You finally stand up with a sigh. It´s not that this was a terrible day. It was just a usual day. And “usual” is getting old. Sitting in commute traffic every morning to get to a job you don´t want, but then sitting here in the dark in the evening not really doing anything about it.

“Chocolate, this definitely calls for chocolate,” you say out loud. Sarah would agree.

You rifle through the kitchen cupboards and can find nothing but chocolate chips. It´s still chocolate. You grab a few and pop them in your mouth and open the freezer to pull out the ice cream that´s probably shouldn´t be in there. But you´re a grown up now, and it´s your money, so you can buy ice cream if you want! You open the ice cream and decide there´s just not enough in there to justify the effort of scooping it out. You like the way you justify everything. After sprinkling some chocolate chips on top, you dig in with those big-mouth spoons that you´d never use in public when eating ice cream.

“Hmmmm….” You eye the bag of chocolate chips and then the microwave. Dumping the remaining chocolate chips into a bowl, you nuke the hell out of it to create hot fudge. It´s fabulous until it hits the ice cream, and then it turns into a mess of chocolate goo. “Even better!” you say triumphantly.

You lean against the kitchen counter and shovel the concoction into your mouth to bury your swollen heart. And there she goes again:

“Spend all your time waiting…for that second chance…for the break that´ll make it okay….”

You gulp the ice cream faster. You are not going to do this. But she won´t let up:

“In the arms of the angel…fly away from here….”

You slam your bowl down on the counter and march to the CD player and slap it to shut it off. “Enough! Just deal! There´s no friggin´ angel!” You madly gesture to yourself by wildly waving your arms around. And finish with a “Baaaahh!!”

You march back to your bowl, but then defiantly turn on your heel to go back and adamently turn on the light to bring a little reality on the situation. As soon as the room is illuminated, you scream. Or you try to scream. You open your mouth to scream, but a little stuttered squeak is all that comes out. You back up until you hit the wall and then lean against it to steady your terrified body.

“Don´t be afraid. I´m not going to hurt you,” he says in that voice. That voice! The warm, rounded sounds flow easily through you.

You hold your arm out toward him as it trembles wildly. Then you cover your face with your hands. You have gone absolutely mad. Suddenly you jump as you feel hands grasp your shoulders. You look up into this very real, very beautiful face. But this is so wrong. You try to back up again and realize that you´re already crammed against the wall. Tears begin to well in your eyes. You were a little depressed, but now you know you´ve totally lost your mind.

Gentle fingers brush tears from your cheeks. “You have not lost your mind.”

“B-but…h-how….”

“Don´t worry about that.” He strokes a finger across your forehead and suddenly your fear abates. You feel strangely composed. For a minute, that is. Until it truly registers in your brain that your lovely “paddlewan” is standing right in front of you. Actually, who cares if it´s really happening? This is certainly better than a dream.

Then you get nervous and stupid like you always do. Self-conciousness kicks in at the realization that he is WAY too sexy to give you the time of day. You slide along the wall until you can turn around and walk into the kitchen, for lack of another escape route.

You grab onto the counter to steady yourself until you feel hands on your shoulders. “You called me here. Let me help you.” He squeezes your shoulders slightly and you feel all the bound up, angry little parts of you begin to loosen. He turns you to face him, but you cannot raise your eyes. You stare at his chest, trying to convince yourself that it´s real, that all of him is real.

You see his fingers come to your face, and you close your eyes. He raises your head up and commands, “Open your eyes.” Then he says your name. Your eyes pop open and your breath catches in your throat. “Breathe,” he whispers. You feel yourself afraid again. “Do not fear me…or yourself,” he says. Calm comes over you again.

His hands hold your head gently, but firmly. He leans in closer to connect his eyes to yours. “You asked for comfort. Let me provide it.”

You instantly look away and bite your lips hard, but no matter how hard you try, the tears leap out of your eyes.

“Oooh,” he coos and presses his lips to your forehead. “Just let it go.”

And you do. But not a choking sob. It´s that flow of tears that have been awaiting their release. You let them go steadily, without drama. You breathe a heavy sigh…and then worry about the day-old makeup that´s probably running all over your face.

He chuckles and then makes you look at him again. “There is nothing more beautiful than your soul finding it´s way.”

The glimmer of his eyes, intent upon yours, unwinds you even further and your heart begins to ache for a connection. He smiles softly, and his hands leave your face. You feel his warmth leaving, too. But then his arms encircle you, and he pulls you in. A strong arm slides around your back. One hand cradles your head, and you rest on his chest, listening to the steady, soothing rhythm of his heart.

You surrender into him and try to hold him just as close as he´s holding you. Safety and peace envelop you. His fingers tenderly carress through your hair, and you can feel his face buried in your tresses as he inhales deeply. You close your eyes and just feel him… breathe him….

You cannot now recall what had such a tight hold on you. Whatever it was, it´s gone. You are now simply melting into him. You feel weightless…and drifting….

“Sleep,” he says.

“Standing?” you are barely able to whisper.

“Sleep. Fall into me. I´ll take care of you.”

And so you obey. Warm and peaceful and loved…you let go…and give yourself over to him…one last slow deep breath…inhaling him…and then…sleep….