Their Silver Moon

Alice Black

“One week?” I said skeptically, sitting on the end of the bed as Nate packed a couple of fresh tee shirt from his wardrobe.

“One week,” he confirmed.

I hugged onto the pillow and looked at him, looked at his perfect body, his perfect hair and his stupid perfect face, “I, don’t,” I sighed.

He turned and looked at me, a couple shirts in each hand he looked out of place, you never think of him as packing, just the kinda guy who buys stuff when he needs it, “what? What’s wrong?” he said.

“I don’t want you to go,” I mumbled into the pillow.

“I know, but I have to, and you have work,” he said, running his fingers through my hair and planting a kiss on my head.

“I feel like I’m living two lives,” I admitted.

His movements slowed as he put the shirts in his duffle bag, “what do you mean?”

I sighed, “Here, when I’m with you, everything feels so right, so perfect, I feel like I’m some princess, living a fantasy dream.”

“You’re more like my queen,” he chuckled, and I threw him a dirty look, that only made him grin more. “Go on,”

“And I love my job, but-” to be honest, these thoughts had been on my mind for a while, but I didn’t want to admit them, not out loud, that’s when they felt real, that’s when it became real, “I love my job, I love what I do, but it no longer feels, right.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, it’s like my love, my passion, my motivation for it all has evaporated, like the dam has run out.”

He flopped down on the bed next to me leaning on my legs, something sparkled in his eyes, “you love your job Al, the whole time I’ve know you, it’s been what’s driven you, what’s motivated you, it’s been your passion.”

“And what if it’s not, what if it’s not anymore?” I asked.

He rubbed his chin and jaw, the stubble hadn’t yet grown through from when he’d shaved this morning but as I ran my own finger across his cheek – it wasn’t completely smooth either.

“I think you should talk to a psychiatrist.”

I blinked at his words, “what?”

He sat up slightly, and placed his hand comfortingly on my leg, “I love you, and I will support what ever you want to do, what you need to do. But you’re not okay Al, you still scream in your sleep, you still can’t look at people with blue eyes, or anyone too tanned, you still flinch when strangers touch you or come too close” His words sharp but not untrue – but what hurt me most was that he noticed, the worry that was now laced in his eyes and knitting his brow.

“You need to heal Al, and I was happy for you to work through it yourself, but I don’t want you to regret this one day, if you want to leave your job, I will support you, Spirits know we don’t need the money. But I’m worried that you’re losing interest in the things you love and I’m worried that you’ll feel depressed, that you’ll spiral without a purpose.”

He wasn’t wrong, there was apart of me that felt numb, a part of me that had numbed so that I didn’t feel so vulnerable and as if reading my thoughts, his hand traced the cover of the silver blade that was attached to my thigh.

“Will you be, okay? Will you be fine for one week?”

No, “yes, I’ll be fine.”

“Will you think about what I’ve said?”

I nodded, he was right – probably, “yeah, I’ll think about it.”

“I love you,” he said, resting his head on my own and cupping my face, “and I want what’s best for you,” he said softly.

“I love you too,” I said, and I suddenly noticed that there were tears now running down my face and I pulled his shirt and body in, throwing out the pillow that I’d hugged in his absence.

Like normal, his body was warm and the love that ran through the bond healed my heart and dried the tears on my face. He was right, but what I feared, was that without him it would all shatter, but I would be fine. His arms snaked around my body and he held me close to him, the scent of citrus and pine – his scent calming my rapid heart beat and clearing my head.

I was always fine.