“Sebastian,” she said calmly, “they’re my friends. They want to meet you, and they want to see me. You don’t have to put on a performance for them.”

That was a fucking lie. If they saw the real me, they’d wonder what the fuck Caro was doing putting up with my pathetic ass.

“Sure, let them come, but I’m staying in the fucking bedroom.”

They didn’t come.

She started going for long walks by herself. That’s what she said she was doing, but I wondered. I’d spend the hours she was away staring out the window, desperate for her to come back, but as soon as she did, I couldn’t help snapping at her again. I think I was making her hate me; that was okay, because I loathed the piece of shit I’d become.

The nightmares were getting worse, and I didn’t think that was possible. I woke up screaming every night, and once I lashed out, nearly hitting her. I stopped at the last second, appalled by the fear in her eyes. I wanted to gouge my own eyes out, so I never had to see her looking at me like that again.

I hated it. I hated not feeling safe anywhere. I didn’t leave the house, but I didn’t feel safe inside either. I started checking that the windows and doors were locked two or three times a night before we went to bed, and I had a panic attack every time someone came to the house, even the fucking mailman. Once, he tried to deliver a parcel for Caro, and I hid in the kitchen, armed with a set of steak knives.

And then she just stopped.

The forced calmness that she put on every morning shattered. She wouldn’t buy me any more alcohol.

“If you want a fucking drink, then get your fucking ass off that couch and go get yourself one, Sebastian!”

She slammed out of the house and I didn’t see her for three hours.

I thought about killing myself, because then both our problems would be over. But that stupid fucking pebble stopped me. I kept thinking what it would do to Caro to come home and find my body. As much as I hated myself, as much as I hated what I’d become, I couldn’t do that to her. But I was so tired. So tired of being me, of all the thoughts that ran through my head incessantly, torturing what little sanity I had left. The memories, the fucking awful memories. I just wanted it to stop. But it didn’t.

So we were trapped in a hell of my own making, and I had no idea how to climb out of it.

Something had to break. As it turned out, it was me.

Because Caro refused to buy me liquor, I started dosing up on caffeine, staying awake for days at a time. It was the only way to stop the nightmares. But she got wise to that and started buying shitty decaf. Then she found that I’d drank all of the cough syrup. She was pretty mad about that too, but I was almost past caring. Almost.

But that afternoon, all I wanted to do was to make it into the kitchen to make myself a cup of lousy decaf. I couldn’t even do that.

Although I’d managed to switch from crutches to a walking cane, I was still fucking useless.

I lost my balance crossing the room, then tried to grab hold of the smaller of the two bookcases, and ended up falling onto the floor, crashing my bad leg against the coffee table. I thought I was going to pass out from the pain, but swearing up and down, cursing like it was going out of fashion kept me conscious.

So I was lying on the floor, surrounded by Caro’s books when she found me.

“What happened?” she asked breathlessly, as she ran into the room.

“I fucking fell!” I snarled at her. “What does it look like?”

She bent down to help me up.

“Leave me alone! I’m not a complete fucking cripple.”

That was a lie, but I couldn’t, wouldn’t let her help me.

She bit her lip, her expression pained as she watched me struggle to sit up and lean against the couch. I hated, hated being so fucking helpless, and I lost my temper every time Caro tried to help me. I knew I was hurting her, but I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t fucking stop.

Still on the floor, I made it as far as leaning against the couch, the effort leaving me drained. Silently, Caro bent down and started picking up the books nearest to her. I watched for a moment, then reached down to collect the ones that were within my reach. But when I picked up a copy of ‘Lolita’ by its cover, an envelope fell out, fluttering to the ground. Caro leaned down to take it, but for once I was faster.

“What’s this?” I asked, studying the envelope. “It’s got my name on it.”

Then my eyes widened in shock and I looked up at her.

“The date on it … that’s the day we first…”

The day we first made love. The day I lost my virginity to Caro ten years ago.

“Yes, I know,” she said quietly.

I remembered that night so clearly. I’d had another fight with my asshole father. This time because in those days I had long hair—surfer hair—and he hated it. He hit me in the face the second I walked through the front door, and attacked my hair with scissors, cutting out long chunks. Then he’d tried to beat the shit out of me, but I’d gotten in a couple of good punches before I ran out of the house.

Caro had found me bloody and bruised in the park. And she’d taken me to her home and took care of me. She talked to me, patched me up, and shaved my hair into a buzz cut for the first time.

And then I told her that I loved her. And then she’d let me … oh God, she’d let me make love to her.

So many memories…

I had no idea what was in the envelope; I only knew that night had changed both our lives. I didn’t know why the envelope was important, but as I studied the yellowing paper, I knew that it was.

She pressed her lips together.

“Open it.”

I propped myself up against the couch then heaved myself upward, dropping back against the cushions. I fumbled trying to open the sealed envelope; my left hand was still fucked—that wasn’t going to change.

I thought there might be a letter or a photograph inside, but I was wrong.

A lock of long, blond hair fell out. My hair. From ten years ago.

I stared up at her.

“This is mine—my hair. You kept it—all these years?”

“Yes, tesoro,” she said quietly. “It was all I had of you.”

I closed my eyes, holding the lock in my right hand. My heart was thundering in my chest and I was struggling to breathe.

“Caro, I don’t understand,” I gasped. “Why do you love me?”

“Just because … because the sky is blue and the sea is green.”

And then I broke.

Everything she’d told me was true. She’d loved me ten years ago, and all the years in between, and she still loved me now. And I didn’t know why; I didn’t understand, but maybe that didn’t matter, because she loved me, and I loved her and I always had. It had only ever been her. My Caro.

I started to cry, because the hope was so fucking painful. All the anger, all the frustration, all the hatred flowed out of me and I let my love for this amazing woman take its place. I felt the moment my heart began to heal like a physical heat inside my body. I fisted my hands over my eyes and cried. And then Caro was beside me. She fastened her arms around me, holding me tightly, and for the first time in a long time, I let her. She wrapped her arms around me and I could feel her forcing the darkness away, trying to heal me with her body, with her touch.

“I love you, Sebastian, please don’t push me away. I love you.”

“Oh God. I just don’t know what I’m doing any more; I’m so fucked up—I feel like I can’t fucking breathe. Don’t give up on me, Caro. Please don’t give up on me. I need you, baby. I love you so much. I’m so sorry…”

I don’t know how long we sat there—a long time, I think. She held me, just stroking my hair as I rested my head in her lap, her fingers running over my cheeks, tugging gently at the thick beard.

I sat up slowly, my body stiff, my eyes feeling hot and swollen. A part of my mind wanted to be ashamed that I’d broken in front of her; the rest of me didn’t care because I knew she loved me no matter what. That was the part I was going to listen to.