Pieces of a Mending Heart by Kristina M. Rovison

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    * * *
    My throat is becoming hoarse from talking so much for so long, and I haven’t moved from my position in Tristan’s arms since I began speaking. I take a deep, shuddering breath and finish my speech with a lame “and, now I’m here.”
    A heavy silence follows, shrouding the peace in a feeling of discomfort. I shift, wanting to see Tristan’s face, to see what he’s thinking; but his arms tighten around me and I cannot move an inch. This should frighten me, but the gesture feels caring instead of menacing.
    “Are you going to say anything?” I say after a few minutes, unable to stand the silence any longer.
    He takes a deep breath and sits up, moving both of us into a sitting position. I move away from him, turning my whole body to face him head-on. To my surprise, and pleasure, I find myself looking into awestruck eyes instead of pitying ones; there is nothing I hate more in this world than accepting pity and hand-outs from others. I want them to know I’m strong enough to get by on my own, and I have too much pride to take pity gracefully.
    Tristan takes my hands in his, fingers brushing the scars on my wrists, sending an unnatural tingle up my spine that feels like hamsters are crawling their way up my back. Without speaking, he lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses the inside of my wrist, right on my scar.
    I feel a tear slip down my cheek, cool and wet on my sun-warmed face. Seeing this, Tristan drops my hands and slides closer to me, taking my face in his hands. I again see the scar that travels up the side of his forearm, and I can’t help touching it, running my fingers along its slightly-raised surface.
    “I knew it was you,” is all he says, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.
    Confused, I tilt my head to the side and raise my eyebrows slightly.
    “There is a reason I asked you those questions, Kat i e. I think there’s something you left out of your story,” he whispers, leaning closer.
    I think he will kiss me. I wait, hopeful, as he leans closer, hands gently squeezing my face tighter. He lays his lips against my forehead, hovering there for a moment before pulling back and looking into my eyes.
    “I told you everything you need to know,” I answer, breathless.
    Tristan smiles sadly, nodding his head. I cannot imagine him knowing about my Encounter with God, and there is no way I would willingly give him that information. I don’t doubt he would believe me, but if he is my angel, then I want him to realize it on his own. Also, I feel like the meeting with the Lord was for my eyes only, and it will be a secret just between the two of us.
    “It’s your turn,” I say, wanting to hear his voice.
    “Katherine, it ’s been-" he begins to say, but I cut him off.
    “No excuses. If I can open up, then you owe me that much, Tristan,” I counter, sounding forceful and immoveable.
    He purses his perfect lips, speculating. “Alright, but on one condition,” he raises his pointer finger to emphasize. I smile slightly and nod. “I will tell you my entire story if you swear you tell me the rest of yours.”
    I look at him with an accusatory look. “That was not our deal!”
    Tristan raises his eyebrows, “This isn’t a ‘deal,’ Katherine! These are our lives we’re talking about, here . What type of relationship do you think we can have with half-details? Not the kind I want,” he laughs the sound devoid of any humor.
    I bite my lip at the word “relationship.” Certainly he means friendship, right? But he’s acting like he’s expecting more. That’s right; they always expect more, the tiny voice in my head sings as I think.
    “Katherine, I want you to trust me. I trust you! I need you, and you need me; I know you know what I mean, too!” he says loudly, disrupting my inner-battle.
    Stunned, I look at him wide-eyed. I attempt to transform my shocked expression into one of innocence, but fail.
    “I’ve waited two years to have this conversation with you, Katherine.