Person to Person

The distance was gone. The space between them on the couch had evaporated.

He could hear her breathing. Shallow.

He reached out. His hand found the nape of her neck. It was warm.

She leaned into the touch.

-Lena.

She turned her face to his. Her eyes looked for something.

He kissed her.

Her hands came up. They gripped his shirt and pulled him in.

He moved his hand. Down her back. To her waist.

She stiffened. Just for a second. A reflex.

Stanley stopped. Immediately.

He pulled back an inch. He didn't let go, but he stopped moving.

-May I?, he asked.

The room was quiet.

Lena blinked. She looked confused.

-What?, she whispered.

-I want to be sure, Stanley said. Is this okay?

She stared at him. Her chest rose and fell rapidly.

She let out a breath she had been holding for a long time.

-Yes, she said. Yes.

After, the room was silent

Lena lay with her head on his chest. The armor was gone. Discarded on the floor with the rest of the day.

-You stopped, she said. Her voice was small.

-You flinched, Stanley said.

-Most men don't stop, she said. They push through.

She traced a line on his shirt.

-Intimacy has always been a weapon, she admitted. Something wielded against me. Not a connection.

Stanley listened.

-It left me broken, she said. Shattered pieces scattered to the winds. They never fit back together right.

She looked up at him. Her eyes were wet.

-I’m a mess, Stanley.

-We’re all a mess.

He took her hand and squeezed it.

-I'd like to help, he said.

-Help?

-Put the pieces back together. If I can.

Lena stared at him.

-No one ever wants to help put me back together. They only ever wanted to take more pieces.

She buried her face in his neck and held on tight.

The books were on the table. The coffee was cold. The apartment was dark. The walls were down.