Rhett slammed the door abruptly, and Scarlett stood still as stone, silent tears streaming down her face. She had lost him forever. She had taken him for granted all these years and never imagined that he could truly love her, nor she him. And now it was too late.
She looked around her, at her mansion, at her expensive drapes and tapestries, her paintings, her beautiful grand entranceway and the expansive double staircase. She thought of all the magnificent parties she had hosted there, the glowing faces of her children, of her dead Bonnie. And then she thought of Rhett. She had broken him time and time again, for so many years, cruelly ignoring the possibility that he meant it every time he said he had wanted her. She had said the most hateful things, and had been so wretched to her family and friends. Her friends. Now they were no more. She had lost everyone and everything. All she had now was her big, empty house and her broken heart.
It was all this frivolity that got me here, she thought with ferocity as she walked over to the window, looking out on the once beautiful land. The rich greens and browns against the setting sun held no beauty for her now. All of this means nothing without him. I am nothing without Rhett! She began to tear down the drapes until they crumpled into big, velvety piles beneath the sills. She turned, grabbing a porcelain vase and remembered briefly, against her will, the incident at Twelve Oaks. Now, she thought, now I will break a thousand vases. I don't care! She hurled piece after piece against the walls, pushing over small tables, and finally smashing the big mirror that hung over the fireplace with a the iron poker. She stood amidst her shattered, overturned possessions, shaking and crying with hurt, fear, and anger.
"I will never recover from you, Rhett!" she yelled into the nothingness. "Never," she then whispered softly.
Looking suddenly and eerily more composed, she squared her shoulders and walked slowly towards and up the stairs. Her eyes shifted from side to side, sadly taking the still beauteous house that now held no pleasure for her. It had now become the prison she knew well she had earned. She went placidly to her room and, locking the door, she went to her bed to lie down. She breathed three slow, deep breaths and felt herself relax, resigning to her torment and her fate.
Reaching over to her beside table, she took the matches she used to light her lantern and, striking the table surface, she lit it. She held it close to her face, vaguely sensing the heat against her cold, pale skin. It was a comforting warmth, and the tiny flame made green, shimmering gleams dance across her eyes. She closed her eyes and set her jaw. Lying down again, she casually tossed the match against the flowing velvety curtains that draped around her enormous bed. Almost instantly, the entirely bed was alight, and the flames spread rapidly to the walls and furniture. Lying still on her bed, she felt the rising heat start to envelop her, the smoke burning her lungs. Sweat began to pour down her face causing her curled brown locks to still to her cheeks.
"Rhett," she moaned as she writhed and struggled as the flames grew hotter. "Oh, Rhett." The smoke was now black and heavy in the blazing room. She started to cough, tears streaming down her face. It's all over now, she thought. This is the very end. And suddenly, as the frame of the bed collapsed upon her, everything to Scarlett went black.
At that same moment, her bedroom door burst open, or rather was crashed through and Rhett, having removed his waistcoat and shirt, stepped into the fiery room, his hair askew, sweat pouring down his face and over his thick, dark chest.
He let out a mournful bellow as he saw Scarlett's unmoving body amidst the raging inferno. "Oh, Scarlett!"
He dashed across the room, skirting around flaming piles of wrecked furniture and fallen remnants of their house. He reached out to Scarlett's motionless body and, seeing that her dress had caught fire, began swiftly to undress her until she was clad only in her corset and pantalets. Tucking one arm behind her head and the other beneath her knees, he scooped her up against his heaving chest and raced to the door.
Outside Scarlett's bedroom, the whole front hall and grand entranceway gleamed with furious shades of orange and red. Peering over the railing of the stairwell, now engulfed by flames, he saw the servants and Scarlett's children breaking towards the enormous front door. He too started down the stairs towards the same destination when one of the giant columns supporting the cavernous roof fell sideways, crashing over the banisters, blocking the path to the door. It would be impossible to escape that way.
With Scarlett still lying motionless and indecent against his straining body, he darted down the hallway to his own bedroom. It was smokey, but still free of flames. He put Scarlett down on the floor as he went to the nearest window and broke it open with his bare hands. Hardly noticing or caring about his newly procured wounds, he turned swiftly around and went to his bed. From it, he tore off the blankets and sheets to reveal an amply packed, feather down mattress. He heaved it toward the window, the muscles in his arms rippling and tensing beneath the glistening sweat. Looking out to the back of the house, he saw a spot beneath the window, away from the marble terrace with the wrought-iron fence, where he could drop the mattress. He threw it thence and gauging the difficulty of the aim, again scooped up Scarlett and stepped up and onto the window sill.
If ever Rhett Butler had said a sincere prayer in his life, this moment was it. Holding Scarlett as tight as he could, he stepped from the window, ensuring that he would hit the ground beneath her. He landed forcefully on the mattress, Scarlett tumbling just slightly out of his grasp. Winded only briefly, he seemed relatively unscathed. Looking up, he saw now that most of the mansion was ablaze, smoke pouring out of the the windows, doors and chimneys. Then the roof caved in with a loud crack and a crash. He grabbed Scarlett up in his arms and dashed out into the darkening evening, red for the glow of the house.
Somewhere in the expansive field behind the wrecked inferno, Rhett laid Scarlett on the ground. He fell swiftly beside her. He could not see her breathing.
"Breathe, damn you!" he said roughly. "Breathe!" He rolled her sideways and skilfully began to untie her corset. Once removed, Scarlett began to cough and choke and her eyes fluttered open to reveal dim green emeralds between slitted eyelids. She saw Rhett above her, his breathing quick and forceful, his face blacked by the smoke, his naked chest shiny with perspiration. She immediately began to cry softly.
"Scarlett," Rhett said hoarsely. "Scarlett, don't cry. Please stop. Oh, Scarlett." Tears came to his eyes as he pleaded with her.
Scarlett only whimpered, "I will not recover from you," and resumed her quiet sobs.
Rhett then tucked his arm beneath her shoulders and he pressed his body against hers so that he knew she could feel him entirely and so completely close to her. His free hand went to her face, smoothing her hair and wiping the sweat and soot from her face. He rested it finally on her cheek and she respond by leaning into in slightly. He then inclined towards her so that his face was very close to hers.
"Scarlett," he said, speaking with fast urgency. "If I thought that you could do this… If I had known in my heart that you had loved me so much, I wouldn't have ever left you. Nothing could have made me go, except that I thought you wanted me out of habit of wanting a husband, and one with money. If thought you would destroy it all, and destroy yourself, not even God could have taken me away from you. If I thought you would-" and he choked down the lump that rose up in his throat. He suddenly buried his head into her chest, feeling the soft silk of her blackened undershirt against his face and the gentle heaves of her chest as she cried. He kissed her there, whispering, "Scarlett. My Scarlett. I am here. Oh, my dear Scarlett."
Overwhelmed by the emotion of his confession, and catching a glimpse of the burning shell of the house behind him, she lay silent and wide-eyed. His kisses trailed up her neck to her jaw and cheeks until his lips hovered hotly over hers.
"Scarlett, please," he implored. "If you have even an ounce of mercy in you you will forgive my foolish departure from you and forget all of my wrongdoings." She stared at him with intense, startled eyes. "Scarlett, if you have ever loved me at all you will know now that I am serious. I am more serious than I have ever been. I am broken with love for you. I am in love with you! Scarlett!" He finally put his mouth on hers, devouring her hungrily in the black and red twilight. She kissed him back with vigour and passion, grappling her hands around him, revelling in his warm body; its power and strength. There on the grass they writhed against each other, nearly naked and sticky with sweat, lost in an embrace that was furious in its delay, and so utterly joyful in its long-awaited freedom.
After several minutes, Scarlett broke the kiss and peered into Rhett's black eyes. His dark face showed no signs of amusement, no mocking gleam. He merely looked starved for her, and she finally sensed the depths of his care for her, and hers for him. "I am in love with you too, Rhett," she whispered at length. And with that, he threw himself on her again, both of them crying and laughing and devouring one another with more than a decade of pent up passion.