The Conversation
      Chapter 12
 

Michelle stares through him, never seeing his hand reach out to her. She falls back onto the bed, inching back to her previous position… as far away as the bed will allow her to go.

"Michelle. Did you hear me?"

Still nothing. Her gaze turns wearily toward the rest of the bedroom, ignoring his presence. Thoughts run through her mind as though re-living the moments over again. `You're my wife, I have to take care of you' - those words now have taken on a whole new meaning. He wasn't going to ensure that she got to Rick's in one piece, he was going to take the life right out of it. He was going to get rid of it. Her thoughts ascend further into those moments as he gets up, goes around the bed and over to her side, sitting only a foot apart, he rubs her leg, imploring her to look at him.

When she doesn't comply, he moves her face gently in his direction, forcing their eyes to lock. But still, something is missing. She's not there. She's back in their bedroom at the Santos mansion. She's remembering. Her eyes retreat to the other side of the room, denying him. In her mind's eye, she looks into the eyes of another man from another time… she's trying to see the look of death in his eyes, the look she saw that night at the docks. It's not there. But the love and the fear is. The love and the fear that have radiated from his very core since the day they met. She begins to remember every move, every look…

When he knocked the bag away, she knew he was suspicious, he told her as much, but she never thought he would go that far. To kill her? She remembers trying to cover it all up, how scared she was… not of him, but of Carmen, and what she would do if she found out.

The look in his eyes. Anger. `If you did do anything so stupid, Michelle, I don't know if I could ever forgive you.' Those words stung more than she wanted to let them. Fear was present, but so was betrayal. She couldn't hurt him. That was the last thing she wanted to do. She never wanted to hurt him.

The look in his eyes. Sadness. His love for her consumed him and he let it show itself to her. She remembers trying to reach out to him, to assure him of her loyalty to him. Her words… `I could never hurt you, you need to understand that…' They were real. She remembers wanting nothing more than to hold him and make him feel safe again.

The look in his eyes. Desperation. He begged her to tell him. He knew. She knew. She could've done it. She should've, she thinks. She remembers feeling so important to him, she remembers seeing herself in his eyes and knowing that's where she belonged. But she couldn't stay. She had to leave, to catch her breath, to think things through. She had to take advantage of any situation that presented itself to her.

The feel of his hands. Strong. Never threatening, but firm and confused. Tight, but soft. Cold, yet full of life. His never-ending internal dichotomy never ceased to amaze and bewilder her. She wanted to see the look in his eyes, she needed to feel that connection again. Whenever she doubted anything, the answer was there… in him.

The look in his eyes. Protective. `I will take care of you, if you will just let me.' How she wanted to believe him. In that small instance, she wanted to hold him, to tell him everything, to run away with him and pretend as though Carmen never existed. In that instance, her safety was assured, never threatened as she's learning it apparently was. She remembers… trying to tell him, in her own uncertain way, that she loved him. That she would never betray him. Her fear got the better of her that night, as it did so many others, and looking back she wishes she would've told him everything.

The sound of his voice. Guilt. `I'm gonna miss you.' It sounded different. Now she knows why. He was going to miss the woman he loved, not because she would no longer be sleeping in his bed, but because she would be lying in a shallow grave by his hand. `It won't be the same without you.' How could she not recognize the anger that seeped into every word he said? How could she not hear the regret that formed his breath?

Perhaps, she thinks, because she didn't want to hear those things. She felt love because she wanted to feel love. She felt love because it was present. She knew love was in that room that day. His love for her, despite its immeasurable strength, was not strong enough for them, not then. His faith in her was nowhere to be found. Only the two of them, accompanied by their shaken voices, their breaking hearts and their fear of wanting the very thing they could never have, existed in these moments.

The force of his embrace. Hopeless. `I don't wanna say goodbye to you.' He held her as though holding onto a lifeline. Never wanting to let her go. She felt his love. She knew it as well as she knew her own reciprocating love.

The look in his eyes. Fear. She always thought he was simply over-reacting, that his obsessive side was getting the better part of him that day, but now she knows.

Maybe his fear came from a place of love.
Maybe his fear came from a place of doubt.
Maybe his fear came from a place of betrayal.

Or maybe, just maybe, his fear came from the place that thought that she didn't love him and that she never would.

But she did love him. She always did. She always would.

And she would've told him… if not for that look in his eyes.