I finished work today and spent the last few hours writing this. I took the muse and ran with it whilst it was hot :D It's just a quick chapter, but felt it could sit on its own just fine :)
Mrs Hughes pulled the covers further upwards so they shielded her from the snap of cold in the air. It was that momentary dip in temperature at night just before the sun finally rose to start a new day. She was exhausted, and sleep bit at her eyes like rabid dogs, but she didn't want to just yet. Defiantly, she pushed it to one side so she could revel in her thoughts and feelings for a few moments longer. Looking upwards to the windows, she wished, and not for the first time, that they were lower. They were high on the wall, and relatively small, and unless you stood on a chair you couldn't see anything out of it but sky. At that moment, her stomach twisting and knotting, she looked out to see the tinge of dawn beginning to make its way into the new day. As she lay there, her mind racing obsessively over the words that Charlie Carson had said to her, she wished she was able to see the colours in contrast to the surrounding land. Having the shadows and silhouettes of the distant parts of the estate helped to contrast the warming colours that were being born in the morning. The subtle blues, pinks, purples and oranges breaking through from the escaping night like someone had slashed the dark blanket that covered the world. Inside, it felt like her heart was breaking through the night for the first time in her life. The sun melting the night time ice that most of her life had been. Charlie Carson had done that. The confirmation of his feelings for her had awoken a different feeling in her, it was new, it was strong and it had reinforced everything she had ever felt since she knew what he meant to her.
If the few hours she had spent with Carson at the hospital was a play reel, she was playing it over and over in her head. It was like she had unlimited tickets to the picture, and she was taking full advantage of the show whilst it was new and fresh. It was so strange that it was showing a part of her life, and not a tale of another for once. It was nice. A smile crept into the corner of her mouth and she lifted her hands and laid them flat on her chest, feeling the slow intake of breath followed by the exhale. Rationalising everything in her head, taking in the world around her and the beating of her heart, she couldn't kid herself that it wasn't real. It was real. It was very real, and Carson held her heart and she held his. The smile got broader, and she stared up as the colour of the sky turned to pink, and a bird flew past the window with haste. Everything seemed beautiful. The dawn was coming at an alarming pace. The anguish and downcast nature of the previous days, the way everything seemed cold and dark had morphed into a newness. This was the dawn of a new day, a new point in her life and an era of love and warmth. Nothing would detract from that whilst she was there and in her thoughts.
Remembering the moment Carson had held her face in his hands sent a tingle through her body, a warm feeling resting in her cheek as if it remembered the way his fingers ran along her skin. They had sat like that for a few minutes before Mrs Hughes had taken his hand and held it tightly between hers. There was a moment, just after, when both of them stared at each other for what seemed an age. Where they both just sat smiling at each other. No words were needed, no actions were required, they were taking in the presence of the other in the realisation that they had shifted into something else. In unison they were dancing on the inside, relishing the feeling of being born from an ember into a fully-fledged fire. The environment hadn't been right before, quelling the ember and preventing it from growing. Once pushed, the fire ignited with pure and ferocious flames.
The quiet footsteps outside signalled to Mrs Hughes that the day was beginning, and she felt guilty at the fact that she was still in bed. Should she just get up and get on with it? Was it worth being in bed when she could be making sure things were going on as they should? After getting the message to Barrow, she knew that she may as well take advantage of just being in her own presence. It was the first time in a few days where she had stomached being in her head. The contrast to how awful she had been feeling to how she felt at that moment was astounding, even to her. What she wanted to do was, without guilt, think about the night before. If she went to start work she might get distracted and forget the details of each perfect moment. Getting an hour or so of sleep would also help if she could manage to calm herself enough to get any.
In one of her drawers, she had an old book that was full of crisp blank pages. It had sat there for a while, and she couldn't remember what it was that she had bought it for. It had remained empty and without purpose for a long time. Wanting to savour the things going around in her head, so that one day she could look back on it and reminisce, she decided she was going to write it down. Not everything, just the parts that she loved. This wasn't something that she could ever have envisioned herself doing, writing into a book like a young girl in her diary, but there were things in life that you needed to savour. So she was going to do it regardless.
As she jumped out of bed she could feel the chill biting at her bare feet as she moved towards her drawers. In terms of possessions, she knew she didn't have much, and each item had its unique resting place. The book was tucked under a pile of neatly folded scarves that had gone past the point of use. They were old, but she knew that they might have come in use someday so she had put them to one side just in case. There was a pencil that was also loitering in the same drawer that she grabbed. Once she had them, feeling a shiver work up her body, she hopped as quickly as she could back into bed. The sheets retained the warmth of her body well, and it didn't take long for her to forget the chill on her feet.
The book was bound with a moss green leather, an intricate Celtic pattern debossed into the smooth surface. Running her fingers over the cover she could make out the indentations with her fingertips, dipping in and out of the various patterns in quick succession. It was good quality and well worth the money she had paid for it. When she had seen it in a shop that she was browsing, she remembered being enamoured by the way it looked against everything around it, and she had gone back for it later in the day. The pages were cream, but they were thick and sturdy. It was the type of page that you could scrawl over and there would be no leak into another page. A decent pen would be better for this sort of paper, but she had to work with what she had. Sliding her fingers under the cover she carefully turned the pages so that she was in the middle. Nobody would ever venture into her room and go through her things, but she felt a little silly having something about her experiences being on the first page of the book. No, she wanted to tuck it in there out of the way. It was not as if what had happened was common knowledge, and she didn't know how and if it ever would be. The implications, the course that it was going to take, and how this would impact their life had not been a topic of conversation. They would be, and she knew that they would have to traverse them when the time came. Not wanting to put a dampener on her spirits, she closed her eyes and pictured his face. "I'm not the best with words, but here goes," she whispered, a bubble of excitement catching in her throat as she let the words out.
"Charlie Carson told me he loved me in the softest and sincerest voice I have ever heard him use.
The glint in his eye as he locked his gaze with mine sent the butterflies inside ricocheting against my ribs.
I cried. It wasn't tears of pain and sadness, like the ones that have burnt within me for so long. They were tears of relief, of happiness, of awe.
I never thought that I would truly relish in the softness of the skin on his hands.
I have never seen him smile like that. It was broad, it was warm, it was something I can only describe as pure contentment. The creases that lined his face were beautiful and unforced into position.
I held his hand between mine and ran my thumb over his skin knowing that I was doing so with my true intentions. Nothing was hidden. Nothing was lost.
We spoke quietly to each other about anything and everything afterwards. It didn't matter what it was about, it was the realisation that there was more intent behind our words than we had ever expressed. I gave him my everything with every syllable. Nothing was hidden or refrained. It was the most honest I have ever been with him because my feelings were known. I wanted to cry because I felt so happy over being able to talk freely.
When I got up to leave, he held onto my hand and I knew he wanted me to stay. Someone in this world wants me for me, wants to be with me and near me for who I am...warts 'n all.
The piece of his hair that had been out of place was charming, but I knew that it would irritate him. I took my hand and ran my fingers through his hair and made it sit right. It felt so natural that my heart wanted to burst. I looked down at him as I did it, and his mouth just stayed in place, a permanent smile directed at me.
When my fingers finished through his hair, I ran my hand down the side of his face and stroked his cheek. He reached up, took my hand between his and kissed the top. Everything exploded. I felt giddy. Me! Felt giddy!
As I said goodbye, his hand gripping mine, he swung his feet out of the bed. Standing there before me, regardless of the fact he was in his nightclothes, he wrapped his arms around me. Charlie is tall, his arms long, and he enveloped me against him like a bear. I could feel his heart racing as my ears pressed against his chest, the thudding like you would expect a small bird's heart to hum. He was nervous. I could have stayed there forever. There was something about the way he held me that made me feel safe and warm. I was pressed into him as if he never wanted me to go, and I didn't, but I had to leave. Then I felt his head rest on mine, and he cleared his throat. "All I've ever wanted is this," he whispered in my ear. I took my hands and wrapped them around his back so that I could lock my hands together. I replied to him and said 'Me too.' We stood there for a while until I told him to get himself back into bed, and he chuckled at me, nodded his head and did just that.
Now I'm lying in my bed, with a morning off, thinking about how badly I want to be with him. I want to hold his hand again. I want to have my head resting against his chest as he holds me. I don't know what this will mean for us if we put this out in the open. I feel happy for the first time in my life. This means more to me than anything else. We won't be alone any longer. I have someone to tackle this world with. Each step will be together, each hurdle we can climb over and everything will be in unison. We can work side by side and live side by side if the luck is in our favour. I feel myself running ahead, but it isn't in vain because I know that he is on the same page as me for the first time. Whatever will be will be, and I know that if I have him in my corner then we will be fine. We will always be fine.
Normally, when things start going my way, I have an awful habit of doubting and beating myself up. I have promised myself that I will not to do that. Over the space of the last week, I have spent so much time going over my feelings, talking myself into and out of things. I need to keep hold of this feeling because I'm happy. I am so unbelievably happy."
Mrs Hughes rested the pencil on the page and leant herself back into the pillows, turning her eyes to the window as daylight shone in, signalling that the new day had fully manifested. It was true, she really was happy. It was alien to her, but it felt good nonetheless.
Mrs Hughes lifted her bottom half up and shuffled herself further down into the sheets, straightening out the top blanket and resting her head into the pillows. The pencil sat precariously on the edge of the page as she did, so she grabbed it and placed it on her bedside table. The book itself left a nice pressure on her lap, and she raised it so she could read over it one last time. As she traced her eyes over the words, picturing it in her mind, she sighed a happy sigh and closed the pages together. The pillows on her bed weren't thick, but she knew that if she placed the book underneath she would be able to feel it. It didn't matter though, because knowing it was there was a permanent reminder that it was real. If she woke up after a quick sleep, her mind telling her it was all a dream, she would feel the edge of the book behind her head and be transported back to that moment.
In one quick motion, she lifted herself, tucked the book under her pillow and lay against it. Rather than lying on her back and looking up at the ceiling, she turned onto her side so she was facing the window, staring up at the sky as she watched as clouds moved past, smiling to herself as she did. Her left hand rested beneath her cheek, and her right hand tucked itself under her pillow with her finger resting ever so slightly on the cover of the book. This was real.
Feeling content and warm, she closed her eyes and let the exhaustion wash over her. After just a few moments, her mind tracing the outline of Carson's face, she felt the haziness of sleep begin to make her eyes tight. The blankets pushed against her chin, and she tucked her knees up to her chest as she felt herself sigh. Whether she got one hour or three of sleep, she knew that the day would be one she could tackle. The vision of Carson telling her that he loved her would feed and supply her with energy for many days to come. The jigsaw that was her life was complete for the first time in her life. After a few more moments, sleep finally enveloped her, and if anyone were to walk in and see her, they would see a smile undisturbed by sleep itself.