chapter eleven. how my light is spent: it takes a major injury for sebastian to realize his love for mercedes

Handsome, young, and gone too soon. That's what Sebastian assumed would be said at his funeral, he already saw his mother weeping over his casket, his father and sister standing behind her stoically. Abigail would write a poem or a story or a novel or an encyclopedia about her sorrow, and his father would go on living. He'd probably even suggest having another son. When Sebastian came back to cognizance, which felt instantaneous on his timeline, he heard a doctor promising that he'd 'make it'. 'Make it' sounded miserable, it sounded like he'd be missing something or living as half a man, and seeing as though one of the last things he recalled was an explosion and screaming, his own screaming, he wouldn't be surprised if when his eyes were unfolded they'd reveal an amputated limb. Running his thumb over his hand, he felt the indention of cuts from flying shrapnel. Remaining silent, Sebastian wished away the throbbing pain behind his eyes and licked his bruised lips. He still felt the cold presence of someone in the room, he turned his head over to where he thought they were.

"When can I get these bandages taken off? I'd like to see the damage."

The world came down to shapes and finger tips and hoping conversation would fill the void that supplication couldn't. Maybe she'd read his mind when she suggested moving somewhere quieter, she'd probably known that he couldn't bear to hear the world's apologies and best wishes all day for every day. They chose a cottage near the mountains, somewhere secluded and quiet, somewhere safe with walking distance to a nearby town. They rarely received visitors, but occasionally a few of Sebastian's comrades passed through the scenic route, sat over a cup of tea, and talked about good, old times. They'd pat him on the back, tell him he didn't deserve what he'd gotten, and continue their life, thanking God that they hadn't been so unlucky. Aside from his rank as Ohio's Most Eligible Bachelor for many years and a trust fund that never emptied, Sebastian received the same stipend from the U.S. Military every month, a thin check mailed from a few states below, a sad reminder of the love received by the skeletons left by war. He didn't know if she cashed them or not, not that he cared, not that they needed it, not that she needed the part-time job at the library either, but he knew she needed an escape from the four walls and from his own misery.

Propped against the bed frame, Sebastian felt the heat of the rising sun trickling over his body, the window left open and a mild breeze pushing through the frame. He turned his head towards her when he felt her yawn against him, her thick hair pressed into his skin, her face on his chest, her hand entangled in him, one of his arms wrapped around her loosely, their blanket placidly coating them. They sat in silence for a time, as they usually did. After a few months in the cottage, they'd surpassed talking, as it was all they could do. There was something holy in their silence and in their touching; after a time, the temperature in the room began to drop.

"It looks like rain,' she said too late, the patter of raindrops beginning to sprinkle on the roof.

Sebastian sighed, knowing the room was coated in darkness again, he imagined what the floor looked like. It was wood, that he could feel. A dark brown, that she had told him. The curtains were a muted red, the bed spread was beige with green, brown, and red stripes at the bottom. The forest outside was almost perfectly green and if she woke up early enough, she could see a few deer picking at the berries near the door. Soil tracked into the house, that Sebastian could feel. It ruined the rug in the living room, that he was told. Her hair was down to her breast now, that he could feel. It was getting unmanageable, that's what he was told. Her nose scrunched when she laughed, he knew that. She didn't laugh much anymore, he heard that. She hated her laugh, her smile, her nose, she said that. He missed her laugh, smile, and nose. He felt that.

"I wish I could see you,' he sighed.

He could admit that he hadn't known her very well when he'd wed her. Even on their wedding night, when he'd known her the most, he had still spent his honeymoon with a stranger. He couldn't have known her, not when his sight was increasing and decreasing his affection or his friends and family were flooding him with their own donations of thought. He couldn't have known her when his opinion of her was completely crafted by what he saw and what she presented, he couldn't have met her soul, and he'd returned home in terror. He couldn't expect a stranger to care for him, he couldn't expect her to stay. He mistook his discharge papers as divorce papers, in near shambles when a nurse told him to 'sign here'. She was there when he got home, he could feel the tears trickling down her cheeks, and they held each other for as long as he could remember. He ran his fingers across her hair, pressed his head on her forehead and admired every texture he had been looking too fast to appreciate. It took his hands time to learn every inch of her and his heart longer to truly fall in love. It was all slower than he had ever been accustomed to, much quieter. He regretted that the lesson had to be so toughly taught.

She picked out his clothing, usually giving him options, a brief summary with descriptions on color and texture. Passively, he let her choose his attire for the night. He hated leaving the cottage in its entirety, but she'd insisted a debutante ball where his father would be honored at would be a good opportunity to catch up with old friends and prove that despite the injury, he'd not become a recluse. Sebastian took deep breaths as she hovered over him, first trimming and styling his hair, then shaving his face, all things that he did with ease, even nonchalance, prior. She smelled like something sweet, like a beach he'd rather be on or a sunset he'd rather feel, a glimpse of something that he wished he'd had before.

"Do you remember me?' someone asked boldly, their voice unfamiliar. Sebastian shook his head, smiling.

"I don't,' he never did. He didn't realize how many faces he could remember and how many voices he could forget. They went on to say they were his cousin, they hadn't seen him since he was just a boy. He hadn't seen himself since then either. Then they'd get around to her.

"Mercedes, you look lovely."

"Mercedes, you are stunning."

"Mercedes, you're flawless. You look like a daydream. I haven't seen you in years, why don't you two ever come to visit. You truly– you've amazed me, honey. I barely recognized you, have you lost weight? You didn't need to, you look great either way. And your hair! I cannot stop gushing about you, you're out a movie. What's in that mountain air? I have some nieces who went hiking this weekend, and when they came back their skin was clear and everything. It must be the air, don't you agree? I've been planning a getaway. Where you recommend? Do you two travel? Maybe not, but where would you go? If you could?"

He sighed, touched the small of her back and wished he was back home. According to his sister, he still had discoloration around his eyes, and, according to his hands, scars that would always be a reminder of his injury. His father patted him on his shoulder, his mother kissed him on the cheek, and they agreed that it was good to see him out of the house. He could hear Mercedes droning to their mutual friends and some strangers during the night, he ran his finger around the rim of his wine glass, a bitterness in his throat from either indignation or moscato.

They stood together, waiting for the valet, alone in front of the dark hotel. She wrapped her arms around his waist and placed her head on his back.

"I wish I could see you now,' Sebastian whispered, holding her hand against his stomach.

"You're the only one who does."

who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state Is kingly