XXVIII

The brutal sun woke him. Absolutely appalling, it was. Shining through the window without being blocked at all by the curtains. He'd stopped closing the curtains, liking to see the sun shine down on the garden Jean had planted outside his window. Today, he didn't really like much of anything.

Rolling over, away from the window, Lucien groaned aloud. Everything was spinning. He was out of practice drinking a whole bottle of scotch. Damned shame, really. It was worth keeping up the skill just to avoid this torment.

But Lucien had torment enough to spare. He'd been drinking for a reason. Through barely-opened eyes, he could see the clock on the bedside table. Twenty to nine in the morning. Jean would be arriving soon.

Part of him did not want to see her. He was miserable and he didn't want to take it out on her like he used to. But he wanted to see her very much because he loved her and seeing her anytime was a joy. Though maybe not today. Today, nothing felt like a joy. For while the scotch did the job of quieting his mind and knocking him out and keeping the dreams away, it did not solve his problems. The divide between Jean and himself still remained. The hopelessness of their predicament had not changed. They were still doomed to love each other while he was shackled by the priest's collar around his neck.

Lucien did not want Jean to find him in bed in this state. She deserved for him to try just a bit harder than that. As difficult as it was, Lucien hauled himself out of bed and shuffled into the bathroom to relieve himself and splash some water on his face. It didn't help much. As he tried to look at himself in the mirror, all he could see was the gray in his beard and the lines on his face and the bloodshot sorrow in his eyes. What a bloody disgrace he was.

When he couldn't bear to see himself anymore, he shuffled out and into the kitchen. He collapsed down in his usual chair at the table and crossed his arms underneath his head. The room was spinning and he was panting with the pathetic amount of exertion he'd sustained.

About a minute later, he heard the front door open. There was a rustle as Jean was probably taking off her coat and putting her handbag away as usual. "Lucien?" she called out.

It was just too much to contemplate answering her. He just gave a loud groan in response. Maybe it would have been better if he'd stayed in bed. He couldn't make it back there now. He was stuck. And he'd be forced to experience her displeasure and disappointment. She hated when he drank like this, he knew. Before, it had just been a case of her not approving. And then it made her pity him, which prompted him telling her the truth as he had. She had wanted to know what drove him to drink, and he'd told her. He was so sure he'd regret it, but he had not. Not for one second. Because she had come to understand him and to love him. And as much pain as that fact brought him now, how could he ever be sorry that she loved him? How could he ever regret that she had fallen in love with him as he had fallen in love with her?

"Lucien?" Jean called again, this time softer. Her voice was nearer. Her usual practical shoes clicked on the linoleum floor as she approached the kitchen. "Oh dear, what's this?" she asked gently.

He just groaned again.

Jean sighed. "Let me start the kettle. Maybe just some dry toast today," she offered knowingly.

Lucien remained where he was as she started making her way around the kitchen she was so familiar with now. Usually he enjoyed when she cooked for him. She was very good at it. He could do a few simple things on his own, but everything always tasted better when Jean made it. Today, though, he wasn't sure he could stomach anything.

A glass of water was placed down in front of him. "Drink this," she told him softly.

He grumbled and tried to sit up just enough to drink down the water. It did help relieve the cottonmouth he was suffering from. And it helped cool his insides quite nicely. "Thank you," he muttered, putting the empty glass down.

Jean felt her heart break, seeing him like this. He'd not been drinking in some time. He had told her that he'd stopped in order to keep his wits about him where their relationship was concerned. But of course they'd both lost their wits while entirely sober that day in the church.

Pulling away from Lucien's kiss had been necessary, she knew, but that did not mean she liked it. Quite the opposite, in fact. She wanted nothing more in all the world than to be with him. But to give in to her love for him, to let him turn his back on everything that had been his life all these years, it would be selfish. And if God had not cursed her already for falling in love with a priest, she would surely be damned for taking the priest away from the Church. They both wanted that, she knew. He had even offered it to her. But the guilt of it would eat her alive. She would not be able to have a happy future with him knowing that she had stolen him away from his calling. Regardless of what he himself thought of that calling, he was still a priest. Lucien might not believe in God, but Jean did.

Still, seeing him like this, pained and sick and suffering, Jean could not resist an attempt to properly comfort him. "Feeling any better?" she asked as sympathetically as she could.

"No," he answered gruffly.

He must have been feeling awful. Jean had only been hungover a few times in her life, and she'd never taken to it well. But the amount of alcohol it must have taken to get Lucien to this state frightened her. She had hoped they were past this. "Why, Lucien?"

But he just grumbled incoherently, putting his face in his hands.

Jean crossed to stand behind his chair and rub his shoulders. He made a noise that sounded like pleasure and appreciation, so she kept going. Goodness, even like this, comforting him from feeling horrible, Jean could not help but marvel at his shoulders. Broad and pure hard muscle. She recalled from that night he'd showed her his scars that his body was chiseled with that muscle, and after all he'd survived in his life, it was a marvel that he could still be in such incredible shape.

To keep touching him like this would be folly, so she abandoned the massage and instead ran her fingers through his mussed hair. He whimpered slightly when her nails scratched his scalp.

She leaned forward, wrapping herself around him and pressing a soft kiss to the side of his neck. "I'm sorry you're not feeling well," she whispered.

But that must have been the wrong thing to do. She could feel him tense and stiffen almost immediately. "Stop it, Jean," he growled.

Worried she upset him, she let go and took a step back. "Oh," was all she could say. She did not want to apologize for her affection, for even though they could not be together properly, she still loved him. As a friend above all else. And she would not apologize for wanting to care for him. She had always cared for him before, though obviously in less physically affectionate ways, and she would continue to do so. But not if it would bother him. And he was bothered now.

"Please go," he said, turning to look at her with a cold look in his eyes.

"What?"

"Please." Lucien was begging her now, and she absolutely hated to hear it. "Jean, I can't bear it. Not today. Please. Please, just go."

Jean wished she could stand firm and make him explain, but that would be cruel just now. He was not in any state to have a rational discussion. And besides, she knew why he wanted her to go. She knew that he was hurting and having her close but knowing they could not be closer was painful for him. And it was painful for her, too. It pained her to not be able to do more, to give him more. Jean wanted so very much to hold him in her arms, to kiss him as she pleased, to snuggle against him beneath the covers of a bed they could share and spend all their time together, like a proper couple in love.

But that was not a fate they were allowed to have. Already they'd pushed the boundaries between them too much. To push further and then have to step away would be far too difficult. For both of them. And so Jean would not punish him with her presence any longer.

"Yes, alright. I'll go for today," she conceded. And hopefully tomorrow would be better.