Chapter 10: An Ache in Two Hearts

Cecilia made bistro roast chicken, pommes frites with chives, and planned to serve a bottle of red wine. She made fudgy expresso soufflé with raspberry sauce for dessert, but decided to keep it a surprise.

It had taken her a while to come up with what she'd make for dinner. She hadn't wanted to make anything too gourmet because that had spelled out romance and she hadn't been aiming for it. At least, when she'd asked him to dinner she wasn't.

Actually, she'd had more and more regrets about having invited him over for dinner. She'd screwed up royally by taking him to the christening and the way things had ended yesterday had reminded her of Silas warning her against falling in love with him. She hadn't. She wasn't, but she was being obvious about there being a change between them.

Cecilia had no idea why she'd spent so much time picking out a dress. Had she mentioned she bought a dress? She had. It'd been a beautiful, cobalt blue sheath dress that she'd found while shopping for a gift for Aaron. She'd changed out of it several times, trying out many other dresses that she'd found hanging in her closet, but she'd return to it because none of the others went well with the heels she'd purchased two months ago.

She'd woken up that morning feeling a mixture of anxiety, regret, and excitement. She'd reprimanded herself numerous times on her giddiness. It hadn't been appropriate considering that they had agreed on a purely physical relationship. She'd made the promise not to let her emotions take over because she'd wanted to avoid being honest about herself and her past. Silas had warned her that Roy was ambitious and that he'd use her to his benefit. She had avoided thinking about it. And she'd been anxious because of her excitement. Her mood had changed with quick succession throughout the morning and her mind had been restless.

She'd made a mistake. Maybe it hadn't been a mistake. She shouldn't have done that. Perhaps, she'd done the right thing. Over and over again, all those thoughts had entered and exited her head.

Cecilia was fixing her hair when she heard a knock at her door. At the sound, her heart skipped a beat and she jumped to her feet. She pulled on her heels on her way to the entrance. She mussed with her hair a bit to make it seem natural, letting it fall across her shoulder before unlocking and opening the door to invite Roy inside of her apartment. She took his coat from him and saw that he was still in his uniform. She hung it on one of the hooks on the wall.

"Am I underdressed?" he asked, eyeing her curiously.

"No, I just came home from visiting my father," Cecilia lied. "I didn't have time to throw something else on. So, you'll have to forgive me for being overdressed."

"Visiting your father?"

"Yes. He likes the family to dress up."

"Oh. You have siblings?"

"No. It was just my father and I."

"I see." He moved further inside the house. "It smells great in here."

"I made bistro roast chicken," said Cecilia. "I hope that's fine with you."

"Sounds amazing."

"You can sit down at the table. I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?"

"To wash my face, I've been wearing this makeup for hours," she said, practically rushing into her bathroom. She scrubbed her face clean even though she had worked hard to achieve a natural look for the evening—not too much and not too little.

She took out her earrings and kicked off her heels before going out to serve dinner.

"Sorry for taking so long," she apologized, walking past the table and into the kitchen. She plated their food as neatly as possible, the bistro roasted chicken on one side and the pommes fries with chives on the other. She set out two Bordeaux glasses. "I hope you don't mind red wine."

"Here, let me do that." Roy left his seat to pull back her chair for her to sit. Once she was seated, he took the wine bottle from the counter. He uncorked it with a corkscrew and poured red wine into each of their glasses. He looked at her. "The food looks great, Cecilia."

"I hope it tastes as good as it looks," said Cecilia, watching him take his seat across her.

Roy cut a piece of the chicken and ate it, quick to compliment her. "This is delicious. I didn't think you cooked decently."

"I didn't think you thought about whether I did or not."

"I didn't mean that as an insult."

"I didn't take it as one. I get the reaction often," she told him. "I cooked before I decided to write."

"Why did you give it up?"

"I only wanted to work for a single restaurant, but it was burned down," she divulged. "I came into journalism shortly after."

"Were you interested in it when you switched to it?" asked Roy.

"No," she said. "My father sort of harassed me into it." She started to cut into her chicken, the anxious energy made her appetite decrease. "Did you always know you wanted to be a part of the military?"

"No," he admitted, drinking from his wine. "That came after I learned alchemy. The war was…"

Cecilia understood what he meant without him needing to explain. She took a sip of her wine, savoring the taste on her tongue. "You did it for the people?"

"If you think you might make a difference, you take the opportunity to try it," said Roy. "I did. It wasn't everything I imagined it would be."

"But the good intent was there," she said. "I think it counts for something."

"That's amazing coming from you."

"How much do I need to apologize until you accept it?"

Roy smirked.

"That doesn't answer the question."

"What do you think?"

Cecilia turned her face away.

The evening continued with quiet conversation and a second bottle of wine. This had probably been the longest that they had talked since they met and it'd been surprisingly easy to speak with him, even about the things that she'd never thought she'd tell him.

Once dinner was done and the dishes were washed, Cecilia and Roy moved their two-person dinner party to her living room while the radio played soft, instrumental music. They stood facing each other after having pushed the furniture apart to leave the large square rug underneath exposed because she had made the mistake in admitting she had no talent for dancing.

She hadn't danced since she was a child barely learning the steps to a waltz with the aid of a long-necked tyrant and the sound of her mother's ringing laughter that'd echoed in the high-ceiling room. Her teacher had been fired after her mother's death and Cecilia had been forced to learn to defend herself instead.

Cecilia didn't think anyone would try to teach her to dance again. She didn't think she'd need to know how.

It truly amused her.

"You have to stop laughing," said Roy, clasping her right hand in his left and raised it up to his shoulder's height. She withheld her laughter, though her struggle to do so was obvious, as he reached around to put his right hand on her shoulder blade. "Now, put your other hand on my shoulder."

Cecilia did.

"Now, keep your back straight and upright," he said, doing it himself. "I lead and you follow."

"Okay," she said with a nod.

Cecilia stared at their feet as he started to count, signifying each step—one-two-three—and his deep voice caused her stomach to flip anxiously.

She was wobbly in his arms, but he led her in the slow waltz and smiled at her, complimented her, when it appeared she was picking up the steps well enough without his need to correct her. His gorgeous smile made her lose her concentration and she started to mess up to the point he ended up crushing her foot under his shoe.

She yelped, separating from him quickly. "I told you to take your shoes off!"

Roy burst out laughing.

"Stop laughing! You said it'd be magical! You just stepped on my foot!" she complained, hopping to the sofa. She sank down into a seat and rubbed her reddened foot.

Roy crouched down to remove his boots before dropping into the space beside her. He patted his lap as she tended to her aching foot. "Let's see your foot."

Cecilia put her food on his lap, wincing when he touched it with his cold hand. "Ow ow ow ow ow."

"You'll live," he said after a brief inspection. He carefully clasped a hand over the top of her foot and rubbed her gently. She winced and he slowed. He gestured her to him, reaching out to take her by the arm. "Come here."

She slid closer to him and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She wasn't on his lap, but her legs were. She nuzzled against him, resting her head against his shoulder.

"And now you know I wasn't lying when I said I was a terrible dancer."

"It's nothing a few good lessons won't remedy," he said, holding her close.

She giggled. "I wouldn't do well."

"You don't know that unless you try."

"Well, there's no reason for me to learn to dance, is there?"

"Any lady of status should know how to dance."

"Yeah, well, I'm not, so it'd be a useless skill."

"Sure you're not."

She looked up at him quizzically. "How would you know I was a lady of status?"

Roy glimpsed at her. "It's the way you carry yourself—your walk and your mannerisms. Your manner of speaking may be crude, but when you are not so hellbent on asshole behavior, you have an elegant way of saying things. It's very polite. You also mentioned something about your family being rich and then seeing you in this dress having returned from dinner with your father were good indicators."

"That is quite observant of you," she said, wearing a poker face, "but I was teasing in the library."

"Yes, but as a freelance journalist, your income isn't regular enough to maintain your lifestyle in an apartment building like this, not to mention you buy prime ingredients for your food and I've seen your wine cabinet, you wear costly perfume, the thread count on your bedsheets is expensive, and your wardrobe is up to date with latest trends."

"Now, that is excessive," she said, masking her astonishment with a coy smile. "Did you…like…have me investigated?" That terrified her and unconsciously, she prepared to break his nose if the situation turned in the direction she feared. "That is so unattractive."

"Do you take me for some kind of creep?"

"I might start."

"I pay attention," he stated, sounding annoyed. "There was an apartment for lease last week and I asked after it when I ran into your landlord."

"You ran into him? Really? After all that you said, I can just put in a complaint to your superior that you're stalking a civilian."

"I'm not a stalker."

"Of course," she said, scooting away from him. "You're only aware of how much my rent is, my preference for prime ingredients, my expensive wine collecting hobby, the brand of my perfume, my bedsheets thread count, and that I'm keeping up with fashion trends. Doesn't sound the least bit creepy, Mustang, not at all."

"Then why'd you move to the other side of the couch?"

Cecilia hadn't noticed she'd gotten so far until he pointed it out. "Just promise me you're not a serial killer," she said, watching a vein pop up in his forehead. "Wait, wait! I'm gonna remind you that I might be able to kick any old guy to the curb, but you've got military training and alchemy on your side. I also don't make a good dead person. You won't gain anything!"

"I'm not a serial killer!"

"You sure?"

"How the hell am I supposed to learn anything about you if I don't pay attention?" he snapped. "You don't talk about yourself and when you do, I don't know if you're telling the truth or lying to me!"

She relaxed. "Is that what this is about?"

"You don't talk about yourself."

"You don't either."

That was the agreement and though she knew and understood this, her heart fluttered in her chest. She tried to blame the wine for making her feel strange, but she had a higher tolerance than that.

She wondered if he was aware of his words.

"If you asked me something, you'd have no doubts that I'm telling you the truth," he told her. "You're the opposite. I have doubts. I can't figure you out."

"I'm not a puzzle for you to decipher," she remarked, growing upset. "If you want to know who I am, fine. I'm Cecilia Warren. I'm twenty-three years old. I'm a freelance journalist. My mother is dead. My father is a businessman—a wealthy one. My grandfather owns a medical practice. My father and grandfather pay for most of my expenses. I never wanted to become a journalist, but my father forced me. In fact, it's his connections that even got me the position even though I've never written professionally prior to getting the job, and if I'm honest, it's his connections that are the reason I even get publish." She expelled a breath. "Is that enough? Or do you want to hear more? I wasn't lying about working at a restaurant. I was an apprentice cook to the chef in a restaurant in South City. It burned down three years ago. The owner refused to rebuild. Oh, and George Perkins"—she noticed the tension in his body set at the mention of the man—"was my boyfriend until I had a run-in with his mistress, Barbara, only to realize I was his mistress, too. He promised to marry me. He bought me a ring and proposed to me. He did it to both of us. And yes, I've been angry about how things ended. He made a fool out of me and I wanted to make a fool out of him by showing you off at the christening, but he didn't care enough to insist on knowing who you were and tried to seduce me. And if you're wondering whether I would sleep with him or not, I wouldn't. I couldn't do that to myself again. I don't want to be somebody's second choice."

"Am I his replacement?"

She scoffed, turning away from Roy. It infuriated her that after all of that, he asked if he was George's replacement. "You're an idiot."

"I'm serious!"

Cecilia stood up. "If you're so desperate to be his replacement, fine, you're it. You're his replacement. I'm so in love with him and I'm fucking you to fill the void that his absence left me. Seriously, how pathetic do you think I am?"

"I didn't call you pathetic," he said, "I was just—"

"It was obviously implied. Why would you ask me if you're his replacement? After I told you all of that?" she interrupted. "I didn't—I didn't sleep with you because I wanted somebody to take his place! He was the furthest thing from my mind!"

She walked away from him trying to force her body to calm down, moving around the furniture and into the kitchen. She was shaking with anger. She gave him her piece of honesty and he came out with a stupid question. The whole point of the conversation was that she wasn't honest. She admitted that she wasn't. She wasn't a hundred percent honest, either, but she gave him the gist of her situation.

Cecilia took the bottle of wine by the neck and poured herself a glass. She wanted to take a bit of the edge off even though she knew drinking any more would be a terrible idea.

She heard Roy leave his seat and walk to her.

"Cecilia, I'm sorry."

She drank from her glass and shook her head. "That's fine. It wouldn't be the first time someone tried to call me out on my bullshit. You're right I am a liar. Half the shit that comes out of my mouth is a lie. It's pathological. Everything I told you now has not been a lie…and you're not George's replacement."

You're just a mistake I've committed time and again.

"Your dad is really a businessman?"

"Yes. He lives and works in Central City. Owns hotels and two independent newspapers. Silas Marshall."

"You went all the way to Central City to have breakfast with him?"

"He has business in East City."

"Oh." Roy paused in front of her. "And your grandfather?"

"A surgeon. Also in Central City. Wyatt Marshall."

"So, you do come from a wealthy family?"

She nodded. "You're very observant."

They were quiet. Cecilia offered him more wine. He took it from her hand.

"Let's sit."

Cecilia followed Roy back to the couch to sit. They chose not to sit near each other as they drank in silence.

"Tell me about you," said Cecilia.

"What do you want to know?"

"Tell me about your parents."

"They're dead," he answered. "I was young when they died. I was adopted and raised by my father's sister."

Cecilia opened her mouth, but swallowed down all of her words because it meant proving Silas right and punching a hole in her story.

"It must have been hard to lose both parents young."

"I don't remember them."

"I see."

"You lost your mother as well, didn't you?"

"I was eight when she died."

This was a morbid subject to start a conversation, but at the very least, it got them talking again. She snuck a glance at him and caught him doing the same.

"How is your foot?" he asked, putting his drink down on the coffee table sitting next to his end of the couch.

Cecilia lifted her foot onto the couch. It hurt if she pressed down on it, but it wasn't red anymore. "No."

He slid closer to her and reached down to touch her foot. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

She drank from her wineglass and asked him to set it down on the coffee table for her. He did and turned back to her, his hand was still atop her foot, but he was distracted by his own thoughts. She felt odd.

"Mustang?"

"Hmm?"

Cecilia scooted closer to him as he turned towards her. She lifted her face, touching his cheek, and drew him closer. Roy reached over to wrap his arm around her shoulders, squeezing her tight. He anticipated the kiss and leaned forward to meet hers. She kissed him softly and moved her lips slowly against his. Her chest tightened. Her heart felt that if it pounded any harder it would burst.

He raised his hand from her shoulder and set it behind her neck, holding her delicately. And he kissed her as if it were the last opportunity he would ever have to do so, but it wasn't rushed and it wasn't sexual. It made her nervous.

Roy moved back, leaving her breathless. He kissed her briefly.

She opened her eyes, his gaze on her lips flickering up to engage her.

Roy smiled. "Well, that was…different."

Cecilia was horrified by the realization of what she allowed herself to do. She jerked away from him. "I'm going to get another bottle of wine."

She went into her kitchen and pulled another bottle of red wine from her cabinet. She needed to recover from that slip. She got too comfortable—no, they both had. The wine that they had spent the majority of the evening enjoying was the culprit of their lowered defenses and poor judgment. They didn't know what they were doing.

She positioned the corkscrew, struggling with it for several minutes until she managed to set it in properly and get it out.

All she wanted was to sit with him on the couch and let him hold her.

She was doing it again.

She couldn't do it again. Not after all those times.

As she pulled the cork out, she breathed in deeply. She could take control of the situation again.

Cecilia walked towards her bedroom, stopping in front of the hallway instead. She managed to catch Roy's attention. She held the bottle by the neck in one hand and two wineglasses in the other.

"That kiss made me horny, so why don't we move things to the bedroom," Cecilia suggested.

Roy leaned forward in his seat, reluctant, but he rose. He made a beeline to her, snatching the bottle from her hand and guzzled down half of the red wine before setting it down sloppily atop the nearest flat surface.

He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her to him harshly. She dropped the wineglasses and heard them smash into pieces; shards of glass rebounded and hit her legs. He kissed her hard with a strange intensity.

He guided her into her bedroom and towards the edge of her bed. Cecilia tugged at his clothes, hating the disconcerting energy coursing between them. Roy unzipped her dress and practically ripped it from her body. He turned her towards the bed and pushed her down onto it, one hand fisting in her hair (with her approval) as she gasped, closing her eyes to keep herself from crying, and with the other, he undid his pants, pushing her legs apart with his knee. He thrust into her without preparing her.

She clenched her jaw to keep herself from crying out, but it didn't stop her from feeling the pain.

Damnit.

She clutched the sheets as she adjusted to his penetrating girth unable to keep the pained moans from leaving her mouth. She promised herself that she wouldn't cry. Each of his thrusts made her groan, her voice falling in a steady beat with the sound of slapping skin. His hips hit her ass hard and his cock filled her, but it wasn't pleasurable. She listened to his grunts and moans, comparing them to his brutal movements. He felt cold.

This was what she wanted.

It needed to be sex. Purely physical. It was about being selfish and using each other's bodies to pleasure themselves. That was the only thing that they had consented to, but if she was honest, it was never so cold. Even the most emotionless sex wasn't like this. This was an artic.

Cecilia proposed the arrangement because she enjoyed sex with Roy. Also, because she had faith that she would abide by the expiration date that she'd given it. They were past due. They were paying interest now for it being overdue.

Roy took from her until he had taken enough and she shoved him back into bed, climbing over him. She took his cock inside of her, though she was throbbing from the pain, and rode him as she rubbed her clit. She kept him pinned on the bed as she used him to reach an orgasm.

The following morning, Cecilia woke up aching all over.

They battled for dominance until they had exhausted themselves—pushing and pulling, bruising and hurting each other. Their frustrations had taken over halfway into the night and they had consented to rougher play that had simply been an excuse to destroy what their passion for one another had once cultivated.

Roy sat at the edge of her bed, his back to her. Long, red lined marred his flesh in the places that she had dug her hands once the pain had grown pleasurable and too unbearable for her. He had bite marks on his shoulder turning into bruises and red lines on his wrists from the fasteners that she used to tie him to the metal headboard to keep him from touching her.

"I'm going to make coffee," announced Cecilia, her voice hoarse. She left the bed and pulled on a silk robe as he watched. She caught sight of her body as she walked in front of the mirror on her way out. She was covered in bite marks and small contusions. Her legs were wobbly and felt too weak to carry her body, but she pushed forward, leaving the artic desert that her room had become.

Cecilia's hands were shaking as she reached for the kettle, there was bruising on her wrists from Roy's hold. She felt strange. She felt like she had experienced this feeling before, as if she had been standing in the same exact spot reliving it again as the cold and familiar emotion invaded her, crawling under her skin like millions of ants.

Stop shaking! Stop shaking! Stop it—

Roy appeared beside her and took the kettle from her hands. "I'll make the coffee," he said, drawing her eyes to his face. He didn't look like he slept a wink and his neck was covered in marks. "Have a seat."

Cecilia took a seat at her small kitchen table, her feet were as heavy as lead. That awful feeling that bubbled inside of her worsened.

She started to cry as Roy set the kettle on the stove and ground the coffee beans. The tears rolled freely from her eyes, meeting at her chin and dripping to her lap, and she couldn't stop them. They mortified her. She didn't receive a warning for them, so it didn't make sense to her that she was crying. She was used to tears coming with a warning. These were rebelling.

The sweet aroma of coffee filled her apartment.

Roy placed a mug on the table next to her arm. He made only one mug.

He knelt down in front of her, taking her hands into his, and stared into her crying face with a pitying look. Perhaps, it wasn't pity. Maybe he could tell that the same penetrating cold that had taken over his body had seized hers as well, leaving them hurt and aching together.

She understood better than ever that she had made a mistake. She knew what needed to be done as she crushed his hands in hers, letting out a sob. "This needs to stop."

With a solemn nod, he repeated, "This needs to stop."

Roy returned to her room to dress and gathered his coat from the rack before leaving.

Cecilia covered her face with both of her hands, her entire body trembling as sadness washed over. Last night's events flashed into her head and she shrunk in her seat.

That wasn't passion. Not anymore. They were just hurting each other and it had to end. It was over. They were done. She would move on with her life and he would with his. No more worrying about the other.

So…she didn't understand why she couldn't stop crying.

xl: Why you do this? That said, some truths came out this chapter. The question is...how much was the truth? Dun, dun, dun.

Fasten your seat belts, shit is going to get a little crazy from here on out. O:

Thank you always Nameless I am, Lunar678, and Kimono Kay for your reviews!

Thank you for reading and reviewing.