Isaac broke the kiss gently, placing a careful hand behind her neck.
"You do not draw back," he said softly, not meeting her eyes. "Why?" Good question, sneered her mind. Rebekah swallowed the hard lump that had settled in her throat.
"Because." That had been her original answer, but she decided to elaborate, considering how childish it sounded. "Because you've never acted like this before, Isaac. It's-- refreshing." Rebekah offered a very weak smile. The kiss hadn't been as she'd expected it would, but... there was something wrong. The unidentified Something had built up and settled sickly at the bottom of her stomach. Isaac finally lifted his gaze from the ground; his dark eyes were unusually bright. It made her feel a little better -- but not much.
" 'The servant recounted to Isaac all the things he had done. Then Isaac took Rebekah into his tent; he married her, and thus she became his wife.' " He paused to give her another gentle kiss. It felt somehow different this time. The Something shifted in her stomach. " 'In his love for her,' " he said softly, staring seriously at Rebekah with his dark eyes, " 'Isaac found solace after the death of his mother, Sarah.' Genesis, 25:67." The hand behind her head began to tentatively tangle in the dusty-blonde strands of hair. Rebekah watched Isaac in what she hoped was a blank expression.
"So that's why you renamed me Rebekah?" she asked quietly. "Because that was the name of Isaac's wife?" His pale cheeks flushed a light pink; Isaac nodded.
"Yes." He glanced away again. She laughed softly, then swallowed as his fingertips moved lightly over the back of her neck. In her stomach, the Something lurched.
"I'm flattered," Rebekah murmured, shifting a little. Isaac's fingers paused.
"Does this mean," he asked, voice hushed, "that you don't hate me?" She tried a smile, but it didn't feel right.
"Not if you keep this up." As soon as she finished the sentence, the Something shifted heavily. Stop that, her mind snapped. Isaac's fingers began inching over the back of her neck again.
"Keep what up?" Rebekah licked her lips nervously.
"Not being an asshole," she said meekly. Isaac stiffened, then smiled.
"I'll try." His fingertips slowly found their way under the collar of her shirt in short little strokes. Now the Something shuddered hard; Rebekah pulled away a little.
"Micah," she said softly. "He's at home. I need to go tuck him in." Isaac's eyebrows twitched darkly, but he smoothed them with a little smile.
"Forget the boy," he murmured, fingers moving delicately over the skin under her shirt. Rebekah's throat tightened.
"I have to go." The Something was lurching sickly in her stomach. Isaac paid no attention.
"Forget the boy," he repeated. She jerked away slightly, wary of his wandering fingers. Isaac returned them to the back of her neck wordlessly.
"Really. I need to go." Rebekah offered a small smile, nevertheless beginning to wiggle out of his grasp. He noticed.
"Don't," Isaac whispered, leaning in to give her another kiss. "Please don't."
"Goodbye, Isaac." Rebekah turned her head to avoid his lips. The Something was churning rapidly, making her feel completely nauseous. She thought she might be sick -- and had no idea why. The whole experience had suddenly turned... bad. And she wanted to go home.
"Don't--" It was one last desperate plea. Rebekah's heart went out to him, but she no longer wanted to be here. She pulled out of his arms completely.
"I'm sorry--" she began, but the words were cut off with a cry of pain.
She couldn't get free.
The gentle fingers in her hair had turned brutal; they tangled in the long dusty-blonde strands and tightened, pulling her back. Rebekah let out another cry, this one more shock than anything else.
"Isaac!" she gasped, and his hand clamped over her mouth.
"You can't leave," he whispered in her ear. His grip on her hair tightened. Rebekah whimpered in protest, but Isaac pulled even tighter. "I've been trying to show you," he murmured, voice the opposite of his hands. "Trying and trying, but you just don't see."
"Let go," she said softly, voice muffled by his palm. Isaac was quiet for a moment.
"You'll run." Now his voice was cold, cold and accusing. "You'll run away, won't you?" Rebekah didn't respond. He gave her hair another yank, but this time she didn't cry out. "I'm trying, Rebekah," Isaac said quietly, pleadingly. "I'm just trying to make you see how I feel, but every time--" His grip on her hair loosened. Rebekah felt it and seized the moment; she jammed her elbow hard into his stomach. Isaac released her with a loud grunt and doubled over. This was her chance -- Rebekah bolted.
"NO!"
She had barely gotten a few feet away before Isaac grabbed another fistful of her hair. Maybe it's time to get it cut, she thought drily. Rebekah was yanked back hard.
"Isaac--!" She stumbled, losing her footing, and groped madly for the hand in her hair.
"No!" he yelled again, voice high and desperate. "No, you can't, don't--" Rebekah whirled to see him. His face was pallid and tight, dark eyes wide. "Rebekah!" She cut off any more of his screeches by slamming her knee into his stomach. The earlier blow would have made it more tender, she knew, and was hoping the fact held true. It did. Isaac let out a cry of pain and clutched a hand to his abdomen. Rebekah took another dash for the corn.
(gotta get out gotta get out gottagetoutgetoutgetout)
Isaac made one last, desperate attempt -- he shot out a hand and clawed for her hair again. She felt a flash of pain across her face. Rebekah shrieked, clapping her palm to her cheek. He had broken the skin.
"Rebekah--" Isaac gasped, still out of breath from the blow to his stomach. "Please--" She watched him with wide eyes for what seemed too long of a moment. And then she ran.
All her decisions were made in the 45 seconds it took to stumble into the house.
"Micah!" It was her age-old ritual, but when he didn't respond at first, Rebekah panicked. "Micah!" she screamed, voice cracking. The little boy poked his head around the corners at the top of the stairs.
"What's wrong, Becky?" he asked, sounding genuinely worried. Big sister didn't scream for nothing. Rebekah kept her palm clapped tightly to her cheek -- he couldn't see the blood, not yet.
"Get Jedediah," she gasped, out of breath. "Get Jedediah, and Mordechai, and Naomi-- everyone, Micah, everyone who'll come with you." Micah frowned and trotted down the stairs.
"Why?"
"Just do it." Rebekah hurried to the bathroom to gather supplies. "Jedediah, Mordechai, Naomi, Moses, Noah, everyone. I mean it." The little boy looked skeptical.
"But--"
"Do it!" She didn't mean to sound so harsh, but it was not time to ask questions. It was time to either act -- or panic. Micah jumped a little, brows meeting worriedly.
"What are we doing, Becky?" he asked in a small voice. Rebekah seized a bag from the hall closet and, keeping her hand pressed firmly to her cheek, began to put things in it: band-aids, salve, penicillin, and everything else from the medicine cabinet that would fit.
"We're leaving," she answered tightly.
"Is Isaac coming with us?" It was the inevitable question; Rebekah pressed her lips tightly together.
"No. We're leaving to get away from Isaac." Micah's dark eyes widened.
"I'm not going," he whispered. She paused, then continued gathering things one-handedly. It was awkward, but she could manage.
"Yes you are. Because--"
"No!" The little boy's cry startled her; Rebekah turned. Micah was on the brink of tears, his hands clenched. "I know you don't like Isaac," he said through his teeth, "but I'm not going away just because of that. I like Isaac, and it's -- not -- fair!" She stared at her younger brother in half-concealed astonishment. But time was not expendable at the moment. Rebekah's lips thinned.
"Do you know why we're leaving?" She lowered her hand to reveal the scratches. A tiny gasp popped from Micah. Rebekah caught a glance in the mirror; there were four jagged claw-marks on her cheek, clotted with dirt and blood. Worse than I thought, her mind said grimly. "Do you see this?" she whispered, staring at Micah's pallid face. "This is what your best buddy Isaac did." The little boy's lip trembled. It was clear that his beliefs were being conflicted, and he was confused.
"Isaac... he--"
"Yes." Rebekah covered the scratches with her hand again and continued gathering supplies. "Will you go get the children now?" There was silence from behind. At last Micah spoke.
"I'll hurry," he whispered, and ran to the front door.
Isaac, in the meantime, had not yet left the cornfield. He still had his arms clasped protectively over his stomach and was struggling to catch his lost breath.
"Rebekah--" he gasped again, and coughed. What a nightmare. What a god-awful nightmare. His stomach was one big stab of pain, and Isaac knew that tomorrow it would ache horribly. But it was Rebekah that still weighed heavily on his mind. "Horrible," Isaac whispered, gingerly straightening. It didn't hurt his stomach too much. Yet again, things had blown up in his face. But why? Why did everything that he depended on going right always go wrong? He took a careful step. It wasn't that painful; Isaac smiled through the oncoming tears and started walking for the corn. No, it would be fine. He could talk to Rebekah again, work on her concsience some more, make her see. It would work next time.
"How'd it go, chief?" Malachai's voice startled him. Isaac turned -- not too quickly, it would hurt -- and scowled.
"Fine." His rising good mood was somehow broken. He continued walking, but the redhead just blocked his path and grinned crookedly.
"Did you snag her?" Malachai emphasized his words by making a casting motion with an imaginary fishing pole. "Did she swallow the story? Hook, line, and sinker?" Isaac's scowl deepened. He sidestepped the older boy and kept walking.
"I'll tell you tomorrow, Malachai." But it seemed that being dismissed earlier was all Malachai would take for one day. He dodged in front of Isaac yet again and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
"Oh? Still getting over the shock, eh?" Malachai chuckled, apparently not seeing the dejected look in Isaac's eyes. "Come on, not even one little detail?" When the dark-haired boy didn't respond, Malachai rolled his eyes. "Come on," he repeated, and punched Isaac playfully in the stomach. Pain shot from his abdomen to clear to his neck. Isaac let out a strangled yelp and doubled over. Tears immediately filled his eyes, hot and stinging.
"Damn it, Malachai," he gasped, turning away to hide his face. The older boy immediately sobered.
"I have a feeling," Malachai said slowly, "that you didn't win her over." Isaac's eyes brimmed with tears; he stayed doubled-over to hide the fact.
"No." There was no keeping it from him now. "No, I did not win her over. I told her the story, and for a few moments I had her, Malachai--" Isaac looked up, despite his tearful eyes, and stared desperately at the redhead. "--and she didn't pull away, and I kissed her, and then..." He tried to straighten, to regain composure, but his stomach ached terribly and instead he sank to his knees. "...and then it was all over. She was thinking of the boy, she wanted to leave, and I couldn't let her, she couldn't leave--"
"What are you saying, Isaac?" Malachai's voice was quiet and serious. Isaac shook his head slowly, staring at the husk-littered ground now.
"When she ran, I tried to make her stay. I tried. And then all I felt was anger, anger and sorrow because I knew she wouldn't stay, even with all I had told her, and I--" His voice broke. A few tears slipped from his cheeks and landed on the ground, soaking into the soil. "She bled," Isaac added in a soft voice. There was a long pause. Malachai exhaled deeply.
"She did that to your stomach?" he asked quietly, and chuckled before Isaac could respond. "Boy, you really screwed this one up, Isaac. Royally." Anger filled him, but Isaac couldn't snap a retort as usual. His stomach hurt too much. His face was streaked with tears. And he was just... too... tired.
"Leave me, Malachai," he whispered. There was another pause.
"But--"
"Leave me!" That one Isaac did shout; the frustration and pain was too much. He turned a glare on Malachai. "Leave me, or suffer the wrath of He Who Walks Behind The Rows!" Malachai backed off, scowling.
"Fine. Have it your way." The gangly redhead began to disappear past the stalks of corn. "But what happened with Rebekah isn't my fault. You can't blame that on me." Isaac didn't respond. He waited until the rustling of corn was gone at last, and then he offered his tears to the earth. Because it was not going to be all right as he had suspected -- Rebekah had fled, and Rebekah had bled, and it was just as He Who Walks Behind The Rows had promised.
And thus would start the Betrayal.