"Please don't go," he begs me.

The look of pure, unadulterated panic on his face almost makes me change my mind. Almost.

I have waged this battled within myself for days now and I have made up my mind. I am leaving.

As I try to neatly fold my clothes and place them in my bag, he watches me. I wonder what is going through his mind. Does he have a thousand thoughts
rushing through at the speed of light, tangling together in a jumbled mass, as mine are?

I'm glad for the silence. I don't want him to speak to me. To give me reasons I should stay. I already know the reasons and they are good ones. The reasons
to leave aren't as compelling, but they are the ones I need to hang on to if I'm going to get through this.

"Why?" he asks, breaking the silence. "Why are you leaving me?"

His questions stabs at my heart. I'm not leaving *him*. I'm just leaving. Because no matter where I go, I am taking him with me. I suppose that won't
bring him any comfort, so I don't tell him.

I continue to pack and I realize my hands are shaking. I wonder why I am having so much trouble. This is what I want. This is what I decided was best
for me. For us.

I re-fold the green cotton blouse. The one he says brings out the color of my eyes. I can't get the fold right, so I give up and place it into the bag, the
sleeves all askew.

He hands me a pair of slacks, neatly folded. I take them from him and place them on top of the blouse.

I blink back tears. "Damn him!" I scream silently. I don't want him to be nice. I don't want him to be helpful. I want him to be angry and scream obscenities at me and hurl things towards me. I want him to make it easier for me to leave him. But, I know that won't happen. It's not his way.

That is the thing, I think, that bothers me the most. His kindness. It always catches me off guard. I've never known anyone like him and it's hard for me to
accept.

He gently touches my shoulder and I realize I've been standing still. I look up at him and try to read what is behind those eyes. Immediately, I know it is
the wrong thing to do. "Look away," I tell myself. "You'll get lost in those eyes." But my heart doesn't listen.

He places another hand on my shoulder and turns me to face him. My eyes never leave his.

"You never answered. Why are you leaving me?"

I shake my head no. Not able to speak the words I've been memorizing for days.

"No. You won't tell me? Or, no. You don't know?"

His thumbs gently stroke my collar bone and warmth floods through me.

"If it's something I've done or said. Tell me, so I can try to make it right. And if I can't, at least I'll know. Don't leave me here, wondering."

"It's...it's not you," I finally say.

He removes his hands from my shoulders and turns away. I instantly miss his touch.

The leather of his jacket squeaks softly as he raises his hand to scratch his head.

"It's the Paper, isn't it?"

I wonder if I should lie and say it is, but it's not fair to tell him that. To make him think if the Paper wasn't involved, everything would be okay. I am what is wrong. Not him. Not the Paper.

I am the one who needs him, craves him. I live for him, and I'm consumed by him. Never before have I felt so alive, yet so frightened as when he holds me
close and his gentle lips touch mine. I feel that I've lost control and that scares me.

He turns to me. "The silence is killing me, here."

I see the hurt in his eyes. I know he feels helpless and angry that once again, someone was walking out of his life because of the Paper.

"It's not the Paper," I whisper. "It's not you."

"Then what? Please. Help me understand."

"I can't explain something to you, that I can't explain to myself," I cry out.

He runs his fingers through his hair and I see anger flash in his eyes.

"Then why in the Hell are you leaving? Talk to me. Maybe we can figure something out," he tells me passionately.

He closes the distance between us and places his hand on my neck. "Do you love me? Did you ever?"

"Yes, yes, yes. Oh God! Yes, how I love you!" my heart cries.

"Do you know that I love you? That...that every minute I'm away from you, has me wanting to be near you again? That...that your touch calms and excites me. That you...your words can bring life to me as easily as they can kill me." ~I do not bleed. The knife stuck in my flesh leaves only the hole that proves
that I am dead,~" I recite quietly.

"Yes. Exactly! Without you, I'm as good as dead."

His words move me and I long to be able to open the door to my heart so he can see how I'm suffering at the thought of leaving. How scared I am of staying,
of letting the love that I feel go free.

"You're scared," he whispers.

I nod.

He sighs. "So am I. Being in love...it's always a scary proposition. But it scares me more to lose you, than to love you. If you don't feel the same way,
maybe you should go."

Tears escape my eyes and roll down my cheeks as I realize he's had the same fears I have. I place my hands on his chest, my fingers grasping the soft
leather of his coat and pull myself close to him.

He pulls back slightly and I know he needs to hear me say I am frightened.

"I don't want to be scared," I whisper so softly, that even I can barely hear it.

His eyes close and his lips softly touch mine as his arms wrap around me. My fears subside and I am safe in his arms.

As his lips softly move on mine and his tongue gently teases my own, I decide I will tell him all that is in my heart. Now, I know he will understand.

I sigh as something wonderful fills my heart. A peace and contentment that I've never known. A feeling I know that only he can give me.

I wrap my arms around his neck and return his kiss and I think to myself. "I almost left him. Almost."

The End~

~"I do not bleed. The knife stuck in my flesh leaves only the hole that proves that I am dead"~
E. Smart  ~Poet

Email the author:   ghobson4@hotmail.com
 

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