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"Friendship is certainly

the finest balm for

the pangs of disappointed love"

-Jane Austen  

                                                                  ABBIE

"Thanks again for coming with me Josie." I turn to her attempting to give her my best smile, but I'm a bag of nerves, my lips failing me with a quiver as they fall back to a worrisome frown.

"Of course, honey, no one should have to do this alone." She quickly replies lowering her head to meet my glossy eyes for reassurance. Squeezing my hand as she leans into my shoulder, her black poufy curls brushing along my cheek as she rests her head against mine. Her coconut conditioner invading my senses, before the word "expected" changes to "landed 12:01" on the arrival board followed by a soft ping.

I lift from my seat with anticipation , breaking my hand from Josie's as I smooth over my sweater, nervously adjusting my waves before tucking my hair back and crossing the lobby to get a view of the board bridge by the window.

Bystanders and families with homemade welcome signs begin the flood in, banners and large poster boards with clever puns soon cover my view. Pushing me to the back of the crowd as they too anxiously wait for the gate to open. I can't see! Wyatt can't see me. What if he thinks I was too busy for him, and thinks I never bothered to show? I fight the growing crowd, when will this dye down? On the tips of my toes, my eyes search for any sign of Wyatt. I search for his large duffel, Camo, anyone tall or alone. I whip my head around to look back to Josie, still standing near our seats, who answers my questioning eyes with shrugging shoulders. Soon welcome signs begin to pile against the trash can as reunited families and their laughter exit the now hushed room.

With Defeat, I make my way back to the sad worn seat that held me for the last hour as I waited for his return.

"Abbie!" Josie shouts, pointing with excitement. "It's Wyatt!"

I lunge for the boarding bridge, his boots cross the threshold in the nick of time as my body clashes into his, slightly knocking him back. Crap his leg. I forgot. I pull back, his face a sight for sore eyes. His cheek bones still sightly discolored from bruising despite his two weeks of recovery. With a gently squeeze around my shoulder he grants me with the slightest smile until he notices my eyes shifting to search his face. He quickly turns he head out of view to adjust his duffel. But I knew he was hiding his scar. Still fresh and pink, like the scab had just fallen off, the scar started near ear, stretching across his cheek, and through the tail his brow, before splitting off and disappearing into his hairline near his shallow widow's peak, barely missing his eye. A scar that would last a lifetime.

I can't believe he is home! After receiving the call of Wyatt's accident, I deprived myself of sleep. All my fears of what-ifs came pouring in with the constant worry of if Wyatt would make it back to me if he would even pull through to make a flight home. Nothing about his arrival date seemed real, until I could hold him in my arms again. 

But when I peer into his tired eyes, it's as if I traveled back in time, looking into the eyes of the young boy that stood on the smoke-filled porch back in Louisiana, once afraid of Jason Pectin. But his green eyes managed to morph back into the broken brown, pain filling them once again like the years before.

I wrap my arms around his neck, standing on my tippy toes. My heart hurts for him, but when he doesn't hug back, I'm left with disappointment. He rested his free hand on my hip, but where was his embrace? When he dips his thick forearm across the small of my back, the one that makes me feel safe and secure.

"Can we go home?" His deep raspy voice cuts through my troubled thoughts, calming them for a moment as he kisses my forehead, his lips not lingering long before he is pulling away, the smell of whiskey filling the now empty space. Wyatt didn't drink hard liquor before. Adjusting the strap of his duffel, he quickly waves to Josie. He is pushing me away; I can feel it with his lack of touch.

"uh, yea! Of course!" I sheepishly answer, why am I so nervous?

"Josie, offered to drive us home, I hope that's alright."

"Sure." Barely lifting his head as he gently takes my hand in his before walking out the terminal.

"It's really nice to have you back home Wyatt! Abbie has missed you so much!"

"Thanks, I've missed her too." His voice smooth and flat. If I hadn't looked up, I would have assumed his face was just as expressionless as his tone. But as I do, I catch a glimpse of something familiar; the slightest tug forming at the corner of his mouth, revealing that lone, charming dimple. The one that always seems to melt away my nerves, and make my cheeks turn a summery shade of pink. Inhaling a breath of relief, I gently squeeze his hand before he abruptly pulls away as we approach the car. Instant frustration and worry forms in my throat as I try to steer through my mess of emotions. Was he being weird, or was I?

The drive home was quiet, Wyatt had always been somewhat reserved, but during the ride he avoided eye contact, and watched the scenic route. He didn't ignore us or avoid conversation, but he wasn't exactly forthcoming. I knew he was hurting; I knew he'd be different; He was adjusting. I had no right to be impatient, but I was, I wanted my Wyatt back. If there was one thing, I was selfish of, it was Wyatt.

Anticipation and worry rose from my gut, just before my tears were about to give me away by spilling over the rim, Wyatt squeezes my thigh. Gently resting his hand atop as he continued to peer out of the moving car. As if he knew. He was going through something. He was trying to restore our normalcies just as much as I was. I rested my head on his shoulder as my heart eased in knowing, our souls are the same.

Even so it pulled at my heart's strings to know there was something so far, so deeply embedded in him from this, that I couldn't fix, couldn't console. But the whiskey under his breath could on the plane. The first time I got a scent was during our embrace, but I chalked it up nerves- after all, he was grown, and any man coming home from war, was worthy of a drink. But when he rounded the corner of Josie's car to place his luggage in her truck, he ducked off. By the time he did return the thick poison seemed the linger even stronger than moments before. 

"Well, your first night back home, what would you like for dinner."

"I don't know Abs, I'm not really hungry, still adjusting to the time," His voice is low, nonchalant, as he shrugs his duffel off his shoulder onto the coffee table, shoving both hands in the pockets of his jeans as he takes sight of our home. It's been close to four months since he stood in our Livingroom. Liv and I have revamped for the season, changing our dark curtains to sheer, to let in more natural light and enjoy the flowers currently in full bloom. We stored away our holiday themed throw blankets and pillows, replacing them with soft pastels and floral prints.

"I feel like I've traveled in time; Colorado is eleven and a half hours behind Kabul," he pauses, running his hand against the back of his neck as he clears his throat.

"The house is different, It uh looks, nice." and in one careful motion Wyatt lifts his duffel, but winces at the pain, as the strap grazes his shoulder. The same shoulder I rested my head on in the car. He staggers for a moment, before quickly correcting his footing as he carried on down the hall with a bitter limp.

I watched him, as he walked down the narrow hall, when he thought he was no longer in view. His composure broke, falling to pieces as he leaned against the wall to rest for a moment. Wyatt. I wish he would ask for help.

But knowing Wyatt asking for help, is weak.

 A low groan echoes down the hall as he pushes his frail, beaten body off the wall. But to my surprise, he doesn't turn his head. His balance and hearing compromised from the recent explosion currently left him with the inability to swiftly react without causing his good ear to ring, dizziness or worst, nausea. When he pushes past the door jam to the master room, with a limp that not even therapy will completely heal, I watch his injured leg give into the pain once again.

"Abbie?"

"Coming!" I calmly shout back, my socks slide along the polished hardwood floor as I scurry to the door, smoothing over my airborne hair before walking across the threshold, not wanting to give away my concerned appearance. Stay calm, cool, and collected Abagail.

Wyatt sits at the edge of the bed, pulling his outstretched leg in an upright position by the fabric beneath his knee, to match the other. His face cringing from the pain of the hard denim rubbing the tender skin, where his bandages have started to fall.

"We need to change your bandages and maybe spray some Dermoplast to help numb the area." I suggest, my voice low and full of worry. This time I can't hide my concern. As I kneel at the foot of the bed searching his eyes for a response. "Let me help?"

He agrees with a tender smile and a subtle shrug, sure to avoid eye contact once again. Shifting from the floor, I pull up enough to reach for his face, guiding his chin toward my direction.

"Wyatt-" I press stroking his cheek as I patiently wait for him to give in to my gaze.

"Don't push me away. I'm here for you, thick or thin, remember? Please let me be here for you."

Within an instant I'm overfilled with warmth as Wyatt's lips clash to mine, full of passion and control. As his calloused hand tenderly grips the back of my neck. The fresh stubble of his upper lip grazes along my jawline. I've gotten used to a clean-shaven Wyatt, but hmm how I've missed his grizzly scruff.

"God, I've missed you." he huffs out a lustful breath, eagerly pulling me to straddle his lap. But he quickly stills before jerking his hand back.

"Ahhh" an agonizing groan rumbles within his chest while he stretches the hand he used to touch my neck. I shift back, quickly standing and on high alert. What do I do? I watch as he opens his balled-up palm, allowing his fingers relief of any tension with several shakes.

"Baby? What do you need me to do?"

"I wish it were that simple Abbie, I just have to bare the pain for now. It's just damaged nerves. The redirection of blood flow probably didn't help matters." He jokes with a scoff, finally peering into my eyes for the time since we made it home, granting me his one-of-a-kind grin and playful wink. Never breaking contact, I bend to my knees, but not for pleasure or selfish reasons. Instead, to show my love for him the best way I can in this very moment, Tending to his wounds. Allowing him to be vulnerable for me in a different way, more than sex could allow. Completely naked in all his perfectly imperfect flaws.

Removing the dressing of his scorched leg, was harder than I imagined, his burns were so deep, it compromised muscle function, parts of his hypodermis completely gone. His lower knee down to the bottom of his calf sported a long scar where the surgeon had to cut to relieve pressure due to extreme swelling early on in his recovery process. Fresh fleshy pink skin accompanied the dissolving stitches, a sign of improvement. Now back in the States, tomorrow would-be Wyatt's first Skin-grafting appointment.

Showering in silence, he allowed me to wash his brittle body. He sat patiently on the wooden stool, as hot water soaked his hair, enjoying the heat that greeted his tense shoulders, his composure finally breaking as the droplets running down his skin temporarily soothed his pain. Soft whimpers fill the small stall as his shoulders caved, bobbing back with each drawing breath. I bit my tongue and remained silent. But from behind, I started to cry with him as I continued to wash his back, wishing for a way to literally wash away his pain. If only it were that simple. I imagined gently squeezing the soapy lather from the sponge and watching as the shiny bubbles slowly ran down each curve and dip of his body, taking each scab and scar with it. Like how with ease, the tide on a beach gently washes away the footprints and castles visitors leave behind the long stretches of sand. How I wish I could be that tide. I imagine healing it with each foamy pass of the soap filled sponge, erasing each red mark and blemish that riddled his perfect vessel with suffering.

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