On Mondays, the clinic smells like eucalyptus and warm towels. It’s the kind of clean that feels intentional, like the room is resetting itself for whoever’s brave enough to start over.
Six months ago, I walked in on one of those Mondays, still blinking from a life I’d put on pause for too long. New city, new building with floor-to-ceiling windows, new job I wasn’t sure my heart would cooperate with. My plan was simple: clock in, do excellent work, go home. No detours.
Carlton arrived two days later.
He’s the kind of patient who sits in the lobby like he belongs there — not cocky, just settled. And he’s consistent. Every Wednesday at 4:30, every Saturday at 10. If he’s early, he reads. If he’s on time, he smiles. If he’s late, I’ve never seen it.
“Hey, Michelle,” he says now, voice low enough to make the word feel like it belongs to me.
“Hey, Carlton.” I roll the stool to the table. “How’s the shoulder since Saturday?”
“Better. I actually did the band work you gave me.”
“Look at you following directions,” I tease, and he laughs, real and easy.
There’s a simple joy in people who do what helps them. Somewhere after my last breakup, I forgot what that felt like — being believed, being… tended to. It’s ridiculous that I feel some version of that with a man I only see across a therapy table while cupping his scapula and telling him to breathe. But there it is.
I guide his arm through external rotation, elbow tucked. “Any pain?”
“Not pain. More… awareness.”
I nod. “Awareness is good. Pain is your body yelling. Awareness is your body clearing its throat.”
He grins. “You say things like that and I actually remember to do my homework.”
I shouldn’t notice the way he watches me when I talk. I shouldn’t notice that his laugh lingers in the room after I step out to heat a towel. I shouldn’t notice any of it. But some weeks, the noticing is the only proof that I am not walking through my own life asleep.
We work through soft tissue, scapular stability, the small triumph of a clean abduction arc at ninety degrees. I talk just enough to keep him from bracing. He talks just enough to make the hour feel like it moves on purpose.
“How’s the new schedule treating you?” he asks when I’m flossing the posterior cuff.
“Busy. Reese’s promo brought in a lot of new folks.” Reese Coleman, owner and lead PT, is all brains and big-hearted business. He launched a special rate to help me build a caseload quick. It worked — my calendar looks like a game of Tetris played by someone with excellent reflexes and poor boundaries.
“Good busy?” he prods.
I meet his eyes for a second too long. “It will be.”
He nods like he hears the space I didn’t fill with words.
When the hour’s up, I hand him his updated plan. He lingers by the door, reading it like it’s more than a paper with bullet points.
“Hey,” he says softly, as if trying the word on for a different meaning. “Thank you.”
It’s nothing. And yet, not nothing.
“You’re welcome, Carlton. Same time next week?”
His mouth opens, then closes. “We’ll see.”
The tiniest hitch. The faintest shift. Something in my chest notes it before my brain does. I ignore it. I’m good at that.
I wipe the table, reset the room, and pretend I’m not listening for the echo of his footsteps as he leaves.
Demetrius lowered the phone from his face, her words resonating like a loud echo in his mind. It was enough to paralyze his ability to respond.
Now four weeks into his furlough, their daily conversations had become a lifeline, weaving into the fabric of his routine. Talking with Michelle felt increasingly natural. He reveled in the ease of their exchanges, amused by their mutual love for sports.
Michelle was incredibly competitive. He didn’t mind that fight in her, especially since he discovered their shared values in family, education, and relationships. What he cherished most was the lilt of excitement in her voice whenever she talked passionately about wanting to build a legacy. It was disarming and genuine
Yet now, her words puzzled him. “What do you mean by that?” he managed to say, his voice strained; the words squeezing past the tightness in his throat. It was a sensation that was all too familiar but not welcomed in this moment.
This tightness wasn’t new. He’s felt it first during his third deployment, when he had to fight in the Afghan War, a visceral knot of anxiety. It resurfaced during a police call that escalated into his first shootout—an unexpected burst of adrenaline laced with fear.
But fear now? Over what? A relationship?
“Demetrius…I mean, all of this seems too good to be true,” she paused. “I’ve been through a lot, and I don’t know if I’m ready to try this again.”
“Try what again? This is our first go round,” he laughed, attempting to dispel the heavy air.
“You are a really great guy, but…”
And there it was. The uncertainty he’d dreaded, hovering like a dark cloud threatening rain. This was what he feared—rejection masked behind gently letdowns.
“Michelle, stop,” Demetrius interrupted, his stomach churning as he scrambled for the right words. With his much needed break from work, he’d gained some perspective. Between grinding through his real estate courses and chats with Michelle and Marcel, he realized he was ready for more. He didn’t just want to be a great guy anymore. He wanted to settle down. He wanted her.
Demetrius switched the phone to speaker and set it on the counter, needing distance from the intimacy of her voice in his ear. This reminded him of the moments before entering a hostile situation at work, how he’d pause to pray, never knowing the outcome. This time the stakes were personal. The thought of possibly hurting her already pained him.
“Don’t you pray?” he asked, hearing the edge in his own voice.
He heard Michelle scoff, defensively, “You know I do.”
He sighed deeply, his voice softening. “Michelle, I care about you a lot. I don’t know if I’ve told you that, but I do, and I never want to hurt you on purpose.” He could almost feel the weight of his bulletproof vest, a familiar preparation for battle. This time, however, the battle was for her heart. He knew casualties could happen, but it was a risk he was willing to take. He was going to help her fight herself and fight for what they both wanted.
“You can pretend that God doesn’t answer prayers if you want to, but I know He does. That’s how I met you and I believe that with everything in me. I understand that this feels overwhelming, but you aren’t the only person who prays. If you think you’re not worthy of being the answer to someone else’s prayer, that’s not on God—that’s on you.” Demetrius paused before continuing. “You’re an amazingly strong woman, and I know I’m far from perfect, but I need you to figure out why you don’t think you’re worthy of having the things you truly want.”
Demetrius paused, his words hanging in the air like the aftermath of a gunshot. As much as he wanted to retreat and shield himself from potential fallout, he knew standing his ground was critical. Michelle used to play sports. She knew what it was like to take a hard correction. He knew she could take it.
He hoped she could.
The silence that followed was profound, laden with all that had been said—and all that hadn’t. Demetrius stood there frozen, caught in the echo of his own vulnerability. The space seemed very charged, electric, yet fragile as if it could be shattered by another word spoken.
Michelle cleared her throat. At least she was alive. Demetrius wondered if his boldness had cost him.
“I gotta go, Meech.” Michelle’s voice wavered before she disconnected.
It took every ounce of restraint for Demetrius not to call her back. It felt like he was punishing himself, but deep down he knew it was necessary. He had wrestled with his feelings for Michelle since the beginning and his affection for Marcel only made things worse. This kid was incredible, often bringing a smile to his face even in absent thought.
Sometimes Demetrius resented the emotional stoicism his military training instilled in him, but not this time. Despite the ache of uncertainty, he had to press forward. He was determined to finish what he started.
He buried himself in his course for hours, taking detailed notes and seeing how they fit into his long-term plans. Before he realized, Demetrius had fallen asleep on the couch. He probably would’ve slept all night if his phone didn’t ring, but it did.
It was Michelle.
“Can you meet me at Valade Park, by the fire pit?” Demetrius used the light streaming in from his blinds to check his watch; it was 10:13p. He leaned on his elbow, concerned about why she was out so late. Before he would shake off the sleep and voice his thoughts, she added, “Please?”
Demetrius let out a long exhale, an audible testament of the tension swirling inside him. “Yeah”, he replied, his voice a mix of resignation and hope.
The line went dead, and Michelle’s quick departure left a heavy silence. Sitting up fully, he rubbed the back of his neck, looking through the darkness for his keys. His thoughts were a tangled mess, each one a thread pulled tight by anxiety and anticipation.
The air was crisp, hinting at the newness of Spring after it’s breakup with Winter. Valade Park was quiet, little spot near the river. There is a seating area that gives an amazing view of Windsor, especially at night with all the lights. It was there that Demetrius found Michelle.
He approached quietly, his footsteps soft on the well-tended path, his heart pounding louder with each step. This was the first time he had seen Michelle in person since they had met. Her face was bathed in the gentle glow of the ambient light, making her seem almost ethereal.
“I like to come out here to think sometimes. I haven’t been able to visit lately with everything that’s been going on. But when my parents took Marcel, and after our conversation earlier, I thought I would come here.”
“It’s a great spot,” Demetrius replied, his voice low, his fingers tapping nervously against the denim of his jeans. The pause that followed was filled only by the rustling of leaves as the wind picked up. Michelle pulled her jacket tighter, a shiver passing through her body. Watching her visibly fight the cold, and whatever churning inside her, Demetrius couldn’t hold back any longer. He chose directness, a bold leap into this void. “But it’s cold out. Why’d did you ask me here?”
Michelle inhaled sharply, her breath a ghost in the chilly air, as she turned to face him. Her eyes, wide and glistening with unshed tears, met his. “Because I’m in love with you and I don’t want to be.”
“What?” The word escaped in disbelief.
“Meech, I thought I was good by myself. As much as I wanted a relationship, I didn’t think I would be good at it right now. It’s been so long that I got used to it being just Marcel and me. Then you came.” Her voice broke, a crest of emotions threatening to spill over. Elated, Demetrius reached out to touch her shoulder, only to be met with a gentle but firm refusal. “No. I need to get this out. Then you came and shook up everything! Now I can’t sleep until I pray for you. I have to listen to my son rave about you. This is stupid!”
For a moment she fell quiet. Demetrius closed the distance between them, resting his forehead on her, but she pushed him away again.
“My dad knew before I did. He’s probably already told my mom. I’ve tried to protect myself from getting hurt but that hurts worse.” Her voice was a whisper, heavy with defeat and fear.
Unable to resist, Demetrius cupped her face gently and kissed her again. This time, his determination melted her resistance, and she granted him entry. A silent nod that broke her last barrier. His tongue coaxing her lips apart as he confessed his feelings with every touch. He kissed her deeply, and tenderly. Her response was a flood of tears and relief, and yielding.
Then she pulled away. Both working to catch their breath, Michelle jabbed her finger in his chest
“Meech, if this is going to work, you can NOT do that to me again!” Michelle’s voice trembled with anger and vulnerability that caught Demetrius off guard. Her eyes flashed with softness still. She was cute when she was angry. He couldn’t but laugh, even as she continued, a mix of stern and soft.
“I don’t trust myself, Meech,” she continued, her tone soft. “I made a promise to wait until marriage and…I don’t think I’ll make it if we do that again.”
“Can I at least hug you?” he chuckled, lightening the tension for a moment.
Michelle paused, considering in conflict. A soft laugh escaped before being quickly swallowed by tears. “Yes. But only for like five seconds.”
As Demetrius pulled her close, his arms wrapping around her waist. He rested his chin gently on her forehead. His heart thundered within him. Not about sex, but about her. About life. The game had changed for him. He thought about his dad and how he wished he was still alive. This is where he would bombard him with questions about this. It was the first time in his life where he felt his dreams were within reach.
After a few steady breaths, he leaned back, cupped her face tenderly and kissed her passionately once more.
“I had to, I’m sorry,” he wiped her face. “But I agree with you. I won’t allow you to break promises. Just know it won’t be long before I get to do that again.”
“Hey! It’s me, Donnie. I have something for you. Can you come over today?”
Ericka looked at her phone, contemplating whether she wanted to make time for this. Donnie had been introduced to her a few weeks ago by a friend. She didn’t think he was her type, but he persisted anyway. It was refreshing, yet a little annoying at times.
How many times can a person hear someone tell them, “I will never leave you”?
It was just something she wasn’t used to.
“I only have about an hour, then I have to go to work,” she texted back.
“That’s plenty of time,” he replied with an eager tone that came through even in text.
Ericka didn’t know why she agreed. When she arrived at Donnie’s house, her eyes nearly fell out of her head! His home was a sprawling mansion hidden behind a nine-foot wrought iron gate adorned with intricate designs of vines and birds.
She pulled up further, her bumper nearly touching the gate. As the gate slowly swung open, her eyes widened to see the massive house up close. Thoughts rushed through her mind as she took in the sights. Donnie didn’t look like he owned a house like this!
The polite voice on the intercom interrupted her internal questions. “Hello, how may I assist you?”
“Uh…” Ericka hesitated, “I was invited over by Donnie?”
“Wonderful! He’s been expecting you,” the voice replied cheerfully.
It felt like Ericka had to drive a mile just to get to the door. When she finally made it, Donnie was standing outside, his face lit up with excitement to see her.
“I hope you didn’t run into any trouble getting here,” Donnie said, helping her out of the car.
Ericka was too focused on the sights before her. There were fountains and hundreds of flowers planted around, bursting with colors so vibrant it was almost like she was seeing them for the first time.
“It was actually pretty easy to find,” she finally replied. “Who owns all of this?”
“I do,” Donnie admitted proudly. “Thank you for accepting the invitation.”
Ericka felt like she hit the jackpot! She didn’t care about how Donnie looked. If this was how he was living, she could learn to deal with him. Still focused on the exterior of the house and the garden area, Ericka didn’t even realize that Donnie was leading her to the front door. They were ten feet tall and elaborately designed. Ericka looked closely, running her fingers across the design.
“Was this handcrafted?” she asked, her fingers tracing the intricate carvings of mythical creatures intertwined with floral motifs.
“Yes, my son made it for me,” Donnie said, a note of pride in his voice.
“A son? Wait a minute. How old are you? You don’t look like you have a son old enough to do this!”
Ericka’s question hung in the air, mingling with a faint breeze that carried the scent of jasmine from the garden. Donnie chuckled, a warm, infectious sound that made Ericka’s initial apprehensions seem like a distant thought.
“I might look younger than I am,” Donnie replied with a wink. “Let’s just say I’ve been blessed.”
They stepped inside, and Ericka was immediately enveloped by the grandeur of the foyer. The ceiling soared high above, adorned with a crystal chandelier that scattered light across the polished marble floors like stars in a clear night sky. Paintings that looked centuries old graced the walls, each frame telling a story of heritage and timelessness.
Donnie noticed Ericka’s awe-struck expression and smiled. “It’s a lot to take in, I know. This place has been in my family for generations. Each piece you see has its own story.”
Ericka felt a mix of admiration and insignificance as she followed Donnie through the sprawling hallway. The air was cool and smelled faintly of old books and lemon polish. She couldn’t help but touch the surfaces as they passed—an ancient oak table here, a velvet-upholstered settee there.
“I must admit, I didn’t expect this,” Ericka confessed, her voice echoing slightly in the vast space.
Donnie paused before a large portrait of a stern-looking man in Victorian attire. “It’s not without its challenges and responsibilities. Everything you see comes with a story of struggle and triumph.”
As they approached a heavy wooden door at the end of the corridor, it creaked as he pushed it open, revealing a dimly lit room that contrasted sharply with the rest of the house’s opulence. Inside, the atmosphere was solemn, almost sacred, setting the stage for a revelation that Ericka could never have anticipated.
Donnie smiled warmly, shifting the tone to something more personal. “There is so much to tell you, but first I wanted to show you something.” He handed her a big purple box that shimmered in the sunlight, captivating Ericka’s attention. It was unlike anything she had seen before; the hues shifted with the light, mesmerizing and mysterious.
Ericka turned the box over in her hands, absorbed in its unique beauty. She didn’t notice the door opening or the older man who entered, looking like he might have been picked up from the men’s shelter north of Conway. It was only when the door closed behind him, releasing a tantalizing aroma into the air, that she glanced up.
“Oh my goodness! What is that? It smells… that smells fantastic!” Ericka exclaimed, her curiosity piqued not just by the box but now by the scent wafting through the air.
“I had some things whipped up for some guests,” Donnie explained. “We can go in and see what’s there, but I need you to open the box first.”
Ericka looked at Donnie, her expression a mix of confusion and a faint irritation at his insistence. “Wooow,” she said, her voice tinged with forced enthusiasm. “This is… different.”
“I had it made just for you,” Donnie beamed, clearly proud of his mysterious gift.
As they spoke, another person shuffled past—a woman who looked to be struggling with her own demons, her lips blistered, and eyes bloodshot. Ericka’s eyes narrowed slightly as she noticed the woman was wearing the same peculiar fabric that was in the box.
“I thought you said it was made just for me,” Ericka questioned, her tone laced with skepticism.
“It was,” Donnie insisted. “A lot of love, and suffering, went into having that available for you.”
Ericka’s gaze hardened as she scanned the area, noticing more individuals making their way to the door, each adorned in similar attire. “So why do they get one, too?” she asked, her voice carrying a sharp edge of accusation.
Donnie’s expression remained unfazed as he explained, “It’s a robe. You’ll need it to come inside.”
“Why can’t I just wear what I want?” Ericka challenged, her skepticism mounting.
“Well,” Donnie began, pausing to greet another passerby before returning his attention to Ericka. “I invited you here because I know you’re a special woman. I know that you’ve experienced a lot of hardship in your life, and I wanted to offer you a better one. With me.” He gestured broadly at the surroundings. “All that I have here would be yours. You don’t have to do anything; I already have help for that.”
Ericka couldn’t mask her skepticism. “There’s no way you’d be willing to take care of me for nothing. What’s the catch?” she asked, her instincts telling her that there was much more to this than a simple invitation.
“There is none. I just want to spend eternity with you. I love you,” Donnie declared, his eyes sincere.
“That sounds desperate. Besides, if you knew what I’ve done in my life, you wouldn’t want to be anywhere near me,” Ericka said, her arms crossed defensively. “I don’t want to wear this ugly robe anyway. Why can’t I just come in like this?”
“Well,” Donnie began, his smile gentle yet unwavering, “I have someone special I would like you to meet. Because he’s clean, I’ve given you something that will make you look like him.”
“It’s going to take a lot more than this robe to cover up what I’ve done,” Ericka grinned, half-mocking the simplicity of his solution.
Donnie smiled at her lovingly. “There is so much for you to learn, my dear.”
“I want to come in, but I’m not putting this on.”
“It’s the only way you’ll be able to come in, though.”
Ericka looked up and saw masses of people, all wearing the same robe, filing into the open door. There were people of all colors and backgrounds. Some skipped in with excitement; others were weeping so hard with joy. Ericka took it all in, her head swirling from all the people, before locking eyes with Donnie.
“Who are you for real?” she chided.
“I’m Donnie,” he laughed.
This time Ericka took a moment to calculate an appropriate question. “Is that short for something?”
“Actually, yes. It’s short for Adonai. I’ve been waiting to see you again and, this time, I want to invite you to live with me forever.”
“This is ridi—” Before Ericka could finish her sentence, she jumped as someone touched her foot. It was a woman, weeping so hard she could barely stand. The tattoo on the back of her neck was all too familiar. “Tiff?” Ericka was just hanging out with Tiffany the night before. She was shocked to see her like this. Tiffany was always scrappy, loved to fight. Ericka had never seen her like this before.
“Tiffany, get up girl! What are you doing?”
“E!” Tiffany greeted her, stumbling to her feet. “E, you have to come meet his son! I met him last night after I left you. I was riding home, and my brakes went out. I couldn’t stop. All I could do was cry, ‘Jesus, if you save me, I promise I’ll follow you.’”
“What?” Ericka held up her friend, “What happened?”
“I met him, E. All I know is two tires went flat and I was able to stop. I jumped out of the car and fell to my knees. Then he showed up. E, he saved my life. I know I’ve been doing wrong and I don’t deserve him, but I felt a love that I’ve never felt. You have to meet him!”
Tiffany pushed away from Ericka and ran the rest of the way until she disappeared behind the doors.
Adonai stood by with a soft smile on his face. “Ericka, I will never force you to come this way. It would have to be your decision.”
Ericka looked at the door, trying to see if she could spot Tiffany, but it was no use. There were too many people flooding in. She took in a deep breath and pushed the box into Adonai’s hands. It seemed like she stared at him for eternity. Clenching her jaw, Ericka took off the top and put on the robe.
Adonai smiled. “So much for you to learn. Good thing we have the time now.”
I want to learn to swim in your thoughts.
To ride the current of your emotions
Even if it’s against the waves,
I want to learn to dive under the swells.
Reaching the faults that shift and cause the ripples
Floating on the crests of good times
Coasting through the troughs
I know sometimes it feels like tsunamis carry us to nowhere
But they can also push us to the edge of…soaring
I want to be your moon
A half one
Never full of myself
Guided by the light of the Son
So I can move you better
Have you ever watched a flower bloom?
Watered with patience and time?
That’s the way my heart opened to you
The moment your fingers were acquainted with mine
It’s a kiss that sets it off.
Removing the lid from an active volcano
Encouraging eruption
It’s a kiss that sparks the flame
Heart racing to spread the heat through the veins
Skin almost electric to the touch
It’s a kiss that sets the tone
Not a steady sprint to the finish
But a sensual playfulness that ascends to new levels
It is a kiss that opens the door to possibility
Encourages chivalry and submission
Education and acquisition
At the end of the day
A kiss shouldn’t be taken
But shared in hopes of forging a new beginning
It’s a kiss that seals the deal
The first one lets you know
The second just a reminder
The third brings concerns
A determination to never to let it go
Like air, you search for that familiar touch
That comfort and quiet confidence
That’s well worth the wait
Crystal Writes 