I'm a little apprehensive about seeing River. We haven't talked all day. Since we got together we've never gone this long without talking. I'm not even sure anymore who was actually angrier. Me at him for not telling me he knew it was Ben's shooter that attacked me, or him at me for having gone to see Ben.
When I see that he's not in the bedroom, I'm a little surprised. Everything is how I left it, just messier. My wedding dress lies flat on my hope chest, with the garter and pearl earrings nestled on top of it. I put everything there so I could easily slip back into the dress and get ready again. Originally, I thought we'd be returning from Grace's later that afternoon. I hang it in my closet, having no idea when we will be getting married. The thought makes me a bit uneasy, so I seek solace by walking over to the glass doors. I look out into the night, at the beautiful view of the Hollywood sign that I love so much. I'm not sure why; maybe because it represents hope.
As I stand here looking out, a fleck of light catches my eye and I see him immediately. He's sitting in a chair down by the pool just staring into the darkness. Opening the door, I pause to admire him; his long lean body, his always-messy hair, and I wonder if I really want to address our issues right now.
Taking a deep breath I walk the many steps down to where he's sitting and I know he must hear my approach. He sits there, one leg propped over his knee, leaning back, and sipping a beer.
"You decided to come home. I wasn't sure you were going to," he says without even a glance in my direction.
"River, of course I came home. Of course I did. I just needed time to calm down and figure things out. Get my head together."
"Hmm . . . funny, I'm not sure 'of course' can be assumed in any conversation we have from now on."
Taking another sip of his beer he adds, "And what do you mean you needed to figure things out? You needed to get your head together? I thought we did those things together, but I guess I was wrong."
"River, I was mad and . . . ," I start to explain but stop. He won't even look at me and I know I need to get his attention before we continue talking.
"You can't finish your thoughts. You could earlier. Should I help you? You're mad at me for not telling you, but I'm not going to apologize for that, Dahlia. I had my reasons. But the next time you decide to slap me after meeting with your ex-fiancé, maybe you could at least stick around to listen to what I have to say."
"I'm sorry that I slapped you. I shouldn't have done that. But I trusted you and you kept something important from me. How can I trust you won't mislead me again?"
Shaking his head he hisses, "Come on, Dahlia, you know you can trust me, I've never lied to you."
"I didn't say you lied, I said you didn't tell me. But you also allowed me to believe I was attacked by some random stranger. I know Grace asked you not to tell me who he was, but you really should have."
His stare is almost unbearable. He shakes his head and it infuriates me, but he says nothing so I keep talking. "Come on, River, you even hired extra security because you were worried that he would still come after me. I guess you went through all that trouble for nothing since they caught him. I'm safe now."
"Maybe you're right, but I'm not sure it even matters anymore."
"Of course it matters. Why would you say that?"
"Stop saying of course. I'm done with this conversation."
Since I've never really experienced him being angry at me, I'm unsure of how to proceed. Should I force him to talk about it? What will happen if I do? Am I ready to find out? I'm not sure about any of that. But what I do know is that River needs to understand that I love him. He needs to know that even though we haven't worked out our issues he matters to me.
As tension fills the air between us, I watch him, still unsure about what to do. After a few more seconds of unbearable silence, I close the distance separating us and stand directly in front of him. Avoiding eye contact he leans forward, setting all four legs of the chair down. It kills me to be standing here like this, unable to touch him. I want him to talk to me. I have to break the silence. So I ask, "Do you know your brother's passed out on the couch?"
"Yeah, well he did his best to keep up with me," he says, setting his beer bottle down next to at least a dozen others. Cocking his head to the side, he just barely glances at me. "So where does all this leave us?"
I answer in complete honestly. "The same place we were yesterday. I know we both have issues to work out, but I'm not sure talking about them anymore tonight is a good idea." Then I grab his hand and pull him out of the chair. He comes willingly. A bag of ice falls to the ground and I notice his other hand is wrapped in a kitchen towel. I swipe his hair from his forehead and try to look at him, into his eyes, but they are unfocused and the skin around one is slightly discolored. I cup his face and he closes his eyes. I run my fingers around the outline of his swollen bruise. "Does it hurt?"