A/N: Hi friends, I just wanted to remind you that I'm doing this "challenge" to get myself to write more, therefore I am not really editing these before posting them (just like regular grammar/spelling checks)
With that in mind, let me know if you want me to write anything else in this fandom (outside of this collection)
Thanks, Jillian xx
Drink helped take away the pain – it hollowed Archibald's heart so he didn't have to endure the sorrow – he didn't have to feel anything.
Come a few days, he began growing distant from the household. He had become far too used to waking up without her in his arms, despite the short period that has passed since he did so.
She was gone.
No
Not gone, just dead.
She was lying in the cemetery of the ancestral estate. He had looked at her lifeless frame, done up and clothed in the very dress she wore when they were wed, when they had promised themselves to one another.
He was also reminded of the key she wore around her neck, still tied on with an old lavender hair ribbon – her favorite colour. Of course, he still had the original key to the garden, but her key was specially, engraved with their anniversary, a day they only got to celebrate together once, the day he first showed her the barren garden she would eventually turn into their Eden.
He'd never forget the sight of her beaming at him under that cursed oak tree.
He'd never forget the sound of her cry, even if he feared he was already forgetting her voice.
He'd never forget the sight of her being lowered into the earth. She always said she wished to be one with the earth, but this is never what he imagined when she expressed such a dream.
To him, it was ages since he felt loved by her, accepted in the world because she was at his side, supporting him through it all.
Archibald never belonged in the high society he was born into, but having Lilias with him made all the side-stares and rude comment bearable.
Everyday, he sat in his study going through the motions of work until the clock struck seven, and he allowed himself a break (and a bottle of wine.) At least in waking he could try to forget her; when he fell asleep, she would taunt him with dreams he couldn't control.
Time no longer mattered.
"How many days has it been," he'd asked Mr. Pitcher one day.
"Six, milord," was the short reply.
How long ago did that exchange take place?
To Archibald, each day flew by, but his past happiness – lost to him for but a week – seemed a lifetime ago.
"What does happiness mean anymore?" he expressed one morning, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
A knock came at the door, resounding in his ears. He permitted entry to the cause of the offending noise, and his brother came to his side, holding his son.
"He just woke-up," Doctor Craven offered as an excuse upon seeing the confused expression on Archibald's face.
"Very well." The widower had hardly seen his son since the day the child was born. In fact, he took special care to assure he hadn't at all.
Doctor Craven awkwardly placed the boy in his brother's arms.
"Oh, he's so...light," Archibald observed, realizing he hadn't held the boy save for assisting Lilias with feeding him on that dreadful evening. Doctor Craven had advised her against such, but he was no match for a Lady's commands (and a mother, for that matter.)
"If my boy is to never know his mother, I want to at least establish a bond with him in what way I can," she had weakly demanded; Archibald kissed her head.
Her accepting her fate made none of this easier for him.
"I'll give you a moment alone together," Neville remarked, noticing his brother's mind wandering. He stepped out of the room, and Archibald felt more alone holding his child than he had in the week since Lilias had passed.
Abandoned him, or so he felt
Archibald was at a loss as to what he was supposed to do with the boy. Colin looked so small in the man's large embrace, so frail; Neville had not seen much progress since the child's premature birth.
The most startling thing to Archibald was the boy's eyes. They were so much like her eyes: big and innocent and curious. How he used to look into those eyes and feel pure joy.
But it was not Lilias looking at him; and the stare felt cold and judgmental, as though the boy was asking why he had been left in this world to suffer, without a mother – just a father who didn't want to raise him.
Since Lily's death, Archibald had felt lifeless, as though she took his soul with her to the afterlife.
He didn't know if he wanted to scream or to cry, if he wanted help or solitude, mere comfort or a new source of happiness; he didn't' know what he wanted because he couldn't explain his emotions – he just felt a cold ache throughout his being. What was life without Lilias?
Archibald was shaken from his daze of self-pity by a cry in his arms.
"Are you upset because you knew I forgot you were there, little one," he cooed morosely, holding Colin to his breast in an effort to comfort both himself and his son.
"Where is Neville," he wondered looking at the door he'd assumed his brother was just on the other side of, "can't he hear the boy crying?"
It seemed no matter what he tried, Archibald could not quiet his boy. Giving up, he cradled the child, looking at him – shockingly thankful for the crying, for it kept those haunting hazel eyes hidden from him – he let the noise of the child's screams drown out the disturbing thoughts racing through his head There seemed too much in his mind, yet nothing at once, for each idea passed by too fast to even interpret.
"I know why you're crying, Colin," trying to keep his voice as gentle as possible, "it's because you miss your mum. Well, so do I."
Overcome with emotion, Archibald turned away.
Finally, Doctor Craven returned with Colin's nurse who, upon seeing her charge in such distress, immediately relieved her master of him.
Within moments, Colin had relaxed and started drifting back to sleep in the nurse's arms; she left to bring him back to the nursery.
The doctor offered a concerned yet stern look to his brother who was pitifully stuttering out an excuse for the child's cries.
Placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, "the boy will be fine – he's probably just hungry. Though, I have to be honest, he isn't gaining as much weight as I would have hoped by now."
"Well, the doctor knows best, I supposed," Archibald mumbled in agreeance.
"Archie, tell me what's really on your mind. I'm hurting too, remember."
"Woe is you," Archibald thought, restraining his desire to argue. "How dare he use this moment to remind me of his love for my wife, as though that's an obvious comfort to me while grieving her death."
"If only she'd chosen him instead of me," his internal monologue continued, "Colin would be healthy, and she'd still be alive."
Instead, he replied, "you know nothing of what I'm going through."
The doctor was slightly taken aback by the harsh tone of his brother's accusations. Also wanting to avoid a row, Neville put up his hands defensively and left Archibald alone again.
Don't let all these feelings bottle up inside was the last bit of advice he offered on his way out.
How easy it would be to put it all behind him, let the past go, permanently. Through desperate eyes, Archibald looked to the drawer he kept his pistol in.
He already felt so much pain inside that nothing else it seemed could cause him more. This feeling wouldn't be much different.
And he would see Lilias once more.
His eyes found a photograph placed on the table above the drawer: it was the two of them in the garden – laughing! – Lilias pregnant with Colin.
He couldn't. He knew she would never forgive him for abandoning the child she fought to bring into this world.
And yet, it would be so easy, so liberating.