Chapter 11:
Amelie's POV:
"Amelie, Amelie?" Oliver's frantic voice comes at me. I feel myself sitting upright but without putting any effort in; Oliver is supporting me with his left arm, his right hand on my face.
"What happened?" I whisper, unable to remember why I am on the floor.
"I don't know... I heard you fall about five minutes ago, so I came down and found you like this," he says before hesitating. "There... There was this portrait in your hand," he confesses, lifting over the thing that makes me instantly realise why I collapsed.
"Keep that away from me," I hiss, baring my fangs as I close my eyes from the horrific painting. The painting of myself with my father and mother; the last thing I have of her. I was seven years old, in this portrait, and mere months after this my mother was killed.
"Amelie, what is wrong?" Oliver presses, the arm wrapped around me more of a comfort now than ever before. Although it is no longer necessary, I want it to remain wrapped around me. If possible, I would never let it leave me.
Could this be what I feel? Could the emotion which I pushed so far below the surface of my skin that I forgot of it's existence be what I feel for Oliver? Could it be the thing called love, something I haven't actively felt since before I was turned to a vampire?
"Amelie," Oliver repeats my name, drawing me back from the land of the curious to make me focus on him. With this new revelation, I realise that, under the age, he is rather good looking. The hair that has greyed does seem rather well cared for and he has a rather muscular chest, the outline of which can be seen through his clothing. He doesn't have the most ugly of faces either, something which I am grateful for. After all, looks aren't everything but it is easier to be in love with someone who has some aesthetically pleasing points!
But does he love me? There is only one way to tell... To reveal my entire life story, something only Myrnin knows and has probably forgotten by now, since it isn't relevant to science or alchemy or whatever else he is currently obsessing over.
"I am going to tell you my life story," I say, my voice constricted by the tightness of my throat. "Only Myrnin knows this story as it broke me apart to experience it, and to repeat it is not something I do lightly."
He nods in understanding and I feel his arm around me tighten. We are the same temperature so we don't exchange heat, but he feels comforting to me.
"This portrait is the last memory I have of my mother: Marion," I whisper, holding up the slightly dusty painting to show Oliver. It depicts myself, a happy and glowing seven year old, my equally glowing mother standing to my left and a brooding man to my right. That man is my father, the man who destroyed every iota of happiness in my life not once, but twice. "Merely months after this was taken, I heard a ferocious argument between herself and my father... He accused her of cheating on him, when all she wanted was for us to be a family. I heard him stabbing her, I heard her piercing screams and cries for help... But nobody came," a tear comes to my eye as I remember the death of my mother for something so pointless and untrue. He just snapped; I think it was the first time, but I am not entirely sure... I heard rumours that my mother bore a child after me, whilst I was still an infant, but that it suddenly died... Whether this is true or not, I do not know but I wouldn't put it past him to kill his own child.
"Oh, Amelie," Oliver whispers, his voice betraying his shock.
I shake my head and laugh slightly manically; he thinks that this is the end! "Oliver, that is not the end - I am simply seven years old here!" I remind him. "You know what my father is like, from when I destroyed him. Once he murdered my mother, although I could never prove it, his mood worsened with me. For long periods of time he would entirely ignore me before berating and punishing me for doing something which I had not. He began to take away from me everything I loved; my horse Marie was killed, my toys removed from my room... The only thing he allowed me to continue with was my lessons. "My daughter must be fully educated, as otherwise why would anybody marry her?" he said this to me everytime we met from the day I turned 12, the day I turned down a marriage proposal from a 67 year old," I wipe away my tears as I remember his callings of my hideous appearance, his callings that I was worth nothing to anyone and I would be named a lonely spinster forever. I know now that this was not the case, that men's heads turned towards me every time I walked past, but I was hurt at the time.
"However anyone could call you anything but beautiful, I do not understand," Oliver mutters to me, sealing my belief that he does love me. I am not imagining this, the fact that he is clenching me close to his immobile heart, am I? Or am I simply being naive and believing that something is possible when it entirely isn't?
"Things settled off for a few years, until nearly a year before he turned me," I continue on my story, conscious of every movement Oliver makes. He is on my every thought: I love him. How strange, to admit that I love someone after so long... But it is the truth. Evidently my body has delibered over this without informing my conscious side and has come to the overall conclusion that I do have feelings for him. But this is the bit of my story coming up that is the worst part; this is the bit I blocked out of my memory for scores of years, only remembering that I hate my father because of it. "When I was twenty years old and courting a young Lord of Brittagne, he invited him over to dine with me. I presume that when he wanted to see my suitor, he compelled him... To do what he did," I cut off suddenly, the memory of that night now vivid in my mind.
"You don't have to continue if you don't want to," Oliver's gentle voice consoles me, his right hand moving from its forgotten position on the side of my face to wipe away a tear which I didn't even know existed. The other arm has tightened around me so much that if I were human, every body would have been crushed to smithereens by now!
"You need to know the entire story," I snap at him, instantly regretting it. I cannot snap at someone I love, not when they are quite as dear to me as him. "I shall not give details, but after plying me with drink he... Took advantage. Anyway, months later I discovered I was with child and my father arranged for me to come to England. I stayed in a lovely house with a damily we were friendly with, although my father was instigating his army against this country. I stayed the duration of my pregnancy before... Before my father turned up, just after the birth of my daughter..." I break off for a moment, barely able to carry on. "H-he... He took my Ariana from me and turned me into a vampire. I never found her, no matter how hard I looked, and... And he made me truly detest him forever," I break off into huge sobs, turning around into Oliver's chest. This feels so right, as if I should be here with him.
After less than a second's hesitation, Oliver's arms enclose around me, pulling me closer to his chest. His face presses into my hair and I feel thankful that, at this moment, I have someone with me... Someone to help me through this pain.
"Ssshhh, Amelie, everything will be alright," Oliver consoles me. With the way that he is holding me, I believe him... I may have lost Ariana, but perhaps Oliver could help the future stop appearing as bleak as it does now.
Can I fully let down my guard to let him fully into my heart, a space left desolate and empty with the death of my mother and the loss of my baby?
I lift my head up towards Oliver's and press my full lips softly to his own surprisingly soft ones. Instantly, sparks begin to fly.
Yes I can...
So, Oliver/Amelie fans, be happy with this chappy!
If you want the details Amelie was talking about, I wrote it in a oneshot called 'The Last Year'!
Please review!
Vicky xx
