Well painted passion you rightly suspect
Impersonation
The dumbing down of love
Jaded in anger love underwhelms you
No box of chocolates whichever way you fall
It was a bitter feeling in the air that morning. The sky was a confused muddle of white, blue and grey colours, the morning wind was cold and thick. It was hard to breathe, every inhalation felt like trying to get some oxygen out of syrup.
William Turner woke up suddenly, like someone had shouted at him and begged him to. When he saw the empty closet and the out-drawn drawers, he caught the terrible, cold and thick feeling. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.
The closet was supposed to scent of flowers and vanilla, containing dresses and shoes for all kinds of occasions. The drawers should possess the jewellery, perfumes and underwears that belonged to his wife.
Maybe they had been robbed; perhaps someone had climbed through the window and stolen everything that belonged to Mrs Turner.
But then something else was missing. Something far more important than jewellery and clothes.
Slowly, with his heart beating hardly inside his chest, he looked to his right. Just as he had unwillingly realized long before he saw it, the pillow was empty from the golden curls and the quilt laid flat against the bare mattress.
His heart stopped, his blood froze. Even so, he managed to get out of the bed and into a pair of trousers. He fumbled with the buttons, his eyes still asleep and his body numb from the night. He ran out to the corridor before he finished with the buttons, left the bedroom-door flung open.
He felt cold, even if the warmth of the bed still lingered on his skin. The feeling tickled him down his spine, made him shiver as he ran towards the stairs. The realization would not commit, could not find the way into his head. He built a wall, fighting the truth.
As he reached the stairway he stopped, and he noticed that he had not been breathing since he got out of the bed. Suddenly panting, he grabbed the railing and closed his eyes. He staid still, waiting for the very moment when he would dare to open his eyes and look down.
And as he did, he could see her in the corner of his eye. He looked down, and for just a second he dropped his defence and let the feeling sink in.
It hurt. It burned.
She stood at the door, dressed in simple man clothing with a small bag on her back. As she had heard his loud steps in the corridor, she had looked up and awaited his arrival.
She had hoped that he would smile, asked her to come back to bed.
But his closed eyes felt like knifes stung into her heart, tears burned behind her eyelids. The truth hurt them both, made them bleed.
"Where are your clothes?" He kept looking down, his voice covered by angst and fear.
He doesn't deserve this.
"I… threw them away." Will gave a start as he heard her voice, soft and stunning, and her words penetrated into his mind to spread the coldness deeper.
"And all your jewellery?" His voice fought not to break, and he forced himself to take a step forward.
He doesn't deserve me.
"Gone."
The silence was horrifying. Shaking Will slowly made his way down the stairs, without looking at her, and she viewed him lifting one foot at a time. For each step, she felt the cold wave grow stronger. The truth grows stronger.
A quiet sob left her body, made her tremble. His hair was in a mess of brown, soft curls. His body moved slowly, not really awake from the deep and warm slumber the night had given him. The skin of his chest was rough, as if he froze. But he did not show any other sign of freezing, and she still could not see his eyes as they were definitely looking down at his feet.
He's not a bad person.
As he reached the bottom of the stair, he seized the railing even harder. His hands almost went white of the grip, and maybe that could explain his next move. Slowly he lifted his head and his eyes along with his face, to look at her.
His eyes were glossy and wet, and in them she could see the tears she tried to fight.
"Why?"
She almost lost her breath. His voice was heavy of sorrow and fear. She would have liked it better if he had screamed, yelled, roared… Anything! This was too hard, too much.
But truth is hard.
"They're not me anymore."
Something glimpsed in his eyes, somewhere beyond the tears and the fear. Perhaps the thought of stopping her, telling her not to. Something that scared her, told her to hurry. There was no time.
"It's not me anymore," she murmured as she put her hand on the handle. Her move seemed to make something happen inside of Will, made him realize the thought. It was the truth. If he did not act now, he would regret for an eternity. But reaching out for her arm, searching for her eyes, he knew that there was nothing he could do.
"I love you, Elizabeth."
He desperately clasped her hand, pulled her against him. Not able to stop the tears, they ran down his still warm cheeks. Elizabeth's voice trembled as she whispered, horrified:
"I know."
His face was so cold of fear. He scared her, made her look away. But she would not have the same privilege she had given him before; he clutched her chin with hard and scared fingers. Those fingers that had touched her caressed her.
No more.
"What is it, Elizabeth?"
His tears left his cheeks and landed at his wrist, just inches away from Elizabeth's quivering face. She bit her lip, slowly lifting her own hand to seize his arm.
"I don't know, Will."
He let go of her face as she stroke his hand with her thumb, leisurely removing it from her with a small kiss at his palm. One of his tears landed at her nose tip and flew down her cheek. Imposture to hers.
"I hope I'll find out."
As fast as she dared to, she let go of his hand and then turned to the door. She opened it without looking at him and right before she took the first step she inhaled, thick air.
Somewhere far away she could hear him cry after her, calling her name as she ran. But she did not listen, let his words drown in the cold, clammy wind.
And if I tell you, lover alone without love
What will happen, lover alone without love
Will you miss him?