THIRTY-FOUR: What's Her Name?

I ‘m dreaming when he wakes me up.

The touch of his fingers against my cheek pulls me straight out of a deep, vision-filled sleep and back into reality. The image had just been there, whatever scene in my imagination just having been playing fresh in my mind moments before, like a TV that had just been shut off. Except I can't remember exactly what I saw.

I know Harlan is there. He always is. And I remember happiness. Warmth. I remember speaking with him, but whatever words were shared are long gone, floating further and further away as I try to grasp my memory with invisible fingers, watching it slip through until it is gone.

My eyes open into thin slits, squinting as I try to adjust them to the low light. A hand presses to my cheek.

It is Harlan. He is everywhere: there in my dreams, and again there next to me in real life, when he pulls me out of them and back to earth. He hovers above me, propped on his elbow, giving me light strokes until I am finally awake and staring back at him.

"I'm sorry," I breathe, the memories of that night flooding back into my brain all at once. "I completely passed out on you."

I blush and attempt to sit up, wincing as my muscles groan in pain the moment I move. I lay back down, and wonder how long I've been out.

Harlan takes notice, his hand moving protectively to my shoulder, and he eyes me with caution. I can barely make it out under the darkness of the room. Maybe I don't see it at all, and it is just something that I feel. Something I can sense.

"Are you alright?" His voice is earnest. His hand slides slowly down my arm, touch gentle, a strange juxtaposition after the way he handles me so roughly just a few hours before.

"I feel like I've been hit by a bus, but in a good way," I say, grinning softly.

And then, suddenly, I wonder why he's woken me up. I thought that things were developing between Harlan and me. I've slept over before, so I didn't think twice about staying over this time. But maybe I should have. Suddenly feeling ill at the thought that I might have overstayed my welcome, I panic.

"Should I go?" I try to sit up again, this time, my neck aching as I crane it to look at him.

"No, no," he says quickly, gently guiding me back down with the hand still on my shoulder. "No." Harlan's hand moves to stroke my hair, causing my eyes to flutter shut at the blissful sensation of his fingers lightly grazing my scalp. "Stay. Please. I just... I couldn't sleep. Didn't feel like lying here alone."

My eyes open, and I search his face. It is as stoic and unfaltering as always. But his eyes give him away, no matter how statuesque he keeps himself. They are somber. Not sad, exactly, but full of contemplation. Full of questions.

It isn't lost on me, though I don't pretend that I’m not scared to ask. Leaning into the fear, accepting it, I press a hand to his cheek, drawing him closer.

"What is it?" I whisper.

Harlan's gaze casts off to the side, but he settles into my touch, tolerating it at the very least. "We haven't talked about why I was gone."

I exhale softly, giving his cheekbone a gentle stroke. "I guess I figured that if you wanted me to know, you'd tell me. And that if you didn't, I'd give it a day or two before I started prodding."

Harlan chuckles solemnly, the corner of his mouth lifting into half a smile. "Would you?"

"I would." I nod sincerely, lifting my brows and staring openly into his eyes so he knows it is true. "I feel like you just got back. Between the final, and the grading, and tonight, we haven't had half a second to talk about anything else."

He sighs, mindlessly fumbling with the bed-tousled locks of my hair, unresponsive.

"It's your family, isn't it?"

"My mother," he hums lowly.

I lean up onto my elbow, directing his gaze towards me with the hand on his cheek.

Finally, his eyes meet mine.

My heart balloons with sadness as I stare and absorb who, what he is. He looks at me with tired, brown eyes, sleep-dishevelled black waves that hang to his jaw. In the darkness, I can't see, but I know that he has circles under his eyes.

He is so young. Not even thirty years old. And yet so much hangs on his shoulders – so much responsibility. My eyes savour his beautiful features, and feel my heart break for him.

He is still just a boy... a boy who has grown up too fast in a cruel world.

I resist the urge to lean in and kiss him. To shower him with the love and affection that he's been missing for half his life. I know that is what made him the way he is now: unable to let himself love. Cold, and distant. He isn't a cruel man, but he's sealed himself away a long time ago, and shut everyone else out.

But this isn't the time for kissing, as much as I want it to be.

I stroke his hair lightly, hoping my touch is enough. "But she's alright?"

He sighs, turning away and holding himself up on propped forearms, staring at the ceiling. "She had a heart attack."

Bewildered, I sit straight up, no longer noticing the pain in my sore muscles. "What?!"

He tilts his head to look back at me. "It's not the first one she's had. She developed a heart condition a couple years ago," he mutters.

"Harlan..."

"Trust me, it'll take more than two heart attacks to put her out of commission," he scoffs. And just then, his voice almost softens. "She's the strongest woman I've ever known."

I sigh, the air falling softly from my nose and hugging the air between us. Crossing my legs, I place my hands in my lap, fidgeting nervously with my fingers. "What's her name?" I ask quietly.

Harlan's brows knit together as he turns to look at me. His eyes swim with confusion, perplexity. His lips barely part, he stares at me for a brief moment before his tired, gravelly voice softly responds. "Leia."