A/N: As usual I'm inspired by songs… This chapter was inspired by the Tori Amos' song of the same name. The memorable line? "You say you don't want it again and again, but you don't, don't really mean it."
Chapter 14 – Spark
Chris came over that afternoon, to get me ready for a gig. She was pouting as she put on my makeup.
"What's wrong?" I asked her.
"We don't do anything anymore. You came back from your birthday, then you disappeared to New York, then you come back again but you haven't even left the house. Not to mention that you're leaving again in two days," she said, not really mad. More like sad.
"It's the stuff they've been saying about me. Eric would rather have me lay low for a little while," I told her, trying to help her understand. I wish things would be different.
"Going to the premieres isn't going to help," she said.
"We spoke about that. It won't help, maybe, but it would be worse for me to stay home, on several levels. Put yourself in my shoes: would Jason want to leave you alone while he goes off on tour, while the media tries to rip you to shreds? Not likely. Then, if he does go to the premieres by himself, they'll start saying that our relationship is over because the rumors were true. It's better to show a united front."
Chris's pout started to disappear a little. She was done with my makeup and Eric was allowed back inside. He would have to help me dress anyway, so I told Chris to give us some privacy. She thought I would give him a private show. Whatever floated her bubble… as long as she didn't see my bruises.
"Is this what you're wearing?" asked Eric, holding up a scary looking bustier. I couldn't read his expression. Was he mad or disapproving?
"Um… yes. It's the only thing I have that will hide my entire torso. Everything else is too high or too low… or too sheer," I told him. At least this bustier came all the way down to my hips.
"Alright. Sit down," he ordered. This was routine: pants and shoes first, then shirt, or bustier, as the case may be.
"I had some dresses sent for you. They'll be here tomorrow. I'm sorry that you'll have to try them on before we go, but I'll help," he said, by way of nothing.
"Why couldn't I go to the store?" I asked, stupidly. I was hurt that I wasn't allowed to pick my own dresses. He looked at me with one raised eyebrow, then looked pointedly at the bandage, and then at himself helping me with the pants.
"I don't think they'll allow me in the women's dressing room."
"Duh! Never mind. I don't know what I was thinking," I said, as he helped me up from the bed. It was bending that killed me.
"Sweetheart, I promise that you can go crazy shopping for the London premiere. Would you mind too much if we go visit my sister while we're there?" he asked.
"No, of course I don't mind. When is that one? Classes start soon," I said.
"We'll be gone one weekend. That one is during Labor Day weekend here. You won't miss a thing," he said, and touched my nose playfully.
I explained the bustier, and he got it on the first try. It was fun watching him struggle, though. His fingers were nimble for the piano, but too thick for the hooks of the garment. I was finally in, and the look was complete. He appraised me slowly, taking it in. He did the same thing all the time. I was of the mind that he enjoyed putting me on the spot, and making me self-conscious.
"As always, you look too sexy. I'll be in the front row, your number one fan," he said grabbing my hand as we walked out of the bedroom.
There were more people in the crowd tonight, compared to the last time I had sung. It was, actually, impressive. Eric chose to wear a hat to hide his hair, the only thing that would set him apart in this crowd. Otherwise he was wearing all black, just like everybody else. He imitated their movements quite well… or was really enjoying himself. It was hard to tell with him. He would do anything to make me happy.
Quinn had kept his distance, which was as expected, I supposed. He would be polite as always. It made me wonder what in the world he had said to Chris about me. It was probably something in admiration of my boobs, no doubt.
Chris was in the crowd next to Eric. She was beaming at my brother, his number one fan. That made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, in a good way. And I did notice that she was actually mouthing the words to his lyrics. I was quite amazed. Of course, she mouthed the words to mine too. She knew all the songs by heart.
At the end of our gig, I headed straight to Eric. It was true that I was feeling better, but I still tired easily, and right now I was in a bit of pain. I had switched from the narcotics they had given me at the hospital, to plain over the counter pain pills. They helped, but not completely.
"You're not coming with us? We're going to the diner," asked Jason, as Eric practically lifted me into his truck.
"No, I'm so sorry. I'm just so exhausted," I told him the truth… or half of it, at least.
"Yeah… you look like somebody beat you up," Jason said smiling.
"Thanks," I said sarcastically. Actually, I was a little bit concerned that Eric was listening. I looked around, searching for him. He was away from the truck altogether, talking to someone.
"What's going on?" I asked Jason, nodding in Eric's general direction.
"Uh-oh," Jason said, and left, leaving Chris with me. I couldn't see in the dark. I could only make out Eric and now Jason. I didn't know who the third person was.
"What's going on, Chris?" this time my tone demanded an answer.
"I think Eric is being a little possessive of you," she answered.
"Why do you say that?"
"Because he overheard Quinn saying something about Eric keeping you prisoner, and Eric… well, you know Eric…" Chris sighed.
"Holy crap! Is this never going to end?" I asked of the car's ceiling, willing the question to make it to God, hoping He would overlook the crap part.
I got down from the truck the best way I could. Chris saw me struggling and gave me a hand. She looked at me in concern, but I didn't care to explain at this particular point. I walked to where the guys were gathered. They kept their voices low, but it was clearly an argument.
"Did you beat her? Is that why she's holding her side?" asked Quinn as he saw me approaching. Now I understood the whole thing.
"What?" I asked, almost yelled, at the same time as Jason. Eric was about to punch Quinn.
"Eric, come. Let's go. You're out of line, Quinn," I said, pointing a finger at him.
"Then why is he keeping you all locked up?" Quinn asked me.
"I'm not locked up, and it's not your fucking problem if I was. What is up with you?" I asked him. I had already put a hand on Eric's chest. He was too mad to speak.
"Quinn, you better cool it, man. Why are you messing with his woman?" asked Danny, the objective one in the band. He was also the biggest and strongest, and had already put himself between Quinn and Eric, facing Quinn. That's when Jason and I towed Eric back… well, mostly Jason.
I hadn't noticed before, but I was holding my side. It hurt if I breathed past a certain point, so I was using my hand to keep my breaths shallow. Eric looked at me when we got back to the truck, tsk'd once, and lifted me up again, as gentle as ever. He put me in the seat and strapped me in. By now he knew it would have been excruciating for me to do it myself.
"Okay, now's my turn: what is wrong with Sookie?" asked Jason, but he wasn't mad. He was concerned. Eric's back was to me, and Jason and Chris had him covered. He took a deep breath, probably thinking of a lie, and turned to face them.
"It's okay, I'll tell them. They deserve to know and they won't tell anybody," I said, reaching for Eric's shoulder. He half turned to me and crossed his arms over his chest, clearly disapproving. But he read my expression. Jason and Chris had noticed something wrong and were very concerned. They would imagine a thousand different scenarios, and each would get progressively worse. Quinn was already accusing Eric of beating me. I might as well fez up, at least to the people that mattered.
"I…" I started, but was swiftly interrupted.
"Sookie was assaulted in New York," Eric said in a low voice. Jason's eyes went wide and Chris gasped, clasping her hands to her mouth. And me, I didn't know why Eric was making himself tell the story (the whole story, as it turned out).
"She has a cracked rib, and bruises all around her torso. That's why she's holding her side," said Eric, finishing the saga. The whole story was told as if I weren't there. I really hated that. But I hated Eric's expression even more. He was racked with guilt. Again!
"I don't know what to say…" murmured Jason, his eyes had not left me the whole time that Eric told the story. I could feel them, even though I was picking at the skin around my nails with undue concentration.
"There's nothing to say. It's already happened. It's nobody's fault. It won't happen again. End of story. Let's go home because I need pain meds," I said, almost a little too loud.
"Let me guess… You won't tell Mom and Dad," said Jason. It wasn't a question.
"No. They have enough to worry about," I said.
"Just like you didn't tell them about Bill," he mumbled.
"What did you say?" I asked. I couldn't fathom what he meant, exactly. But I was really afraid that he knew already, even though I'd never told anybody in my family.
"Sookie, really! Did you think I wouldn't notice? Makeup doesn't cover everything," he said. I remembered when he had come to Louisiana to be with me after Bill died. Jason came first while my parents tied up loose ends and followed a few days after. "I would have killed him myself, if he hadn't been already dead," said Jason. His voice had become a low menacing growl.
"Why didn't you say anything?" I asked. It came out in a whisper. It explained so much: why Jason was suddenly WAY overprotective, for one.
"You were trying so hard to hide it. Just like now. I'm surprised you told Eric."
"She didn't. I found out on my own. Nearly died when I saw what they'd done to her," Eric said, making my attacker into a plural entity. It probably felt like that: all the forces that combined against me.
"Figures. Let's all go home. You and I are going to have a talk, miss," Jason said pointing at me. He had become very grown up very suddenly.
Jason and Eric got in the truck, but Chris remained by my open door. She reached for my arm and squeezed it. She had tears in her eyes.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, then headed to her own seat after she closed my door.
We rode home in silence, everybody lost in their own thoughts.
Eric was extremely careful with me as he helped me to the house. He helped me take off my clothes. He grabbed a button-down gown and helped me into it. He even pulled my hair up in a ponytail so I could wash my face.
"I'll go make you a sandwich and bring something for the pain," he said, planting a kiss on my forehead.
I washed my face, thinking, thinking, thinking… the wheels turning in my head. I was causing Eric so much pain, over and over. Tonight he had nearly come to blows with someone else, over me. Pain and more pain, again and again. I had watched his face when Jason spoke of Bill. It had become twisted with fury. Then, as Eric described the fact that he had discovered my bruises on his own, it brought back his words and the look he'd had when he first saw them. Like a wild man, sick with rage and devastation.
I washed my tears as I rinsed my face. I wouldn't do at all to cry in front of him. I made sure there was no way he could see that I'd been crying before I emerged from the bathroom. Eric was holding a sandwich in one hand, and my narcotic pain pills in the other. I didn't really want to take them, but they would help me fall asleep, and sleep would help me make better decisions in the morning.
I ate half the sandwich, sharing the other half with him, and took my pills. I lied on my left side, and he scooted close behind me. He usually held me at the waist, but he couldn't now, so he settled for running his fingers up and down my arm.
"Why do you love me? All I bring you is pain," I whispered into the dark room.
"Sookie, you're absurd," he said, a hint of ire in his soft voice.
"Answer my question. I need to know," I said sternly.
"I love you because you understand me better than anyone else. You are caring of me and others; you have a strong love and bond with your family; you're smart; you're strong; you're lots of fun when you come out of your little shell; you have an amazing voice; and have I mentioned how absolutely gorgeous you are?" he asked, this time his fingers had made their way up to my neck.
"It seems you had already made a list. Why?" I asked, incredulous. Maybe he had needed a list to make himself stay with me.
"Because I like counting the ways, like Shakespeare: 'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?' Or maybe because when you start imagining a future with someone, it's a good idea to do it for the right reasons. We both got married for the wrong reasons before. Maybe this time we get it right," he said, hinting again at the fact that he wanted to marry me. "Why do you love me, Sookie?" he asked softly, hesitantly.
"Because you understand me better than I understand myself. You care for me and for my family; you're smart; you're strong," we chuckled at the parallels, "you move me with your smile, so sincere; and you saw me, when I thought I was invisible. You're also amazingly gorgeous, and I love the way you play the piano for me," I said. That last part was pain-pill induced. I was starting to drift. But I made myself focus.
"It's more than that Eric. But sometimes words fail… It's like I found my home when you found me. But I don't want to keep hurting you, because it hurts me too," I said, reaching up to take his hand, and bringing his arm around my shoulder.
He got a little closer to me, molding his body to mine. "Nothing else is going to happen, so it's a moot point."
"It's not moot. Things do happen, sometimes."
"Are you anticipating a catastrophe that I don't know about?" he asked. I sighed.
"No," I answered. I was past the point of making coherent sentences anyway.
"Sleep, my love. You need to rest," he said, and I obeyed.
In my dream, Eric was drowning in a turbulent black sea. He called out to me and I jumped in the water. If he held onto me, he would sink me and I would perish. If I didn't let him hold on, then he would sink, and he would perish. So I let him hold onto me as I sank under the waves. I couldn't see him anymore, just a strange quiet under the water. The light filtered in dimly, and I felt myself sinking deeper. Nothing held me down anymore, but I couldn't make myself rise. I kept sinking, sinking, no Eric, no sun, just dark warm water. I silently wished for Eric to be safe, hoping that my sacrifice had served its purpose.
I woke up and my face was damp. I must have been crying in my dream. I felt Eric's warm body still contoured against mine, his breathing was even. He was still asleep. I got up quietly and made my way to the bathroom. I lifted my gown to look at my bruises. Still there, though not as dark. My rib wasn't hurting too much this morning. The pill and the sleep had worked their charms. I could breathe again. I luxuriated in the feeling of taking a deep breath.
Eric was still fast asleep when I came out of the bathroom, so I went to make coffee and check my emails. As the coffee brewed, I checked the headlines on my email server. The very first one made me almost pass out: "Eric Northman: 'He beat up Sookie,' Says Source."
I cursed under my breath, every word that I knew in two languages. I clicked on the link, and braced myself.
Sources tell us that Eric Northman has been keeping his new girlfriend, Sookie Stackhouse, locked up tight. The source, who spoke to us on condition of anonymity, says she hasn't been seen outside since the movie junket last week. When she finally made a public appearance, she was holding onto her side in apparent pain.
I couldn't read anymore. I just shut the computer and even forgot to check my emails. I hadn't even noticed that I was hyperventilating, until Buddy looked at me funny.
When Eric read this he would lose it. I already knew the unnamed source, of course. It was Quinn in some kind of jealous rage. It didn't take away the fact that Eric's relationship with me was not meant to be. We kept getting accused of things by people making twisted assumptions. It was never going to end.
I found myself holding on to the counter in front of the coffeemaker. How did I get here? It was an automatic thing: I reached for a cup, poured coffee into it, sugar, milk. Turned around to see Eric staring at me and I almost dropped my cup.
"Whoa!" exclaimed Eric, as I spilled almost half my coffee on the floor. "I'll get it. Did it get you?" he asked, grabbing some towels.
"No," I answered.
"Where were you just now? I said all kinds of stuff and you didn't hear me," he said, as he mopped up the spilled coffee.
"Oh… I guess I'm still half asleep," I said. It was as good an excuse as any other.
"I asked what do you want for breakfast?" he said, giving me a quick kiss on the lips before cleaning the floor some more.
"I'm not hungry. I think I'll just have coffee today," I said, feeling numb. I sat down with the rest of my coffee and stared out my kitchen windows.
What would my life be like without Eric? Hollow and empty, the answer came to me right away. And what would his life be like without me? Probably the same for a little bit, then everything would settle down and he could find someone else. A wave of jealousy washed over me when I thought of him with someone else. But he would be happy. Was I really so selfless? I could try, for his sake. The real question was: could I bear to inflict more pain on him by being selfish? No, I couldn't. I wouldn't. Not anymore. Last time I tried to let him go, he told me to tell it to his face. So that's what I would have to do.
I was thinking of when and where to break up, when Eric set a plate of food in front of me.
"What's this?" I asked, sounding a little more irritated than I really was. He had been smiling, but his smile faded.
"It's breakfast."
"I told you I wasn't hungry," I said, again not very nicely.
"And I told you I wasn't taking 'no' for an answer. What's going on?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Nothing. I just don't understand why I have to eat when I'm not hungry," I said, getting up and stomping out of the room. I was hoping he wouldn't follow. It was too much to hope for.
"Don't walk away from me… Sookie!" he called walking behind me. This was new to him. I was behaving as if I was having a fight with my brother. I'd never been like this with Eric. There had never been a reason. There wasn't a reason now, other than I was deranged. He caught my arm and turned me around, gently, minding the fact that I was still hurt. Always so mindful, always so gentle. Could I do it now? Could I break his heart? Or should I just pretend this was a silly fight because I was tired. No. I gathered my courage.
"I can't do this anymore Eric. You have to go," I said. This time I looked right into his blue eyes, and saw when all the light was drained from them. His hand let go of my arm as if he'd been shocked.
"You can't do what anymore? Love me?" he asked. Ouch! My heart was screaming inside my chest.
"Look at what happened last night. I've already been accused of killing my husband, and wanting to kill you. Now you're being accused of beating me. What's next? No. I won't put you through that anymore," I said, and walked away.
He followed silently. I was pacing around my bedroom, thinking. I was trying to anticipate his arguments.
"Sookie… I didn't want to tell you anything yet, not until things were finalized. But it's obvious you need to know," he took a deep breath. I wanted to be antagonistic, shout something like I need to know what? But I remained silent.
"I applied for a job at the university where my parents taught. They're about to make an offer. I'm not going to act anymore. It's not worth it… let me finish," he said, when he saw me open my mouth to argue. I wasn't expecting that! "If you and I married, we could live in England, be a family. Your parents could come visit us and stay for as long as they like, and we could come here and visit. There's no need for you to do this," the last part came out like a plea, in a whisper.
"What about everything you've worked for? Do you really think I'll take that away from you?" I asked. I was trying to infuse my tone with some kind of ire, but I was too stunned, and it came out whiny. Ugh!
"Everything I've worked for? I alienated my wife. Now I'm hurting you, and I've never loved anybody like I love you. This is not a sacrifice, believe me. I love making movies, but I hate everything else that goes with it. I can always do some stage work to satisfy my appetite for acting. That would be preferable to what all this," he gestured at the ceiling, "is doing to us! I don't want it. I don't want any of it, not without you," he took a step toward me. I couldn't move yet. My mind was conjuring up images of a life together forever.
I was so nervous that I was biting a nail. He grabbed that hand and kissed it. It brought back memories of the first time he'd done that, and I felt a shiver run through my body. He turned my hand and kissed the inside of my wrist. Meanwhile, his free hand had traced a path from my elbow to my neck, resting his thumb on my cheek. Suddenly he was there, his lips on mine. It was so quick that I didn't get a chance to think about what I had been trying to do. All I could think about was Eric, my world. My whole world.
His breath was hot on my face, and his lips were not soft. They were urgent, moving with mine, his tongue darting hungrily inside my mouth. I was undone. I couldn't refuse him anything when I wanted him so bad. I had forgotten the argument. There was no argument. He was the best debater, knowing exactly what to do to disarm his opponent. Except I wasn't his opponent, I was simply his.
"No," he said, gently taking my hands out from under his shirt, where they had squirreled their way to touch his bare skin. I was hurt. But he smiled, reading my expression without difficulty.
"Not right now. You have to eat breakfast. Then you have some dresses to try on. And then you and I are going on a date," he said, but he leaned in again and brushed his lips past mine. "After our date, if you still want me, we can make love all night long."
"I want you Eric. I want you forever, but I hate to see what I'm doing to you," I mumbled the last part.
"We're not talking about that anymore. You already know what I'm doing to remedy the situation. I'm happy with my decision. I'm hoping that you say yes to moving to England," I was about to say something, but he continued, "but I would rather you think about it for a little bit. I'm asking for a lot, and I wouldn't have asked at all if you had lived near your parents all the time. But you've been away before, so I'm sure you could handle it… IF you wanted to do it," he said. I was, again, about to say something, but his put his index finger on my lips.
"Breakfast time, please," he said after there was no danger of my speaking. I nodded.
I finally noticed what he had made me for breakfast: sunny side up eggs, toast with butter, corned beef hash, all my favorites. I sat down and he set a brand new cup of coffee in front of me. He was being entirely too good, better than I deserved after what I'd just done.
"So… where are we going for our date?" I asked, after we had started eating.
"I thought it would be a good idea to take the sailboat to the beach," he said, his mouth full. He was funny when he forgot his otherwise flawless manners.
"I don't know if I can swim that good, honey," I said, thinking of how far away from the beach he had to anchor the boat.
"Don't you worry. I'll take care of you," he said, smiled and winked, then shoveled some more food in his mouth. He must have been in a good mood, even after my behavior, for him to be so hungry. I wonder what's up.
The shipment of dresses came after breakfast. There were ten of them; all still had their tags on. I looked at one and almost passed out.
"Thirteen HUNDRED dollars?" I yelled.
"What's the matter?" he asked, looking at the dress.
"This dress is thirteen hundred dollars!" I repeated.
"That's only 925 pounds. Come on, take off your clothes. You need to try these on," he said, helping me with my t-shirt.
"Are you insane? I can't afford any of these. It's twice my monthly mortgage," I said, my head stuck inside my t-shirt.
"You're not paying for these, darling. Besides, you're only keeping one or two, the rest are going back. Think of them as a gift," he said. He really wasn't being fair. He must have read my disapproval on my face. "You already own a thousand-dollar dress. The one you wore at the movie junket, remember?" he asked, helping me with my pants. If he thought that would calm me down, he was sorely mistaken.
"WHAT? I didn't know that!"
"That's because you weren't supposed to. It was a gift. These are gifts too, but some not-so-smart person forgot to take the tags off this one. Come on," Eric reached around me and unhooked my bra… then his hands lingered on my back, slowly making their way forward as he took off the straps. His eyes had zeroed in on my semi-naked body, and smiled a wicked smile.
"I shall resist," he said, willing himself to look away. I laughed.
He helped me with the dresses. Some were long gowns, others came mid-thigh. There were some pretty colors, but I decided that I didn't want to stand out TOO much. I chose a beautiful one-shoulder black dress, with ruching detail on the torso – to hide my bandage - but the best part is that it had a long slit along my left leg that reached all the way up my thigh.
"Oooh! That's dangerous," Eric said once I had it on.
"I need to call Chris. She has shoes tall enough for this," I said, looking down at my bare feet. The dress was supposed to trail a little, but it was still unbelievably long. I needed stilettos, and I didn't own any. But Chris did.
Eric helped me out of the dress and into my regular clothes. I sat on the bed and called my mom first to let her know about the date.
"Did you see the headline?" my mom asked at once, worried.
"I did. I'm surprised I hadn't heard from you," I said. It was nearly ten in the morning. I would have guessed she'd already read it.
"Jason told me what happened last night, so when I saw it this morning I wasn't too terribly surprised. I guess you can't have one without the other: fame without the gossip," she said. I heard a sigh. I also heard Eric walking to my kitchen to take a phone call on his cell. I was pretty sure it was his manager, Nancy, waking up in California and finally reading the gossip pages.
But right now I had other problems, like: What exactly did Jason tell my parents? I decided to pretend I knew and didn't repeat anything, just moved the conversation along.
"You know that Eric would never hurt me," I said to her.
"Are you kidding? The way that man looks at you, the way he moves around you. I guess you don't notice. He is always aware of you. I'm sure you didn't need that bodyguard in New York. Eric could have done the job better than anybody, and for free," she said, snickering.
We wrapped up our conversation, and I saw Eric at my door. His face was sallow, and he held on to the door frame, looking at me wide eyed.
"What's wrong?" I asked, frowning, though I had a good idea.
"You read the story…" he mumbled, still at the door. I nodded, but my frown cleared.
"Why didn't you tell me? You keep things from me, why?" he asked, getting closer but still far. There could have been an abyss between us, and it wouldn't have felt as far as this distance.
"I wanted to spare you," I said looking down. I couldn't look at him now. I wasn't even sure if he was mad or sad. He was definitely upset.
"So instead of telling me about what's going on, you decide to spare me by taking yourself away from me? I don't get it," his voice deepened in pitch and rose in volume, and he started pacing. Okay, he was mad.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. And I WAS sorry. Now that he was mad about it, I wanted very much to not have said those words. Now that there was the possibility that he could take himself away from me, I understood. I finally understood what I'd done to him. I wanted to cry, but the fear I felt didn't let me. I froze in place, staring at my hands on my lap.
Eric moved slowly to kneel in front of me. I couldn't look at him, but he took my hands in his and squeezed them. Always so gentle with me. My stubborn tears decided to break through.
"Sookie Frances Stackhouse. Swear to me that you will never do that again. You have to tell me everything, everything!" he almost yelled at me. He'd never done that before and it made me jump a little. I still couldn't look at him.
"I swear," I said, my voice was thick with tears that had stuck in my throat. He raised his hand to my face, and wiped the tears off my cheeks, his hand making the circuit all the way down to my arm. Eric took a deep breath, and rested his head on my lap, still holding on to my hands.
"I didn't want to make you cry. You have to understand that you are mine as I am yours. We shouldn't have secrets. There shouldn't be anything that either of us can't tell the other. And if you love me, then you really shouldn't leave me, because I love you and I'm not going anywhere," he said, not moving an inch from the spot. I bent to rest on top of him, ignoring the sudden pain at my side. There were more important things than pain right now.
"I love you, so much" I said. This time I started sobbing. "I want to keep you safe, but I don't know how. I don't want to hurt you anymore."
"Nobody can hurt me but you. So please stop trying to leave me, please… You break my heart every time you say those words," he turned his face to kiss my hands. I straightened up, but this time the pain made me gasp a little.
"What have I done to you? I'm the one who should leave," he muttered, reaching a hand to my side and gently tracing a finger over the bandage. I shook my head. That was all I could manage other than a soft whine.
"But I won't Sookie. How could I? How could I hurt you in such a way? And where would I go, besides, since you are my home?" He took a deep breath, and his blue eyes held mine. He smiled weakly and wiped my tears again. This time he had reached for his handkerchief and used it instead of his fingers. Like the first time we met, I was mesmerized by him and stopped crying immediately. He was still kneeling in front of me, looking up.
"Your eyes are beautiful when you're not crying," he said. That made me smile a little, and my shyness made me look down, even though I should be used to Eric's compliments by now.
"Please look at me…" he whispered. I did look at him, how could I not?
"Are we going to be alright?" he asked. He was serious, holding on to my hands.
The question was laden with others that I wouldn't be able to answer right away. But of this much I was certain: I loved him. He loved me. We'd make it work. Somehow.
"Yes," I said, enunciating the word especially.
"Alright. Now get ready. We're leaving soon. Do you need help?" he asked getting up from the floor.
"Only when I come out of the shower, putting on my bandage," I said, getting up from the bed with his help. He caught me by the waist, and tenderly drew me to him. His free hand caressed my hair, rearranging a stray lock back into place. He looked at me with such deep devotion. I vaguely wondered if anybody – anybody in the world – had ever been loved the way Eric loved me.
He sent me off to shower and I tried to think about nothing at all. But the nagging thoughts were there, daring me to overlook them – which of course I couldn't. So, if Eric stopped making movies and started teaching, would he be happy? Worse, if he wasn't happy, would he resent me? I didn't have answers to those questions, of course. They would just be nagging me for the rest of my life, I supposed.
But, could I marry him and move to England? The answer, I knew it immediately, was a resounding yes. Even my heart skipped a beat imagining how our life would be. Everything would be so much different with Eric than it had been with Bill. It was already different.
TBC