Taking Chances



I know you didn’t mean to.

He leans against the hood of the parked car with his hands in his pockets. He isn’t looking at me and I’m not certain he is thinking about me. But I think of him. I think of his hands and the terror and tenderness they hold. He holds these things in those hands in his pockets. How can he not think of me when he also holds me. Not now, of course. Now he leans against the car.

I know that you love me.

The park is closed and it is so dark. Black dark and I can’t see his face. His long hair hangs at his shoulders. I think of the way it frames his face when he is on top of me. And then there’s those hands. It is so uncertain, so unpredictable. I don’t know when to expect a gentle caress and when to expect…

Those things you say, I know you don’t mean them.

I lean in closer to him. He is warm and strong against my shoulder. I know this is the moment. I know this will determine whether I will ever see him again. I haven’t seen him in weeks. It has taken weeks for the wounds to heal, for the bruises to fade. Tonight I will decide. I don’t know what I am deciding. I don’t know which hands will touch me next. I don’t know how to act. I put my arm gently around his and he breathes.

I know you were just protecting me.

I love his strength. I can feel it even now just leaning into him. He holds it back and unleashes it in increments. Slowly, he angers. But not tonight. Tonight he keeps those hands in his pockets as though telling me they are no threat. I want him to look at me. I stare at his face, shaded and dark.

I know you are sorry.

It all started so innocently. It started with that gun. “Here, hide this,” the guy had said and ran out the back door of our apartment. I had been writing. Lyrics I listened to over and over. He was asleep on the couch. “Here, hide this.” And that was it. I hid it. I hid it close to me, under the wood of the fake fireplace at my feet. I hid it. But he wasn’t sleeping. He saw what I had done.

It wasn’t my fault; I did what I was told.

Towering above me, not leaning like tonight, he was there. And those hands did not take me gently. They threw me to the couch and those hands shook me violently. I didn’t know what I had done. He said he was protecting me. I had hid the gun too close to me. And then those hands. They threw me to the floor. And he towered above me then.

I know it won’t happen again.

The air is chilly and I lean into him more. His hands come out of his pockets. He does not look at me. His hands move simply and pull me in front of him. He leans on the hood of the car and I lean on him. I am facing him now and I see it in his face. He is wondering how he could have done what he did. I am so small against him. I am defenseless and small. He lowers his head and holds me to him and I lean into him. The black trees stretch themselves above and around us and we are covered in darkness. I am comforted by the darkness. I cannot see what he is. I cannot see those hands that have now circled around me and hold onto my back. I wonder when they became so soft.

It was a mistake, a terrible, treacherous mistake.

I think of that night. It was the first of many. I think of the way he laid on top of me. He is so strong. Sitting on my chest, his knees against my throat—daring me. Does he dare? Pressure. Difficult to breath. Almost no breath at all. All the time I could see his face. Hate. Disgusted, undeniable hatred. My defenses choked from the pressure against my throat. Defenseless. But not tonight. Tonight I can’t see his face. I can feel but can’t see his hands. I remember why I love him. It is his strength. The strength I feel against my chest, not the strength I feel against my throat.

I know you are sorry. I know it won’t happen again. I know that you love me. I know you were protecting me. I know you didn’t mean the things that you said. I know it wasn’t my fault. I know you made a mistake.

I take my chances. I hedge my bets. I hope for the best. I lean into him the way the trees lean into the darkness of the park and the way he leans into the hood of the car. I put my arms around his sides and my cheek against his cheek and I feel his tears.

I am so sorry you are hurting. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.