Holding On

I don't know who held on tighter, just that we didn't want to ever let go.

  I loved him. I didn't want to say it out loud, it might taint our relationship. But I loved him with all my heart. We were young and at sixteen, we had never had sex before. I wasn't sure if I wanted to. But it seemed like the logical thing to do, besides, the running reason was that everyone was doing it. I was trembling like a wee babe. I couldn't stop thinking about it all day. We picked a random day, when his parents weren't home and we had it all to ourselves to do it. God, back then, it was just enough to say "do it". How young and innocent and foolish we were.

 

  When I got to his house, I almost fainted from the anxiety that plagued me. He knew something was wrong. We started by kissing. I just wasn't into it. I couldn't. I couldn't force myself to do it. He pulled back and stared at me. I wanted to sink into the ground and hide. I would have done almost anything to escape from his searching gaze. I was shaking like a leaf.

 

  "You don't want to do it." he said, with relief.

 

  I shook my head vigorously and burrowed my head into his jacket. I couldn't face him. Not like this.

 

  "Thank God," he sighed, "Thank God..."

 

  I peered up at him. He had closed his eyes, murmuring a silent prayer. I was shocked. Dumbstruck.

 

  "I can't do it," he said,"Not now. I don't know what to do. I'm so afraid of hurting you. You have got to believe me. I am so afraid."

 

  He was trembling, gripping my arms firmly. He embraced me and put his head on my shoulder. Whispering, it's not that I don't love you... It's that I love you too much to do this now. I can't.

 

  That afternoon, we laid on the bed side-by-side, facing each other, just grasping at each other's hands. It was more intimate than sex. We held onto each other tightly as if the world might take us away if we let go, even for a second. We slept like that, in his single bed, connected to each other by more than just our hands.

 

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  But then we grew older. We got married just as everybody expected. On our wedding night he was trembling so hard, so afraid of hurting me. Even though I had expected the pain, I never expected his remorse at causing me pain and nothing could have prepared me for it. I didn't know which was worse, the pain or his remorse at causing me pain. His emotional pain struck daggers into my heart. But I had never felt so at one with another person. Not since that fateful afternoon where we held each other's hands and fell asleep side-by-side.

 

  As we grew older, we also grew apart. Sex that was meant to bring us closer together brought us further apart. He wasn't practiced in the bedroom and I was the only girl he had ever slept with. He felt ashamed by this. He'd turn away from me after act. Soon, we began to sleep in separate bedrooms. His work began taking him away from home. I saw little of him, only in the mornings when we sat down to have breakfast and coffee. Even that was a painful affair, I couldn't look into his eyes and see the shame in them. He couldn't look into mine and see the disappointment.

 

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  He came back early that day. It had been raining heavily. He wore the look of a man who bore the weight of the world on his shoulders. He was dripping wet and he seemed as if he didn't know it. He wasn't present, but far off in some melancholic world. I was astonished to see him that way. I ran to grab the towels but instead he gripped my hand before I could even move and he embraced me. He sobbed into my shoulder as I tried to comfort him. I never felt more at loss than I did then.

 

  I got him into the shower where I bathed him and after which, I dressed him. I dried his hair with the hairdryer and tucked him into bed. Before I could leave the room he grabbed hold of my shirt and pulled me closer to him.

 

  "Can you sleep here tonight?" he asked, weakly.

 

  "Of course," I answered.

 

  I climbed into the other side of the bed facing him. He snaked out his hand and grabbed a hold of mine. I felt my heart skip a beat. Then I put my other hand on top of ours and he did the same. We grappled onto each other tightly, afraid on losing one another. We were afraid time would take us away, far away from each other like it did before. We fell asleep like that. When the sun came up, we made love under the covers, feeling more intimacy than we ever did before.

 

  All was right in the world. That night and every night after that, we fell asleep holding onto each other, holding onto the world. And time never robbed us of each other ever again.

Author's Note

Oh, the sappy stories that I think up of. I wish I weren't such a hopeless romantic. (Some people might also argue that sex is better than holding hands while falling asleep *shrug*) Don't mind me. I'm open to constructive comments and criticism. Hint: Constructive. Please point out any grammatical errors! All thumbs to y'all.