A false sense of hope.
That's what she was given.
For once in her life, she thought that maybe she could actually belong somewhere. Maybe, someone really needed her as much as she needed them. Instead, she was cheated. It felt as if someone'd skinned her, ripped out her barely breathing heart and made her exterior into a throw rug. She was then placed in Ichabod Crane's reach, and he went out of his way to walk all over her.
It was only a fantasy, of course. But in Abbie's mind, it was far from fictional.
Ichabod was the man of her dreams, yet the man of her nightmares. He often treated her with such delicacy, which was satisfyingly delightful to her. But other times, Ichabod Crane was an absentminded fool who had no patience for her bickering. And she bickered a lot.
"Miss Mills?" he called, walking toward her room, where she was absorbed in her thoughts. When he found her, she was sprawled out on the bed, wearing only lounge pants and a camisole.
"Crane." She rolled over on her side.
"I was wondering if you'd care for a session out on that...scaffold..."
"Balcony."
"Right. That."
Abbie rolled her eyes. He was such an idiot and she couldn't understand why. She was extremely intelligent and practical, more so than any other human-being she'd ever met. Everyone else in this world was brainless compared to her. Idiots. Everyone's an idiot.
"You're an idiot," she said bluntly.
"Miss Mills, I certainly am not."
"No, you are. Most of the time you have no idea what the hell is going on!"
"Excuse me, but you've failed to consider that I've been asleep for some years now."
"I think I've been pretty considerate of that," she argued. "But even when I try to explain modern technology to you, you always end up forgetting everything I say!"
"I've been somewhat abstracted since my resurrection, Miss Mills."
"No. You never listen to a word I say."
"It's a great cultural shock for me, yes... and your vivid explanations happen to be a lot to recall."
"You know what? Get out," she ordered, pointing toward the doorway. "And don't even think of coming back."
"I did not intend on being a bother, Miss Mills. I'm sor-"
"Get. Out."
He shut the door and left.
Abbie dug her face into the pillow and started sobbing. She felt like the real idiot here. She couldn't believe that she was just realizing this now. What if it was too late? Ichabod would have nowhere to live, nothing to eat, nowhere to sleep...
Oh, God. What if he ended up getting killed? She couldn't bear the thought of losing him. Guilt would invade her soul, and she'd never be able to forgive herself. But why? She was almost certain that she hated him!
Just then, she heard on a soft knock at the door.
"Miss Mills?" It was Ichabod. And for whatever reason, she was overjoyed to hear his voice again. The soothing, harmonic tones of a British accent were enough to make her feel better.
"Crane," she muttered into her pillow. The door creaked open, and she felt the comforting touch of a hand on her back. Ichabod's hand. She hadn't noticed it before, but his skin was outright blazing with heat.
"Miss Mills-"
"I'm sorry," she sputtered, clutching onto Ichabod's arm. "You didn't deserve any of that."
"It's quite alright, Miss Mills."
"Just...call me Abbie. Please call me Abbie."
"Okay. Abbie."
"So, um..." she nervously slid her hand down to grip his fingers. "Do you still want to go to the balcony?"
"Of course." He took her hand in his and led her upstairs.