Oh, Lord, Oh Lord, I'm begging you please. Don't take that sinner from me.
At the sound of the shot being fired, I feared for Tommy's life. I feared for it more than for my own. I could have possibly been more frightened by the noise or the commotion, but the second pain finally registered in my mind, something else caused the quaking in my frame. A bullet, fired from someone who no doubt had business to attend to here or someone who had a quarrel with my betrothed, my Tommy. And now had instead aimed at his heart – the woman beside of him – the blonde with whom he had reached for to try and get her out of the line of fire. And yet–
Oh Thomas.
I keep my eyes closed as I feel my knees give out. But warm arms are around me, falling as I do, and I know it's Thomas. I don't have to see him to know when his hands have me, are holding me close. I can't let him see my fear or my pain, so I keep my blue irises sheltered from his loving gaze regardless of his warm soft lips against my forehead, regardless of the warm trembling hands that are grasping at me, holding me close.
The sounds of John lashing out at, what I can guess is, my attacker are echoing through the room even if a ringing in my ears is threatening to pull my focus elsewhere. "Thomas.." I manage, though I know I would not mind his name being the last thing ever to spill from my quivering lips; I push on. "…please, promise-"
"Shh, shh, Grace." He whispers against my cheek, hot breath fanning out along my skin as I feel him lift his head and outstretch his arm to a figure I cannot see. Upon her heels, shaking breaths, I can bet it is Polly. The one woman who will never forgive me for what I had done years ago, for my betrayal.
Oh Lord, Oh Lord, what do I do? I've fallen for someone who's nothing like you.
"You will be okay. You've seen me, Grace. You've seen all of me. We have a son, we have Charlie…" His voice is shaky and those once steady hands are vibrating against me as I lay against him. I reach out, bring my gloved hand to his shoulder and pull him closer, he shifts with ease and is practically on top of me while holding a hand to the wound that I dare not to see. "…I'm sorry. I'm sorry." And then he's mumbling something about curses and a sapphire and I can't think about anything but the cold that is working it's way from my chest and outward.
"Thomas. Thomas.." I gasp as something causes my body to convulse and I wonder why I'm nauseous all of a sudden, as if morning sickness is coming back to me in a wave. I am not pregnant. My mind knows this and yet I fall, fall into a memory as clear as day.
It's one of my favorites, taking place after I had given birth to his son and he's standing near a window as shreds of light shoot through the room and settle along the surfaces, casting a dream like haze and placing a spotlight upon spheres of dust floating around us. I remember calling out to him, laughter, his laughter, then as he turned with Charlie in his arms – happiness. I remember his happiness and feeling it heavy within my heart as if it were my own happiness.
Oh Thomas.
There wasn't a wrong or a right he could choose, He did what he had to do.
Somehow, I'm being pulled back to by a nurse who's working with trembling hands, something is inside of my chest and I'm worried, worried that I'll die here on the table and not with–
My head lolls over as I look into those piercing blues that try their best to hide the fear dancing behind them like the devil in the shadows, but he should know better. My Thomas. Know better than to try and hide from me. I see him, I've seen him and he's seen me. I try to move my mouth to speak only to realize it's not moving, nothing is, nothing but my eyes and lungs but the cold…the cold has settled in my stomach now, replacing the nausea.
"Grace. Grace. She's awake, she's not supposed to be awake." Finally my husband speaks, lips trembling and I know he knows he is not supposed to be in here and yet here he is..breaking the rules one more time before my eyes. I don't care though, I can't be alone, I don't want to be alone.
His lips are on my hand, kissing at the digits and fingertips and I wonder why I can't feel it. I want to tell him I can't, I want to show him that I am numb – tell him that I want to, no I need to feel his warmth on me now more than ever, more than–
His hips are moving slow like a wave on an ocean and I can feel myself warming up, heating like a scorching flame as his lips press soft against my skin, his hands caress my curls. He says something along the lines of sing that song, the one about the lover and so I do, I start off slow and calm as his thrusts begin to pick up pace and his eyes are on mine. I swear in my mind that I will turn to ice, to stone, the longer I gaze into those icy blue depths but he proves me wrong he cradles my head with his hands and stokes the fire deep within my belly. We blaze together, reaching a peak that shakes us to our core.
Give me the burden, give me the blame. I'll shoulder the load, and I'll swallow the shame.
I come to again, out of the memory of one of the few moments I had spent in the warmth of my lovers arms and this time I am shaking, my entire body convulsing as I hear the pang of something hit metal and the nurse is backing up. But the world has the strangest hue and I can't feel anything anymore apart from the cold creeping in and a sense of loss in the pits of my stomach.
"Thomas." I can speak now, not much, but still he presses his head to my cheek and breathes me in. For a second, I wonder what I must smell like laying here on this table with nothing between me and him but the crisp cold – chilling – air. "D-don't kill-him."
"Who, Grace?" He asks, lips pressed into a thin line as I watch him shove down the barrier that I know will be up the second he walks from this room. "Who?"
I know better than to ask to not kill the one who pulled the trigger, since John has probably strung him up by his own organs by now, so instead I opt for something better. The one who ordered it. I hope I can convey it well enough and that my lips will move as I open them. When they do, I whisper, the noise sounding unlike myself. "Who ordered..." I can't do anything else as I feel my fingertips loosen around his hand and the cold spreads further along my limbs. He's crying. I know that much and I hope for his sake the tears dry and is instead replaced by a sense of determination to become the man I know deep down he wants to be.
"I love you."
The words sound like goodbye and I move my mouth in the same formation, curling my lips around each one of them. He sees it, nods frantically and I swear I could drown in the tears that are falling upon my face. I don't want to drown, I want to push and claw out of this mess and back into the warmth of our home.
Yet, realization is a fickle thing. It comes when you least expect it and now as it dawns upon me like a cold splash of water in the morn; I find myself thinking on Thomas and our son. I know he will take care of him, I know Thomas will be fine without me and he would do well to move on. Possibly with May, the woman who trains his horse.
For some reason or another, I cannot find it within myself to feel jealous or anger or hatred. Only love for the time that I did spend in his arms and with my son. My poor Charlie. I hope he will remember me if not from early days at the very least from the photographs that are splayed in many rooms of the manor.
My very last thought is of the first time that I set eyes on the devil with the icy blue eyes. "Are you a whore? Cos if you're not, you're in the wrong place." Oh he had no idea how wrong he was in that moment. Nor did I.
Oh Thomas.
He's good and he's bad and he's all that I've got. Oh Lord, Oh Lord, I'm begging you please.