He saved her that night.

She'd never admit it, but the way he held her and touched her kept her from sinking into despair.

The pain of the divorce was so fresh and her defenses were lowered.

He was there.

She didn't know how it had happened, but she regretted every intimate moment.

It was angry. Every frustrating interaction they had ever had came bubbling to the surface.

It hurt. The good kind of hurt. The sexy kind.

They didn't say anything. They hadn't in weeks.

She got the news of the divorce and then he was there in her tent and their clothes were gone and he was on top of her and it was over.

He's the last man she wanted to wake up to, but there he was that morning.

He was satisfied. She was too.

They didn't talk that day. Or the next.

He stayed away. She did too.

He was back the next night. She could've told him to leave.

She didn't. Instead, she held him closer.

She bit him hard and he pulled her hair.

He left when they finished.

She woke up alone.

Surgery was brutal that day.

She expected him that night.

He was gentler this time. She didn't like it.

He wanted to stay. She told him to leave.

He left.

He didn't come back for nearly a week. He was everywhere but where she needed him to be.

One night she gave up.

She went to his tent.

He followed her outside. She pulled him inside.

They tore off each other's clothes. They were even more violent than that first night.

She had to hide the marks on her neck. He had to hide the scratches on his back.

They said nothing during the day. They never even smiled.

Sometimes, it took more effort to ignore him than it did to avoid him.

Every night he was there. And every night they didn't say a word.

But soon it became impossible to keep the silence. It started with quiet moans that got louder by the night.

The moans became curses and at some point turned softer. The "fuck"s turned into "oh god"s which eventually became whispered "you're beautiful"s.

She balked the first time he said that. His eyes went wide and he left that night in a hurry.

He pulled her aside the next day. He told her he was tired of hiding. He didn't want to be angry anymore.

She looked at him, shocked. She told him it was just sex. That was all she wanted.

He sulked away.

She ran back to her tent. She started to cry.

She awoke the next morning, cold and alone.

He left for the front lines. He didn't tell her.

She worried. She prayed.

He came back.

She ran to him that night. She said she was sorry.

He said nothing.

She wrapped her arms around him. He pushed her away.

She left.

He talked to her that day. He was friendly.

She was confused.

He was funny and sweet but he didn't visit her that night. In fact, he stopped coming altogether.

She was lonely at night, but she was smiling during the day.

He asked her out for drinks. She said yes.

He asked her to dance. She said yes.

She thought he was going to ask to stay the night.

He didn't.

She realized he was courting her, seducing her.

She gave in.

They worked the same shifts, sat at the same table, drank the same drinks. But they went home to different beds.

He made her laugh. Her defenses crumbled.

They went dancing. Her feet stumbled.

He caught her. She got lost in his eyes. He kissed her.

She wrapped her arms around him. He pulled her closer.

They left the bar. She invited him in. He said yes.

He was rough that night.

She had missed him. She had missed them.

He was there when she woke up.

She was satisfied. He was too.

They had breakfast together. And lunch. And dinner.

He was there in her bed the next night. And the next.

They didn't whisper anymore.