MONTHS LATER

He’d begun to remember her likes, her dislikes, and even her quirks. He brought a box of cookies over one Friday when she had a rough week. Another Friday, he humored her when she actually wanted to go hiking - a rarity for a home-body. His witty banter began to become more personalized, earning longer and louder laughing fits from the depths of her gut.

She remembered this part. The honeymoon phase. The glow before the shoe came down to squash it. While she enjoyed his company - a lot more than she was willing to admit - she still kept her heart at a paranoid distance.

It was becoming harder, especially when her own gifts to him were actually reciprocated. Noticed. Appreciated. A simple smile and a ‘thank you’ went a long way. Even better when she noticed those gifts appear on his desk at work, or on his wall at home.

He came over for her birthday, and delivered a simple, humorous card that made her fall into a giggling fit. On the inside, he had written:

Here’s to many more months to come!

SIX MONTHS LATER

She was afraid. So afraid.

She’d gone and done it again. She’d fallen in love, and she didn’t want to admit it to him.

She’d only begun to admit it to herself; to recognize that fluttering of wings in her core whenever he stepped onto her driveway; to see his blinding smile as the sun to her closed-off, heart-broken world.

It felt like the first time all over again, but in the best way. It felt like a redemption. A re-do. A balm to the years of trauma accrued from one toxic, soul-crushing relationship to another.

But she was afraid. Too afraid. Something had to be wrong. Something was always wrong with them.

She would be used, abused, manipulated, lied to, betrayed; he could be doing any of those things right now and she might not know it. It had happened before.

But he was here, holding her hands in the most tender way, cradling them to his chest as they sat beneath the stars as witness. He was looking at her, truly seeing her, and she’d never felt more naked before anyone, even with all her clothes on.

She’d said these words before. Three little words; one of the shortest sentences in the English language with the largest impact on the human heart.

They were stuck there in her throat like molasses. Hard to bring up, and hard to swallow.

She would tear it free, again, for what felt like the first time.

“I love you.”