I get home from the doctor's office. I sit in the car in the garage for a moment. Sir and I agreed not to bring our problems into the house.
But surely this is an exception.
I steel myself and walk inside, the doctor's prediction still ringing in my ears, "You're going to need surgery." This doesn't really come as a surprise but it's still difficult to come to grips with the stunning reality. I need time to process this. I don't feel like answering a bunch of questions or running through all my options. I just need to decompress for a bit. But he's sitting on the couch when I walk in. If I can just put him off for a little while....
"Hey Baby," he says as I walk into the kitchen.
"Hey...Baby. What's up?" Oh GOD!! That was WAY to cheery and phony. Alright, get it together. Maybe he didn't notice.
"You alright?" he asks. Of COURSE he noticed.
"Yep," I respond. That's it, keep it short and sweet. I grab a few strawberries from the fridge, and turn to the sink to rinse them off. I stare into the sink envisioning every worse case scenario. What if the surgery doesn't help? What if something goes wrong and I wind up even worse than before? What if he goes from being my Dom to being my nurse? Will he resent me? What if I DIE!?!?
The strawberries are drowning at this point and once I stop fretting I realize that one of the strawberries has slipped from my hand and fallen into the sink. Naturally it heads straight for the drain and disappears before I can retrieve it. In my anger and frustration I just drop the other strawberries. I want to yell, throw something, kick something, but I remember I'm supposed to be playing it cool, and I look up and realize Sir is no longer on the couch. Without even moving, eyes still on the empty couch, I know where he is....standing behind me. He presses against me as he puts his hands on the counter flanking mine.
"Talk to me," he says quietly.
UGH!! I don't want to get into it right now. Oh fuck, just blurt it out and get it over with.
"I'm going to need surgery," I say dispassionately. There was supposed to be some sort of follow up, but I'm mute. I don't know what else to say. I'm still staring into the sink, the gravity of it all weighing down on me. Tears start to well up and I futilely try to will them back into my eyeballs. I'm silent, trying to be strong.
He puts his arms around me and holds me close, tight.
"I got you" he says.
As if he knew exactly EVERYTHING I was worrying about and knew EXACTLY what I needed to hear. I let go, put my head down and just bawl, tears landing on his arms, my arms, the sink, the stupid strawberries. Big, snotty, body shaking sobs.
I let myself wallow in my pity party for a minute, grab a tissue and clean my face, then I turn toward him.
"I got you," he says again.
"I know," I assure him. I should have ALWAYS known.
I revel in the warmth of his embrace and then he looks down at me with a devilish grin and says, "But if it'll make you feel better, you can always suck my dick."
His remark is so inappropriate for this moment I can't help but let out a huge laugh. We both have a macabre sense of humor, and his timing is oddly PERFECT.
"Wow," I say in mock astonishment. "You're willing to do that for me?"
We stay there in the kitchen, wrapped in each other's arms, silent. I have a long road ahead of me, but for now, I just want to stay right where I am.
Safe.
Home.
