My breathing hitched as I imagined Flame kissing our child on the forehead as he spoke of his undying love. That she or he was the light of his life. I felt a tear run down my cheek. I quickly wiped away the tear and it broke my dream. But I would not forget. I would not let the hope for that life, for that Flame, to be erased from my mind. I knew, together, we could help him, we just needed to find our way. The path to that goal was blurred, overgrown with weeds and spiked branches. But we would walk forward, clearing each obstruction, piece by piece, until we could scramble through.
It was worth it.
It was necessary.
Suddenly, Flame’s hand twitched. I glanced down. His finger moved again. I quickly removed my hand from his, as a soft groan slipped from his mouth. My heart seemed to stop beating as his eyes began to flutter open. He no longer had the IV. I knew Flame would fall into a mad panic if he woke a needle in him. He would visualize himself thrust into the past when he had been admitted into hospital and tied to the bed. I wanted him to be calm and free from any unnecessary triggers when he finally opened his eyes.
Flame took a deep breath, his shoulders in sync with his inhale. I felt my hands trembling, but I did not move my head from the pillow. I stayed exactly where I was. Even if he did not know me, I knew he would not hurt me. Not Flame. Not me, his Maddie. Even lost in the tornado that was his mind, I knew he would detect the light I brought, and bring me no harm.
Flame exhaled softly, and then slowly opened his eyes. I stilled, waiting for the fog to clear in his mind and for him to see me. His black gaze roved around the room, adjusting to the dim light… then they fixed on me. I felt as though my heart stilled in anticipation. Flame’s gaze bore into mine. I did not know what it meant. I did not know if it was in relief or panic about who was before him.
I studied him so closely that, unexpectedly, I saw tears begin to build in his eyes. Heavy teardrops filled his beautifully dark eyes, then spilled over and tracked down his cheeks. Flame did not move. His face did not so much as twitch. His head did not rise from the pillow. Flame stayed exactly as he had been in sleep, except for the torrent of tears now racing down his pale face. Then—
“Maddie…” His deep voice was raw. It rasped as he whispered my name, as if I was the answer to his prayers.
“Flame,” I whispered back, my eyes blurring with hot tears of relief.
Flame knew me. He knew my name. My husband, the reason that I breathed, knew me. Within the fog and the darkness that had dragged him down… he recognized me. Flame had found me.
The sheets beneath Flame were damp with his fallen tears. I inched closer, just a fraction. Just enough so that I could feel the warmth of his skin, smell the scent that was uniquely him. I did not dare speak. I desperately needed Flame to come to me. However, I did not want him to feel pressured. I did not want to confuse him.
His tears were relentless. As silent minutes rolled by, the relief I had so fleetingly treasured turned into foreboding. My stomach sank farther and farther into a swirl of panic. Flame’s expression was blank. He did not make any attempt to move. I listened to his rough breathing. For a moment, I worried something was physically wrong with him. I was seconds from leaving the bed to call Rider, when Flame whispered, “I can’t do it anymore…”
Those words and their broken tone of delivery hurt me more than any physical weapon could do. I gasped quietly at the depth of defeat in his voice, a voice that normally sounded like a symphony to my ears. I had missed not hearing my husband’s voice, often praying I would hear it once again. But I had not prayed for these words. I had not prayed for the sadness laced in each softly spoken broken syllable.
“Flame,” I hushed out, and then edged closer. His eyes followed me, pleading for relief, pleading for the pain behind his eyes to cease… for good.
“I’m tired,” he said. I knew he was. I also knew he was not referring to a lack of sleep. “I… I’m tired, Maddie. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t breathe anymore. I can’t keep feeling the flames anymore…”
I did not want him to see me break. I knew I should have been strong, but it was impossible. My face crumpled, my heart caved, and I felt my protective walls begin to crumble—one by one, bricks tumbled to the ground. I could do nothing to stop them. Seeing Flame so disheartened, so defeated, was the very worst thing I had experienced in life. I thought back to Brother Moses. To all the times he hurt me, raped me, abused me, beat me, starved me—the list went on… yet this, seeing the person I loved most so broken, so devoid of hope, made the horrors of my past seem easy. Hearing Flame tell me in so few words that he no longer wanted to be here in this life, no longer wanted to fight his very own unyielding internal war, was my very, very worst nightmare made real.
Not knowing how it would be received, I reached out my hand and softly wrapped my fingers around his. When Flame made no move to brush my hand away or to tell me he would hurt me simply by his touch, and how he was no good for me, I felt a part of me die too. Flame had always fought to keep me safe from his perceived flames and dangerous touch. Yet here he lay, his swollen and wet gaze locking on to our hands, making no sound or move to break free.
I pulled myself close until I was merely an inch from his face. He kept his eyes on our hands. I gently squeezed. I needed him to know I was here for him. Through my panic, I struggled with what to say. I did not know how to make him believe that he harbored no flames in his blood. That he was not devil-tainted. That snakes bit him because that was what snakes did. They were not agents of the devil seeking out the damned. Flame had spent a lifetime fixated on the lies his father had cemented in his fragile mind.
Finally, Flame looked up and met my eyes. He was lost, so very lost. I held back the sob that was fighting to break free. I felt the tears on my cheeks too. I had no idea if Flame would acknowledge that I was upset on his behalf, that my soul cried out for him to find peace.
“Why do you stay with me?” My lungs seized as he asked this simple question. I had no words left my mouth. I squeezed my hands tighter around his, and then brought them to my forehead. I closed my eyes at the sweet feel of my husband’s precious touch. I longed for the days when his lips would kiss mine, when he would hold me to his chest… and when we would make love, reassuring each other that we were safe and that we had found redemption and solace in each other’s embrace. “Why, Maddie?” he croaked. “Why are you still here?”
When my eyes found his, I felt the panic subside and a growing sense of knowing in my heart. I knew this man. I knew the tenderness and fragility of his heart. I knew there was no other soul on earth who could love me like he did. And I knew there was no other who would love him like me. The answer left my mouth before I had even brought my thoughts to my mind. Kissing his fingers and cherishing his warmth, I whispered, “Because I have found the one whom my soul loves.” My favorite piece of scripture poured so naturally from my mouth.
Flame’s lips parted and he released a quick breath. His nostrils flared. I prayed that he understood what I meant, and the magnitude of the sentiment I was trying to convey. “Maddie…” he rasped so soft and quiet and tender I felt a fissure echo through my heart at its sound. He had to know it was true. He had to know that there was no other for me. If I did not have Flame, I could never love again. Our love was not typical and certainly not easy, but it was soul-deep and destined, written in heaven in stone.