I'm really very nervous about this chapter. I'd love to know what you think.
It was raining hard on Tuesday evening. She peddled out of Leyland Street with great apprehension; concentrating solely on moving her feet and not falling off her bike. She thought that if she did not, her hands would begin to shake on the handlebars. Cycling was more difficult in the rain, and there was plenty to keep her mind occupied, other than what awaited her at Kenilworth Row. It did not do to think about it, otherwise she knew she would turn around and go home. It was her who was seeking him out this time- there was no denying that- but she could not explain to herself why, only that she felt an absolute compulsion to do so.
The rain came down particularly heavily as she turned the corner of the street in question. As she got closer to number nineteen she saw that the car was in the drive. He was at home. She had seen Timothy arrive a little early at the church hall for Cubs.
She rested her bicycle up against the wall of the house, taking extra care to make sure it was safe; partly so as not to attract attention to herself if it fell over, partly to give herself a little more time to assuage her racing nerves and her hammering heart. But it was raining, she could not linger out here forever. More easily than she had expected to do so, she raised her hand and knocked on the door, albeit timidly.
It seemed an eternity before he answered, though her brain knew that it was not more than a few seconds. He did seem extremely surprised to see her, but not unpleasantly so. They both stood there on the threshold for a long moment, looking at one another.
"Sister," he said at last, snapping back to his senses and realising that she was standing out in the rain, "Come in. You must be soaked."
"A little," she replied, brushing the worst off her veil and loosening her raincoat, "Not badly."
"Here, let me take that," he moved hastily to take her coat from her, shaking the wet off and hanging it up on a peg behind her.
"Thank you, Doctor," she told him, smoothing her habit nervously.
"Will you let me make you some tea?" he asked.
"That would be welcome," she replied.
"Please, go through into the sitting room," he told her, "Sit down and I will bring your tea."
His fussing over her gave her a little more time, eased her nerves a little. She settled rather gratefully onto the comfortable brown settee near the fire, wiping the away the rain that had settled on her brow with one hand as she did so.
"Here you are, Sister," he told her, handing her the tea and bringing another mug for himself.
"Thank you," she took it from him and sipped. It was warm and soothing.
He sat down on the settee too, though a very proper distance away from her. They settled into an uneasy silence. The initial activity of him seeing that she was recovered from her journey in the rain had given them time, but it had not broken the ice by any means. She did not have to say anything to him. The mere fact that she was here, that she had come at his suggestion spoke volumes.
They both sipped their tea in silence, watching the leaping flames in the grate. Despite the warmth of the tea and the room she shivered, just for a second. His eyes flitted towards her, but still neither of them spoke.
Eventually, he put his tea down on the table beside the settee, resting his hands patiently, but also a little awkwardly, on his knees.
"Sister..." he spoke softly, but after addressing her, he did not seem to know how to go on.
She had turned to him, given him an attentive smile to show that she was listening. When he did not go on, the smile slipped wearily away from her face. They were left looking at one another. The look in his eyes changed as the seconds wore on. Her cheeks coloured furiously, she had seen that look before, many times, though it had seldom been directed at her. She bit her lip furiously, and looked away. By the time she looked at him again, he looked deeply embarrassed.
"Oh, this is absurd!" she said at last, "I'm sorry, Doctor. I shouldn't have come."
"No," he replied quickly, his voice very firm but at the same time almost impetuous, "No," he repeated a second later in a much more check tone, "You don't have to. I like having you here. Really."
She gave a heavy sigh.
"There's so much I want to say to you," she told him, rather desperately, willing him to understand, "That's why I came here, though I do realise I've done nothing but put you to trouble and made you feel uncomfortable. I have, so don't argue," she told him, pretending sternness when he was about to protest, "There's so much I want to say," she told him again, her voice weakening with confusion, "But I don't know how to. I've thought about it so much. I've thought about everything. But still there aren't any words there. How can that happen?" she asked, genuinely puzzled by the matter.
His hands were clasped. He leant forwards a little, intently, and she could almost hear the workings of his logical mind approaching the problem.
"What have you thought exactly?" he asked her, "Just say what you thought, exactly, for instance, what images went through your mind and then maybe the words will come," he suggested.
She paused for a second, apprehensive about the whole notion. Their eyes met and he gave her a nervously encouraging smile. She did her best to return it.
"I thought about the conversation we had," she told him slowly, "I thought about... dancing with you; why on earth I asked you to do that."
"Why did you?" he asked curiously.
"I don't know!" she replied, exasperated, "I just... I wanted to make you smile," she felt her face flush again as she formed her next thought, but still went on, a little more quietly, "I wanted to be close to you."
He was quiet.
Flustered now, she went on.
"I thought about kissing you. Being held by you. What it was like."
He did not say anything in reply. Her heart was beating painfully hard, rising in her chest, almost constricting her throat. She almost wondered for a second if she was about to have some sort of nervous attack, but she breathed deeply and the feeling eased after a few moments. He was watching her intently, and look of concern on his face.
"What was it like?" he pressed slowly, a little nervously, when she did not go on.
"Beautiful," she replied quietly, and then a little more harshly, "And terrible."
They exchanged a brief, nervous smile, each knowing what she meant and marvelling for a second at how badly she had expressed it.
"Like your dancing," he told her softly, after a moment.
She gave a tiny, nervous laugh.
"If you like," she agreed.
Their smiles faded once more as they looked at each other again. All she could feel now was a yearning, a sickly, desperate yearning to be closer to him. She did not know what to do. She wondered if he could feel it too. She wanted to be closer to him, and she wanted-... she wanted to kiss him again.
"Sister-..." he said, his voice deeper and softer.
She stood up quickly.
"I should go. I shouldn't have come," she told him, "I'm so sorry."
She left the room without waiting for him, hurrying towards the front door and out into the street. It was raining even harder now. She took quick impulsive steps down the path of the small garden, bypassing her bicycle and suddenly stopping, breathing heavily, in the middle of the downpour. She stared out into the greyness; the bleak, wet evening. She felt truly wretched, and every fibre of her being ached for him. She could not bear to stay but nor could she bear to leave. Leaving was worse.
"Sister," suddenly she heard his voice behind her, "Sister, you've forgotten your coat! You'll get soaked!"
She turned back towards the house, seeing him standing in the doorway. His eyes were alive with concern for her. She wanted to go back, she wanted to be close to him.
Taking the same quick steps back up the path, she crossed the threshold again and allowed him to shut the door tightly behind her. They stared at each other for long seconds.
"I'm sorry," she murmured again, "I don't know what came over me."
"It's alright," he replied softly, "Don't think twice about it."
They continued to look at each other, both breathing heavily.
"You're shaking," he told her a moment later.
"I'm not surprised," she answered.
A smile flitted across his lips at that reply.
"Doctor, I-... I don't what to say," she finished at last.
"Don't say anything," he replied at last, "Just wait one moment. If you'll let me."
He touched her cheek gently. She nodded hesitantly against his hand.
And he sank his lips down to her forehead, his mouth moving over her skin, kissing, mouthing away the tiny drops of rain that had rested on her forehead. She gasped in surprise and with the heat, the tenderness of his action and the feeling it suddenly aroused in her. Before she knew what she was doing, she had wrapped her arms around him, and he had his around hers, embracing her; pushing her back against the front door as his lips moved down over hers and latched onto hers, open and full of the most delicious heat she could have imagined. She closed her eyes and moaned against his mouth. She wanted to forget the world. The whole world except him.
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