Mutually

You were the last thing I saw, dearest.

That is, you were the last thing I saw before darkness came over my vision. 

Even then, the darkness itself seemed to shape itself into your face. I dreamt of you. I dreamt of the moment we first met. 

You saved me, you know. I was just a common w***e, a prostitute, the scum of the earth. I sold love, lust, and whatever else the highest bidder could want. I thought true love, kindness, and trust were the things of children's stories; I thought happy marriages only existed in “happily ever afters.”

You proved me wrong.

My first sight of you was of a farm boy. Your clothing was worn, a little tattered, and of no discernible color. Your hair was light, sun kissed, and your skin was sun kissed, too. You were quiet, eyes downcast, shuffling forward reluctantly at the urging of your friends. I had seen your type before. Young boys like you come to the ladies of the night for something akin to a rite of passage, as if conquering a woman is what makes a man.

Wordlessly, I took your hand and led you upstairs, away from the smoke and the drunkenness of the tavern. We wound through the candlelit halls of the second floor, past numerous doors and numerous sounds. I recall looking back to see you blushing. We reached my room and I let go of your hand to close the door behind you. When I turned around, you were across the room, staring at the bed. I remember thinking this was going to be a long night before approaching you and taking your hands. I placed them on my lower back and placed my hands around your neck. Your blush deepened and you finally raised your head. I was then captivated by the most beautiful green eyes I had ever seen. They were a deep, dark green with a lighter band circling the irises and a darker band around the edges. I would later learn that they changed shades depending on nothing at all. It was with a very small part of my consciousness that I noticed you remove your hands from my back, take my own hands, and set them at my sides. 

“Would you mind if we just talked?”

I was stunned. I had never, in the time I had been in this business, heard such a request. This was the first indication I had that you were different.

“…Alright.”

So we did. You told me of your mother, an Italian, and your father, a German. This explained the odd cadence to your speech. I remember asking how many languages you spoke. You told me five. “I have many friends,” you said, in explanation. I asked why you weren't making good money as a translator or a linguist, and you replied that farming makes you happy. 

“What’s it like?” I asked.

“What’s what like?”

“Being happy.” 

“Well,” you replied. “I suppose being happy is knowing that what you do is fulfilling. It’s waking up with the smell of thyme coming in your window and the sound of birds on the wind. It’s the knowledge that you have enough food stored for winter.” You paused. “It’s acknowledging your blessings.” You fingered the plain wooden cross around your neck.

“There’s only one thing I could wish for,” you said.

“What’s that?”

“That I wasn't so lonely.”

There we remained, just talking. At first we were sitting on the bed, then we were both lying on our backs, and then we were asleep.

I woke to green eyes. You jolted a bit, surprised at being caught staring. 

“Hello,” I said.

“Hi,” you replied. “I need to go.”

I sighed. “I know.”

You leaned forward and kissed my cheek. It was barely there, just a momentary brush of your lips.

“Goodbye.”

I nodded.

I kept my eyes closed until I heard the door shut. I let out the breath I was holding and touched my hand to my cheek. It was still tingling.

I thought of you every night. I wished I was with you. Every time I was called downstairs I had a little bit of hope that you had come back, but you hadn't.

At least, you didn't come back until a week had passed. Then you came again the next week, and the next week, and the week after that. It was always on the same day, at the same time, and I was always relieved to see you. I would look over the room, and the moment I saw you waiting patiently for me to come get you, a feeling of calm, of serenity, of rightness would come over me. One night, you told me you loved me. I was shocked. I was even more surprised when I said I loved you back. The next week, there was a storm. I woke up to see snow blasting past my window. The building creaked and groaned at the force of the howling wind. Needless to say, I didn't see you that week. You were in my every thought until I saw you again, after the snow had melted. You took my hand and led me to my room that night. You rushed us up the stairs and hurriedly slammed the door behind us. 
That was the first night we really kissed. It was also the night you asked me to marry you. I said yes.

We snuck out my window the next morning. Rather, you left out the front to be under my window to catch me. We were married in a small chapel close to your home. You were in your usual attire, and I was wearing one of my work dresses. 

We worked side by side on your little farm. Seasons changed, crops grew, time passed. Then something amazing happened.

“Wake up! Please, love, I need you to wake up! Please! PLEASE!” Someone begins to cry. “Please, love, please,” he breathes this repeating phrase between racking sobs. I can hear a higher pitched wailing a little farther off.

I open my eyes to see my husband at my bedside, weeping over his hands clasped over one of mine.
“Hey, ssh, it’s alright. I’m here. I’m alright,” I whisper. My throat aches. For that matter, so does the rest of my body. He leaps up with a gasp and lays kisses all over my face. 

“You’re okay. Oh, you’re okay,” he rests his forehead on mine. “You were gone. I almost lost you.” He whispers, breath brushing over my face.

“It’s alright. I’m fine,” I reply. I look down to see that the blanket lies fairly flat over my body. I gasp, memory returning. “Where…?”

“Right, there’s someone  I want to introduce you to.” He smiles and leaves the room, returning with a small bundle cradled gently in his arms. It was wiggling about, making little fussy noises.

“Is that…?”

“Yes, meet our daughter.” He hands me the bundle, and it immediately quiets down. Our little daughter then opens her lovely green eyes. I smile at my husband.

“She has your eyes.”

“But she looks like you.”

We both look back down.

“I’m not lonely anymore,” he says. “I really haven’t been alone since I met you, since I got you to run away.”

I reach out one hand to touch his face. “I understand now.”

“Understand what?”

“What happiness is.”

Author's Note

I'm sorry about the picture, I couldn't resist. :)
Any ideas on the title? I couldn't think of one I really liked.