untitled

'SILENCE'
By: Xenith

How do you ask a man to father your child when you've never really told him that you love him?

Oh, he knows. A thousand different things have to tell him that. The lies I've brazened out for him, the times I've put my career on the line for him, the risks I've borne gladly for his sake.

And so I asked him if I could bear his child.

At first he looked tremendously flattered. Then he looked unbearably sad and I could tell why. Because I was asking him coldly and without passion for something he'd give his right arm to do, as long as my love went with it. He craves family so much. He's lonely. He's always been lonely and isolated. He waited for me to tell him that I loved him and wanted him to be more than just a sperm donor, that I wanted him to be a father to our child (not my child, but ours). And I couldn't say it. I couldn't let him in. Instead I left him abruptly so that he could make his decision without undue pressure or guilt from me. Who am I kidding? I was afraid. I knew what I really wanted to say, but I couldn't say it.

I can't say the words. I try to tell him but I can't find the words. I am eloquent in describing a hundred and one exotic diseases. I can testify before a court about the condition of a corpse and the forensics which led to that conclusion. But I can't find the words that will tell him how I feel about him.

He is so very intuitive; he guesses what I will say before I say it. He is perceptive. He notices bad moods in me before I notice them myself. But the habit of self-protection is so very strong that, try as I might, I can't fight it.

I was surprised when he came here tonight and told me that yes, he would father my child. He was honored to do so. He can't know the joy I feel in knowing that the child I hope to bear will have his eyes or his mouth or, God help me, his intelligence. I want his child, not just any man's, but his. He looks at me hopefully, asking that this child not come between us. And as I hug him in tearful thanks, he waits for me to say the words, finally.

Somehow I can never let him in, although he patiently knocks and knocks and asks me to let him into the center of my soul.

He just doesn't realize that he's already there and always has been.

Disclaimer: No, they aren't mine and I make no profit from writing these stories. I'll give 'em back to CC when I'm done.