The first time she came by, he barely noticed.

He was working the late shift at his dad’s gas station, grumbling about working on a Saturday night. He was mopping up the dirty floor when she opened the door. He glanced up at the sound of the bell, giving her a quick smile before turning back to the job at hand.

She was gone seven minutes and forty seconds later. He didn’t see her leave, but thought it was odd she didn’t buy anything.

Three minutes and twenty-four seconds later, he forgot her face. The floor was still dirty.
                                                          ……
The next time she came by, he felt something begin.

It was the next Saturday and he was alone again. He was leaning against the wall, bobbing his head to the music playing over the intercom. The bell sounded and she stepped in. He straightened up. He inclined his head and took up the spot behind the register. She smiled and nodded back.

They watched each other for two minutes before he broke the silence. “Can I help you with something?”

She seemed to ponder this. “Probably.” Her voice was quiet but strong. It reminded him of spring.
                                                        ……
She was poor. He felt like a jerk and a saint when he handed her a bag of chips. She didn’t seem to mind, though, smiling at him the way she always did. He wondered if she ever considered it charity. He didn’t.

It was the sixteenth Saturday since he first saw her.
She didn’t eat much. Their chats were like feasts and she was always so thankful. He was always hungry afterwards. She lived on a farm and cared for her sick mother. She helped her father tend to the farm. He drank most of the time. She was better at it than him, anyway.

She had never been to a proper school. Her mother had taught her what she could. It was enough to get by. She was eighteen and she thought rainbows were magic, bears were scary, and marriage was foolish.

He still didn’t know her name.

He figured that that was okay, because she didn’t know his either.
                                                         ……
It took three more Saturdays for her to learn that he was working at the gas station part-time. He’s attending community college. He’s still not sure what for. His mother is a painter and his father owns the station.

He hates school and wishes he could just skip it and get by with what he already knows, even if it’s not enough. He is nineteen and he thinks rainbows are refracted light, bears are animals, and marriage is inevitable.

His name is Andrew.
                                                             ……
The first time she walked in with a bruise on her cheek, he didn’t know what to do.

He stared at it. She stared at the floor. His jaw set in a hard line and he strode over with purpose, crushing her with a hug. “I’m so sorry,” he breathed, holding her close.

“Me, too.”
                                                             ……
Four Saturdays later he still didn’t know her name. But he knew that she loves to run and swim and sing. She loves to dance for her mother, just to make her smile. She loves chocolate milk and apple pie and when her dad has one less beer than usual.

She hates sweeping and shopping and reading. She hates wearing dresses but her mother thinks it’s proper and she hates it when her mother frowns. She hates orange soda and tomatoes and she really hates the rain.

“It makes everything dark and loud. It’s powerful and overwhelming and sometimes you don’t know if it’ll ever end. It swallows you and when it finally spits you up, you’re wet and cold and it doesn’t make sense for the clouds to cry like that when they’re so close to the sun.”

Twenty minutes and fifteen seconds later, he knows he loves her.
                                                                 ……
He hates being so open with someone. He hates feeling vulnerable and weak. He hates it almost as much as he hates her father and spiders and dirty floors.

And yet he smiles and tells her about the time he lost his trunks in the public swimming pool and when she laughs, he glows and feels happier than he has in a long time. “I love this,” and he means it.

“Love what?” She smiles so warmly and it takes his breath away.

“This,” he replies and he takes her hand.

She doesn’t let go.
                                                              ……
He plans it extensively, preparing for days before trying. He swallows and kisses her softly, spontaneously, and she doesn’t pull away. He smiles and decides that being open isn’t completely terrible.

She decides that one kiss isn’t enough. They stumble and laugh and give up in the end, but it’s the thought that counts.
                                                               ……
It’s been four Saturdays and they’ve tried three more times. He decides it’s not important. She decides that the floor is clean enough to just lay on, anyway.

“I hate him.”

He glances at her. “Hate who?”

“Him.” She doesn’t elaborate, and she doesn’t have to. He wraps his arms tighter.

“I’ve tried to be the opposite of him my entire life.” She pauses and he thinks she is done until she glances up at him. “He is stupid and cruel and please tell me I am nothing like that.” She looks scared. He can’t understand why.

“You are nothing like him.” He strokes her cheek, smiling a little.

She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
                                                                ……
The second time, he knows exactly what to do. He grabs her hand and pulls her out of the station, dragging her to his truck.

“Andrew, stop it.”

“We’re leaving. There’s a train station close. We’ll just ride away and never come back. It’ll work.”

“Andrew.”

He pauses and looks at her, eyes drifting toward the ring of bruises on her neck. She lifts up his chin. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He lets her lead him back into the station because he knows that this is one battle he will never win.
                                                              ……
“Marry me.”

She froze, eyes widening. “What?”

He swallows and steps forward, feeling naked. “Marry me. I love you.”

She stares at him. “What?”

“I love you.” He cups a hand over her cheek, running his thumb over the bone. “I want to take care of you and be with you forever.”

She leans into his touch but her lips tremble and her eyes are scared. “I love you, too…” she trails off and his heart rises to his throat.

“Then marry me. Be mine.” She gazes into his eyes and for a moment he thinks she’ll say yes.

“…I can’t.”

He smiles. “Why not?”

“Andrew, you know I don’t believe in marriage. It ruins people. I promised myself that I would never get married, not ‘til the day I die.” She steps back, voice cracking. His smile falters. “I’m not dead yet, Andrew. I can’t marry you.”

He watches her leave and for a moment he thinks she’s just tricking him.

And then he’s on the floor, worried that the shards of his broken heart will slice him open.
                                                              ……
It’s been three Saturdays since she stopped coming by.

He still doesn’t know her name. It never seemed important until now.

The floor is still so fucking dirty.
                                                               ……
He stopped counting the Saturdays. He didn’t want to know how long it had been.

He was stumbling down the street, bottle in hand. He wasn’t much of a drinker but the scotch had never tasted sweeter. It burned his throat and warmed his stomach, bypassing his heart with careful consideration. There was nothing there to burn, anyway.

He doesn’t make it far before he’s falling and he just doesn’t have the energy to get up. He doesn’t hear the footsteps and he doesn’t hear the surprised gasp, but he feels hands curve under his neck and over his cheek and he feels a tear splatter against his nose. He opens his eyes and she’s there.

“You stopped coming by.”

“I didn’t know you wanted me to.”  
                                                               ……
It’s been just one week and the scotch is gone.

Her name is Catherine.
                                                                ……
He’s mopping and she’s watching, head cocked to one side. “Why are you doing that?”

“Nothing is supposed to be this dirty.”

She grabs his hand and pushes the mop away, looking at the floor appreciatively. “It gives it character.”
                                                              ……
It’s been six Saturdays since she started coming by again, and he’s running down the street.

She hasn’t missed a Saturday since she came back. He doesn’t know why she missed this one.

He’s running and panting and he doesn’t know which house is hers. He settles on the one with the broken shutters and the shopping basket for a mailbox. He gets to the door and yells for her.

It takes six minutes and fifty-seven seconds for him to hear her calling back to him from the yard. He spins around, following the voice back up the driveway. He veers to the left and finds her on the ground,  barely breathing.

“Hey,” he breathes, because he doesn’t know what else to do.

“I didn’t fold the clothes the right way.”

He carries her down the street to his car and it takes fifteen minutes and three seconds to get to the hospital.
                                                             ……
There’s so much blood and so little hope. The doctors try to explain that she isn’t going to make it. Their eyes are sad.

He takes her hand and kisses it, unwilling to let her see him cry. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know what to say. She traces the lines around his eyes with her fingertips, smiling softly. He didn’t know if that was meant to comfort him or if she just didn’t have the energy to smile any brighter.

“Andrew.” He gazes at her, feeling his heart breaking again. “Go get the preacher.”

And he knows he’s lost her. He leaves without a sound.
                                                             ……
“Do you-”

“Andrew.”

“And do you, Andrew, take-”

“Catherine.”

“Catherine to be your lawful wedded wife?”

“I do.”

“And do you, Catherine, take Andrew to be your lawful wedded husband?”

“I do.”

They kiss and he cries.
                                                           ……
They are married for eleven minutes and twenty-eight seconds before she flat-lines.

The shards are slicing him open and he can barely catch his breath to wish her goodbye.
                                                          ……
It’s been seven Saturdays since he stopped keeping count. He dropped out of college and he doesn’t know what for. He knows all they can teach him and it still isn’t enough. He’s twenty and he thinks rainbows are beautiful, bears are terrifying, and marriage is inevitable.

He loves chocolate milk, apple pie, and running. He hates alcohol, girls in dresses, and being vulnerable. He fucking hates the rain.

The floor’s still dirty, but it doesn’t bother him so much anymore.