I've got cramps

It all begins on Monday, I suppose. During Guy Fawkes' night. It is freezing cold, and I am not dressed enough; we are squashed in the crowd, and our reaction, being such a special event, is of excited madness at the music, the fire, the people, the noise and smoke. I am afraid I'll get lost in the crowd, so I allow myself to grab him by the arm, and we walk like that. When we leave, and we get to the station, he asks me if I am cold, and his arm goes round my shoulder, to hug me gently. On the train, we sit in the luggage space, chatting, talking. At the station we buy a hot chocolate, we wait for the bus in Churchill Square, we go home; he squeezes my arm to say goodbye.
We see again on Wednesday, the day I receive the upsetting phone call from my dad, and then upsetting phone call from my mum. We talk and talk, he tries to make me feel better, I tell him how I had thought of leaving also because I thought that he would feel better without me around, messing up his life with my presence. When he leaves, he gives me a long hug. After all, I feel decent, even though I cry most of the evening, and in the morning I am still fogged and slightly sad. But the day moves on, and I feel a lot better by the evening. He calls me on the evening, we chat and talk for ten minutes or so, it is sweet and nice as usual, both hopeless on the phone.
I don't hear from him on Friday, but I spend a lovely day at school, then at the gym, and in the evening I am so tired that I go to bed at ten o'clock, and sleep until Saturday morning at eight...
Saturday morning, the sky looks grim, but I walk to the swimming centre all the same, spending a productive hour and a half swimming and swimming, feeling so good. In the changing room I switch on my mobile and receive his message, to meet up as usual for our afternoon together. We go for our tea at the Pavillion, then it's a walk to the shopping centre and to the lanes, and then to the beach for a fish soup, chatting and laughing. He says something, can't remember what, and then adds "you must thing I'm an idiot", to which I reply that no, I only think good things of him.
We spend some more time there, then decide to head back home, walking and talking. His arm goes round my shoulder a few times, which I like. As I was telling Eric at the beginning of the week, I so miss human contact in this country, but wouldn't dare hug my piccolino, in case he misunderstands my affection for something else. So I am glad he acts spontaneously. It feels good.
We go home for a hot chocolate, and when he leaves he doesn't hug me the usual way, but his cheek touches mine, Italian-English style, and a smile, a "ciao", and he's gone. I go to my room and feel strange, something is going on, and I am scared and confused.
We meet again at 6 at his house, for dinner, and a dvd, which we watch sitting on the sofa, and it feels strange again, because he is not avoiding contact between us, but it feels as if he is looking for it.
When the movie is over we prepare some tea and sit in the armchairs, trying to watch tv but switching it off after a minute. It is then that he starts talking, slowly, in chunks, my heart going faster with every word.
He tells me how he is afraid I might be angry at him. That I have reasons to be. That he is sorry if he made me believe that he doesn't want me around. We talk about how under pressure he puts himself, and how things are difficult for him, the time he takes to adjust. He caresses my arm a few times, fair enough, something he does every now and then. Things start feeling stranger when he caresses my face, before taking my hand and holding it. I ask him what is going on, or maybe I only think it. He says he is sorry; he says he has been worried about me. He says again, "I am sorry". "Don't be", I reply. "There's no need to be sorry". "Are you ok?", he asks me, "I am ok, are YOU ok? Good, that's what counts", and I mean it. If you are happy nothing else matters to me. And then he tells me what a wonderful person I am, to which I can reply that he is too. I almost see it coming, but am too scared to believe it.
It is then when he moves towards me, and kisses me. And kisses me. And kisses me.
The following (hour? minutes? days?) are spent on the sofa, because I am uncomfortable in the armchair, and because I want to seize the moment, and be close to him now, feel him again, breathe him again, "I've missed you", I tell him. He says he was scared, new city, new job, things crowding around him, he was scared, a fool, an idiot.
I laugh, I can't believe what is happening. We are sitting on the sofa, holding hands, talking and chatting, he caresses my hands, my hair, he hugs me.
After a while we walk to my house, and we say goodbye, lots of kisses. See you tomorrow, in church. To be together, for some time.
I go home, and I am not tired. That's what Saturdays are for, to go to bed feeling relaxed and not tired at all, to enjoy a good night's sleep, to smile when the light is off and you can think of the nice things that have happened in the day, in the week. I switch off the light and concentrate on nothing but the silence in the house, and the lesson on Monday, which I have already prepared.
I wake up once, twice, three, four times. And everytime there is this bundle of cramps in my stomach, curling up in me, painful and beautiful.
I am scared. So so scared. "Don't be scared, ok? Try praying if you are, that can help". Ok.
Dear God.
Thanks.
And help.
Thanks, thanks, thanks.

This is a miracle.
I am so grateful.
So confused.
So happy.
Thanks.