The madness of the city and the weight of our past were washed away as we departed the villa and sped off into the horizon from its madness, leaving the specter of fear behind for the time being. Our sanctuary was a deluded getaway deep in the countryside —a small wooden cabin in the middle of a thick forest and shining lake, far from the eyes that had pursued us.
When we finally arrived, the cabin was bathed in the silver moon light. Weathered wooden plank, warm and welcoming, swept out to giant pines which were whispering ancient stories into the dark night. I stepped out of the car and took in a lungful of air, the cool air rushing into my lungs and washing my system clean of fear. Caspian followed me, his hand wrapped in mine. There, where starry nights unfolded above and ears still resounded from the soft, muted crunch of leaves, I sensed the darkness closing in that night and our love come forth, untarnished and radiant.
Life at the cabin was simple—small sitting room with stone hearth, itty-bitty kitchen, and porch spilling out onto the lake. The spasmodic dance of the fire and soft hum of nocturnal animals filled the air with a webbed intimacy that was healing. Caspian and I easily settled into our pattern. He prepared a simple meal, and I pulled out the scabby but beloved china that reminded us of happier times. Under sidelong glances and polite laughter, I saw the man I loved ease slowly out of his guard, as if this unobtrusive refuge set him free, at least temporarily.
We went out onto the porch after dinner. The night was pure and still, the lake a reflection of the trillions of stars on the horizon line above it. Caspian's eyes, eyes that were normally cold and bitter, were warm and bare as he gazed out over lighted water. I went to stand beside him at the rail, our hands clasped together in an unspoken promise that we were here, we two, out of reach of our past.
"Lily," he breathed softly, his words shaking with a soft sincerity that left me struggling to breathe. His eyes connected with mine in the blackness—a gaze so intense it felt like he was trying to sear our souls onto each other. "I've lived in fear, that I'd lose you—that someday you'd look and see just how much of a mess I really am, and would leave me." His eyes dark and stormy, and for a moment they blazed with the fear of a man who'd fought so hard to keep his love. "But here, and now. I can see you. And I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that you are not walking away from me."
I closed my hand tighter around his, my senses enjoying the warmth of his skin and the beat of his pulse. "I'm staying, Cas," I said, my voice barely above a whispered. "I love you— not despite of the scars, but because of them. All of you, all of what has hurt you, has brought us to this day. I choose you, each day, and I will battle for our tomorrow regardless of what I have to suffer."
His tough face melted then, and he drew me into a swooping, big kiss—a kiss of hope and honeyed possibilities. I saw the tension of the past disintegrate in the kiss into goodness of the present. For the first time in a long time, I allowed myself hope that life could be normal again, that happiness would be there without the inescapable fear.
Those initial days were followed with a gentle revelation. We'd wake up every morning to gentle dawn light seeping through cabin windows. I'd watch as the skies changed from darkest night blue to gold-emanating orange—a wordless welcome to each new dawn's beginning. I'd sit on the porch with Caspian held in my hand, my eyes meeting his in unspoken recognition. There, there was the atmosphere heavy with the dignity of our affair—irrevocable understanding that we were no longer bound by the scars of what had been.
In the kitchen, we began to relive all over again the serene happiness of working together. I mastered the art of preparing his favorite breakfast of scrambled eggs sprinkled with a pinch of chives and butter toast sliced into fine strips, while Caspian, now so kind, would lovingly brush away the dusting of flour on my cheek some times with a warm smile. His tender gestures, so ordinary but so full of meaning, stitched tiny, unbreakable stitches that gradually mended the wounds inside us.
One afternoon, we decided to take a walk along a path on the residential tract, which curved into the forest . The path was studded with patches of sunlight seeping through round the leaves of venerable trees, and there was a redolent aroma of pine and moss suspended in the air. As we went side by side, our hands locked together , we spoke in low voices on all and nothing—on those to-morrow dreams of a mad one, on those little pleasures we did not want to lose, and on the miracle that we stood there side by side together.
We came upon a meadow where a quiet brook flowed over sliding stones. I bent beside the brook, running my hand along its rim of frost, entranced by the beat of nature. Caspian was with me, and for what felt like a considerable length of time, we sat in easy silence, deep eyes frequently meeting with quiet smiles. It was in those brief seconds that I actually gazed at him—not as our otherworldly past man, but as my eternal dearest partner. T
hat evening, we returned to the cabin, our hearts lighter, our spirits reaching toward a brightening future.
At dusk, on the porch, when the sky clouded and darkened with a thousand twinkling stars, Caspian joined me. We stood there in silence for what seemed like an eternity, the only sound the soft swoosh of air and the soft lap of water on the shore. Our eyes communicated a vocabulary of hope and promise, that wordless understanding that we both knew we were constructing the foundation for something new—something not driven by the ferocity of our past but fueled by the force of love. "Lily," murmured Caspian, his soft voice erasing the chilly darkness, "having you near me—your hand in mine—it makes me believe that something lovely remains in this world. I believed only fear would be that which I was ever to experience, but now. now I find myself able to experience love and bravery."
I kissed him, a gentle kiss that was heavy with unspoken feelings. "I've chosen you, Cass," I whispered against his skin. "Every breath, every moment—I choose you, and I choose us."
In that hug, under the open sky, we could dream again.
We talked of the future when we would build a house, when the ring of our laughter had replaced the ring of guns and tears, when all our wounds testified to the wars we had waged and to the love we still possessed. Our words were soft, our sentences hopeful and remembering of our shared wound. Each piercing look that found its way behind us, every soft touch, was a vow that no matter the storms that blew in, we would weather them together. I heard at night the easy breathing of Caspian's sleep, his lullaby.
And as the first light of morning crept over the rim of the world, dyeing everything pink and gold, I looked into Caspian's eyes—those dark, pain-filled eyes that blazed with pain and with promise.