17 You Wouldn't

After all the clothes are packed and set by the front door, we move to the bathroom to start there.

“Are you bringing your shampoo and stuff or do you just want to use mine?” Toph asks walking into the shower.

Shrugging, I continue to look through the toiletries under the sink, “I’ll bring mine.”

“You can use the stuff I already have, you know? It’s not a big deal,” he tells me.

“What if I don’t want to smell like you?” I challenge with a laugh.

He feigns offense, “Are you saying I stink?”

Obviously, I love his aroma. But if I smelled like him every day, I think it would lose the special. I’m not willing to take that risk. But of course, I won’t tell him that.

“It wouldn’t be far from the truth,” I joke.

“That’s not very nice, Day.”

“What are you going to do about it?” I ask as I finally turn to him to see that he has the sprayer for my shower in his right hand aimed at me. The other hand is on the water nob and a devilish grin on his face. My jaw drops, “Don’t you dare!”

“Oh husband mine,” he raises an eyebrow and mocks my accent. “Whatever to you mean?”

“Christopher, I’m warning you,” I start to stand, but he shakes the hose at me.

His smile widens as his American accent returns, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“Christopher,” my voice lowers, but I take on a smirk of my own. With my hands raised, I make it to my feet.

He slowly turns the handle so that water rushes from the bath spout, “One more move and you’re drenched.”

“You wouldn’t,” but even as I say it, I know it isn’t true.

He laughs evilly, “You know me better than that.”

We can’t just stand here forever. My only option, as I see it, is to rush him. Maybe I won’t get too wet.

Needless to say, as soon as I advance, the water comes flying at me. He was right, I did get thoroughly saturated.

As soon as I get to him, I wrap an arm around his torso, pressing our bodies together. With the other hand, I wrestle with him to get the still running sprayer away. In the battle, we both get soaked as we laugh.

After not being able to get the shower hose away from him, I turn us both around. Now between him and the tap, I reach behind me and turn the water off completely.

It takes us a minute or so to be able to speak. There’s so much laughing that it’s hard to breathe or even stand. I end up sitting on the lip of the bathtub to regain my demeanor. Topher ends up on the tile floor in a rather large puddle leaning against tub next to me.

With his hand to his chest, he looks up at me with the most brilliant smile I’ve ever seen, “You should have seen your face.”

“I was wrong before, you are a twat,” I chuckle and lean down to kiss him lightly. “Get me a towel, would you?”

“Under the sink?” he asks as he stands up.

I nod standing up. Peeling my shirt off, I throw it down into the small pond on the floor. As Toph walks to the sink, he too sheds his shirt to the wet ground followed closely by his jeans.

When he bends down to grab a few towels, I catch myself staring at the flexing muscles in his back. Not bad, I decide, not bad at all.

My husband stands with two towels in his hands in just his clinging boxer shorts. He holds one out to me, “Here you are.”

Taking a few steps forward and keeping our eyes locked, I reach out for the dry fabric. My voice is a little lower than I expect, “Thank you.”

“You’re going to have to take those pants off,” he points to my water-logged bottoms.

“I’m not taking everything off right here.”

“I was talking about your pants. You can leave your boxers on. If you leave the jeans on, you’re going to trail water through the apartment.”

I laugh as I shake my head, “You mean my trousers.”

He nods looking a bit confused.

“Where I come from, pants are your undergarments. I keep forgetting the little things.”

He wraps his towel around his waist as I strip the aforementioned item of clothing. Quickly running the towel over my body, I secure mine around my lower half as well just as the phone starts to ring.

“I’ll grab it,” he volunteers as he runs a hand through his now dark blonde hair.

Mentally shaking myself, I walk out to the front room to grab the box with the pajama bottoms in it. Looking through the clothes, I find two pairs of warm-looking plaid ones and pull them out as Toph walks in.

“We’re doing great, Mom,” he says as he catches my eye with a little worry in his eyes. “Yea, sure he’s right here. Just a second.” He holds the phone out to me with a raised brow, “It’s your mom.”

“Mum?” I ask as I put the phone to my ear. “It’s like three in the morning there. What are you doing awake?”

“Ducky,” she sounds a little anxious, “your father phoned.”

This throws me into a panic, “Are you okay? Is Angela okay?”

When my best friend hears my words, he’s over to me in a second. He wraps an arm around my shoulder and guides me to the sofa where we sit and he rubs my back.

“We’re okay. He’s not here,” my mom clarifies, but she’s not saying everything. I can hear it in her tone.

“Here as in at your house or here as in London?” These are important details. If he ever goes near that house again, I will rip him limb from limb.

“Ducky, he’s in America. He was moved from the embassy back to the states. He’s been there for a couple years,” she admits a little timidly.

My heart stills as I sit up straight, “Where in America, Mum?”

“Please don’t do anything irrational,” she begs. I know she’s probably crying, but my mother is a tough woman. She wouldn’t let me hear it if she was, “I don’t want you involved with him.”

“Where is he?” my voice becomes darker as I pronounce each syllable slowly.

She sighs shakily, “He’s in New York. But, Ducky, he’s a government official. It would be foolish to try anything.”

“Why did he phone you?” I feel bad for talking to my mother in this fashion, but I loathe the man.

“I need you to promise me something first,” she says to me.

Running a hand through my hair, I press the speakerphone button and set the cordless telephone on my coffee table, “What is it, mother?”

Turning slightly to Toph, I point at the pajamas that I had dropped on the floor. He nods and stands to grab them.

“Promise me you won’t try to find him,” she sets her conditions.

Once my husband brings me a pair, I stand to unwrap my towel, “Why would I find him? I hate him dearly.”

“Ducky,” she says it in a warning tone. “Promise me or I won’t tell you.” Before I can answer her, she adds, “And I’ll make Christopher hold you to your promise. It’s for your own safety.”

“If it’s for his safety, I’ll promise for him,” my best friend chimes in.

“Oh good Christopher, I’m glad you’re listening. This involves you too,” she sounds a little relieved to know he’s here with me.

‘Close your eyes’ I mouth to him as I hold up my bottoms. “What do you mean involves him too?”

Rolling his eyes, he complies, but that signature smirk appears. Facing away from him, I quickly pull my boxer off and tug my pajamas on. As soon as I sit down, Toph’s eyes open.

“Well, son, your father phoned to tell me that he saw you two on a television show,” she explains. “He wasn’t sure if it was you at first since it’s been so long since he’s seen you. But then when he heard our surname on the radio, he figured it out.”

“And?” I encourage as Topher stands up next to me.

“He wants to meet with you,” she tells us nervously. “I wouldn’t give him your information, but he’s part of the government. If he hasn’t already found you, he will soon.”

My husband takes a step away from me and sheds his towel along with him boxers in one fell swoop. Not wanting to peak, I avert my widening eyes, “Why does he care all the sudden?”

When he sits back down, I notice that he’s wearing the trousers I got out for him.

She sighs deeply, “He says he wants you out of his country.”

“Why?” Toph questions before I can.

“It’s not important,” she rushes through her sentence. “Just please try to avoid him. You know his temper, he’s probably just drinking. This will blow over.”

“Mother, why does he want me to leave?” I ask more forcefully.

She sighs again and I can just imagine her running a hand down her face, “He said it’s because you’re gay. And that your fairy husband will pay too.”

This ignites a flame inside me. No, not a flame, a forest fire. I’m so mad I could explode.

“If he so much as comes near Chris, I will skin him alive,” I tell her honestly as my husband runs a hand up and down my back.

“I don’t want you to be angry with me, Ducky. I just thought it was important for you to be on the lookout,” Mum sounds even more upset.

I can’t even think straight. I want to tell her that I’m not mad at her, but the only thing I can think of his how I want to murder the bastard I have to call my father.

Setting my elbows on my knees, I allow my face to fall into my hands. My best friend scoots as close to me as possible, wraps his arms around me, and presses his lips to the side of my head, “He won’t hurt you, Day. I won’t let him come close.”

“I’m not worried about me,” I mumble into my skin.

He rests his forehead against mine where he had just kissed, “He won’t hurt me either.”

“You’re goddamn right he won’t,” turning my face toward him, I capture his lips with mine.

Suddenly overwhelmed with emotion, I intensify the kiss so much that he lies back on the couch with me on top of him. His hands on my lower back, mine tangling in his hair, bodies pressed into each other, his legs propped up on either side of me, and this feels right. This helps me forget about anything but him and how much I care for him.

“Ducky,” my mum’s voice pulls me out of the trace I was in. “Ducky, are you still there? Damian?”

Trying to hide my face in my husband’s neck, I can’t suppress the laugh that comes out.

Apparently, Topher can contain himself better because he answers her, “We’re here. Damian’s just really upset.”

His hands roam up and down my back gently, calming me more than he’ll ever know.

“I’ll be fine, Mum,” I assure her turning my face toward the phone, but not moving off my best friend. “I won’t go and find him, but you know that he’ll look for me.”

“Just be careful, Ducky. You know I worry about you both,” she sounds a little more at ease, but I know she’s going to be up for the rest of the night.

“No need to worry about us,” Toph comments before planting a kiss on top of my head. “We can take care of each other.”

“I know you will,” it makes my heart lighter to hear a smile in her voice. “I love you both.”

“We love you, Mum,” I answer her.

After saying our goodbyes, I continue to lie on Christopher’s chest. I don’t really feel like getting up and not just because I’m comfortable. The main reason being his heartbeat and the natural scent of his body are soothing for me and I need to be tranquil for a little bit.

As if he’s reading my mind, he drags a hand through my hair, “You want me to put on a movie?”

Nodding, I reach out to grab the remote. Instead of turning it on myself, I hand it to him. He turns everything on and puts it on a random channel. I realize he’s giving me an excuse to lie here without feeling awkward. And, it makes me love him that much more.

I’m done fighting my emotions. I’m done thinking there is something wrong with me. I’m done judging this relationship by our sexual organs rather than our heart.

Resting my chin on his chest, I look into his eyes, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” his smirk isn’t taunting or wicked, it’s beautiful.

“This really scares me,” I admit to him. “I’ve never believed in love because of my horrible father. If I tell you about him, you promise not to run away screaming?”

He chuckles and runs a hand through my hair again, “I couldn’t if I wanted to. You’re lying on top of me.”

“Good, then I’m staying here forever,” I comment off-handedly.

He leans forward to kiss my forehead, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Resting the side of my head on his chest again, I tell him everything I can think of about the cruel man. His name is Clark Hill and he’s an American – the actual reason I’m dual citizen. When I was young my father would drink after work at the Embassy to the point where he would pass out in the chair in front of the television. When I got a little older, he started throwing things around the house when he got into his angry fits.

At the end of Mum’s pregnancy (which was a surprise) with Angela was the first time I saw him hit her. He hit her so hard that she fell and had to call 999 to go to the hospital. Angie was delivered that night because he had caused some kind of complication. It was touch and go for a while with both of them.

When they had finally gotten home from the hospital, it was happy for a couple months. But then, everything turned around. He got violent again. I was only seven at the time and even I could see that what he was doing was wrong. But my mother, she always said that she loved him and that it was probably her fault anyway.

The last time I had seen my father was when he had broken my nose, three ribs and left ankle. He hit me like he had hit mum before, but I was only ten at the time. He had been drinking and he was angry because I wouldn’t eat my vegetables. I still don’t like vegetables to this day; with the exception of cooked onions on mine and Topher’s favorite pizza.

Mum had come in at the end of his rampage and threw him out of the house. She told him that if he came back, she would call the police and that would cost him his job.

“Growing up, I thought that if what my parents had was love then I wanted nothing to do with it. Obviously, I figured out later that my mother was just scared of my father and that lead me to believe love doesn’t exist,” I tell my husband as I end the story.

The entire time, he had rubbed my back or played with my hair, tensing when I would get to a particular graphic part. All letting me know he was awake and listening, but he never interrupted me. He let me get everything off my chest.

“Damian,” he says my name softly as if I would startle if he was any louder. “I would never hurt you.”

Sighing, I look up into his eyes, “I know. It’s just hard for me. My father will find us, you know? He works with Immigration. He can find anyone.”

“We’ll hire bodyguards,” Topher reasons running both hands through my hair. “He won’t hurt you again. I won’t let him.”

“Can we stay here tonight? I just want to fall asleep,” I try to smile at him, but I’m pretty sure it’s more sad than anything else.

He nods, “Of course. Let’s go lay down.”

Slowly picking myself up, I yawn and stretch before heading toward our room.

Topher turns off all the lights and electronics before locking the door and following me. When we get into the room, he turns on the television and off the lights.

Tonight, I opt to lay on his chest instead of him on me. And even as jumbled as my mind is about my father, one thought sticks out in particular until I fall asleep.

There’s not a single doubt in my mind that I’m in love with Christopher. I just hope he doesn’t hurt me.