Close, yet so far...

II.
"Call me Ben," you said. "Can I buy you a coffee?"

XV.
At first I think it's branches on a window, but then I recognize the sound as fingernails on wood. I stand up and run a hand through my wet hair, the only effort I make to make myself presentable.

Walking over to the door, I first check the cameras you installed. You know, just to be sure. I can't help hoping that it'll be you, sopping wet and ready to eat the dinner I made.

It's a policeman.

I.
I was already in my second year of college. My major was forensic criminology.

I'd seen you around the shop before, so I recognized you, but I didn't know who you were.

You were twenty years old, a tall young man with dark brown hair that was always short, yet permanently messy.

You came up to me and held out a hand.

V.
You said that I was different, and not just because examining dead bodies didn't gross me out at all.

You were quite different as well. Serious, reserved, and a lot more mature than other guys your age.

And when I became your girlfriend, you still didn't tell me what you did. I knew you worked for the law, but I didn't know any details. Perhaps it was better that way.

XII.
It was February. I remember that clearly. That morning, you told me you were going to go away for a day or two, but you said you'd be back after less than six days.

I sighed. You knew what I was thinking, since you knew me so well.

You stroked my cheek. "Don't worry, love. I'll always come back for you."

III.
I started seeing you around more and more.  Every time you saw at the coffee shop, you always came up to me and offered to buy me a coffee, just like you had that first time all those years ago.

Sometime later, I discovered I had fallen in love with you.

XIII.
You said you'd be back in less than six days. That was a week ago.

I lay on your couch, wearing one of your favourite t-shirts, with one of your warmest blankets wrapped around me.

I'm watching the movie we were supposed to be watching together. It's not a sad movie, but there are tears streaming down my cheeks.

You said you'd come back.

VI.
After we had dated for five or so months, you insisted I move into your place. You hadn't said why, and since I'd never seen or been to your flat before, I thought about protesting, about saying that I was happy where I was.  In a corner of my mind I knew that it wasn't a question.

XIX.
There's no funeral, no body, no ceremony, and nobody mourns. Nobody but me.

I mourn on the inside, mourn for your death, for the things you did, for the things you should have told me.

But most of all, I mourn because I know that you're gone and that you're never coming back.

X.
You started disappearing for days, then weeks at a time. I rarely asked, but the few times I did you always said you were training for an assignment. I never asked for specifics, just as I knew you wanted, so I just concentrated on taking care of you when you were home.

VII.
The first time you took me to your flat, I was surprised. You'd said your place was small, yet your bedroom was bigger than my kitchen and my common room combined.

You spread your arms wide, as if about to showcase a long-lost Picasso.

"Well," you said. "Welcome to my home."

IV.
As we stood out in the rain, sopping wet, you pressed your lips against mine for the first time.

I relished your touch, inhaled your scent. I didn't want it to end.

You stroked my cheek. "I will always come back. No matter what happens, I will come back."

IX.
You gave me my own bedroom. You didn't have to, but you did. I respected you for that.

And though you had your own bedroom, in the mornings I still woke up and saw you asleep in a chair next to my bed, your hand resting lightly on your belt.

XVI.
It takes me less than a minute to open all the locks you put on the door. You wanted to make sure that I was safe, or at least that's what you told me.

There's a young man, around your age, with sandy blonde hair and blue eyes. I recognize him quickly. He's one of your friends: Jeff, I think.

One look at his face and in my heart I know what he is going to say, even though my mind doesn't want to accept it.

VIII.
We were at your flat, and we'd just finished watching a movie. Your arm was around me and I was falling asleep.

I felt you pick me up and carry me over to my bed. You gently lowered me down onto the matress, thinking me asleep. "Ben," I whispered.

You stopped just as you were about to leave the room.  "Don't leave me."

I can feel your small, quiet smile. "Don't worry, love. I'll always come back for you."

XI.
One day, after being gone for about a week, you came back with half a dozen injuries on your body.

I didn't ask how you had gotten them; I just cleaned you cuts and bandaged your wounds.

When I was done, you insisted that I sleep in your room for the night. I accepted, knowing you wouldn't force me since we were both against sex before marriage.

When my hand bumped against something hard under your pillow, I still didn't ask: maybe it would have turned out differently if I had.

XVII.
"You're the girlfriend?" he asks.

I nod, fearing the things he will surely tell me.

Jeff looks at me, and I see his cheeks are wet, and not just from the rain.

I look at him, my eyes asking silent questions.

"He's dead."

XIV.
You said you'd be back the next day at four. That was three weeks ago.

It has been raining all day, water falling down like tears from the heavens.

I've just taken a shower, still hopeful that you'll come home. People think that I'm crazy for hoping, but I don't really care what they think.

I'm lying down on the couch, reading The Book Thief, the first book you ever recommended to me.

XVIII.
"How?" I ask quietly.

Jeff swallows. "It all went wrong."

Seeing my confusion, he explains: "The raid. Didn't he tell you?"

No, you didn't. You never told me anything about your work, saying it was for the best. Maybe I should have asked.

"We raided the Al-Qaeda base. We killed him, but there were many victims."

He tells me some things, but I piece everything together by myself.

This is what you weren't telling me. The Navy Seals. Team 6. Al-Qaeda.

How could I have known, two days ago, when I saw the news on the telly, that you had been one the men downed in the shooting? That you were never coming back, even though you always said you would?

I hadn't even known you were an American.

XX.
I see you standing at the foot of my bed, dressed completely in white. It's weird, since you've never dressed in white, always in black and other dark colours. You look better than ever, and all the cuts and scars that marred your person are gone. All, except one. I can see the scarlet spot through your shirt. It's right above your heart.

"Hi, love."

"Ben?"

You nod and hold out a hand. I take it, and I'm surprised at how warm your skin is.

You smile. "I told you I'd always come back."