He Thought I Would Always Wait Novels & Stories

“No?’ he said. “Very well, if that’s the way you’re going to be, and after I waited so long as well. I was beginning to think you wouldn’t make it.” “You’re not the first person to say that to me today.” “So you make a habit of keeping people waiting do you? Or are you just a little slow off the mark? Never mind, don’t answer that. I just hope you’ve been looking forward to this meeting as much as I have.”

Emon I had never been a patient man. Sitting still has always felt like punishment, but waiting for Albert… it was worse than torture. Every day he was gone gnawed at me from the inside out, like some invisible animal tearing through my ribs. I told myself that he would come back to me… he always did. I told myself he just needed time to clear his head, maybe to cool off from our arguments. But deep down, a darker thought whispered in my ear: What if he’s gone for good? What if he’s gone to him?

“Yeah, I mean… he and I go way back. We don’t need to talk every day, you know? He knows I’ll always be waiting for him.” My jaw clenches. Paul doesn’t seem to notice, or maybe he does and doesn’t care.

And I kept waiting, loving, surviving in the spaces between. But always, always, with his name on my lips. Because even if he couldn’t hear me yet, I refused to let him forget who was waiting. Who needed him. Who loved him too much to let go.

I sat on the couch, hugging my knees, waiting for him to come back again. But there was no sign of him. So I waited. And waited. I am stupid. I know it. Why do I still yearn to see him?

The sadness in his eyes hurt my heart, and I had to resist the urge to wrap him in my arms and comfort him. “Take as much time as you need, love. Just know that I will always be here waiting for you. You can rely on me and I will always be there to support you. Whenever you need me, or anything else for that matter, all you have to do is ask.” He smiled tenderly. “What if you get tired of waiting?” The words left my mouth in a whisper before I could stop them. What the fuck is happening to me? It’s like I am losing control of everything.

For someone. And though I could not speak his name, though the memory twisted into silence, I clung to the whisper inside me. He is. He was. And he will be again. I don’t know how I know it. But I do. And so I walked on—broken, grieving, but still waiting.

perhaps then he could hold on to her…. Never in his wildest dreams would he have thought that Emile would leave so resolutely. He always thought that she would always be waiting for him in the same spot…. Waiting for him to sort out his messy thoughts and turn around to see her waiting…. He always thought that all he needed to do to regain her was turn around….

When I fell apart it was quiet and long, and he held me through every second of it with his forehead against mine, following me over with my name in his mouth like something he'd waited his whole life to be allowed to say plainly. "I keep waiting for it to get taken away," he admitted afterward, in the dark, his hand tracing lazy circles where our daughter had finally gone still. "The good. I've had it before, in flashes, and it always got taken. So part of me is still braced. Still waiting for the phone."

Not urgent. Just quietly, steadily hopeful. That when the fires were out. When the foundations were solid. When life had settled into something real and stable. He'd still be there. Waiting. And so would I.