I towel dried my hair best I could after I got out of the shower. After dressing in my night gown and slippers I brushed my teeth in front of the mirror. I looked up at my reflection and wondered if 16 years had done anything to my looks. My hair hung damp on my shoulders, my cheeks pink with steam making me look healthy and bright. My nightgown was a birthday gift from my aunt. It had short sleeves and a button up top, the gown flowing down to my feet It was white. I loved it.

I gave my hair one last one over with the towel and gathered it over my shoulder as I opened the door. I was startled to see a figure seated on my bed and started to slink back into the bathroom, but it had heard me and turned. At seeing Neil's face I let out a sigh of relief and smiled. He grinned back weakly, but his eyes were heavy and sad. Something was up.

"What's wrong?" I asked going over to him and pulling a chair up in front of him.

He looked at me despondently and reached out, touching a spare curl that hung over my shoulder, "You look beautiful,"

I blushed, "That's what's wrong?" I asked with a grin, earning a frail chuckle from his lips.

"No," He replied, his elbows on his knees, his hands clutched to tightly together they turned white. He looked up, his eyes so intense with a profound sadness I felt like crying, "My father found out about the play," He said.

I felt my heart skip a beat. He had told me about his oppressive father in his letters, "What did he say?" I breathed.

"He's making me quit the play," His voice was so cold and void of emotion it terrified me.

"Quit the play?" I said, falling back into my chair with shock, "But tomorrow's the opening night,"

He sucked in the air about him like he had been underwater for a long time, "He doesn't care," He dove his face into his hands, "I just talked with Mr. Keating. He said I have to talk to my father, I don't have a choice,"

I felt anger spark within me at his father, "Well of course you do," I spurted, standing, "You have to show him how much this means to you. He is not your master; you are not a slave to do his will, Neil! You have to show him that!" I paced to the window, "He doesn't have any right what so ever to tell you what to do. Your 17 for god's sake not 7 and he has to come to terms with that!" I took a deep breath and looked over at Neil, and noticed that tears had started to emerge on his pale cheeks.

"Oh Neil I'm sorry," I said kneeling down beside him and taking his face in my hands, "Forgive me, I need to watch my tongue,"

"No," He said pushing away my hands, "No it's alright, and I wish I had your courage. You don't understand, I can't tell him these things,"

I fell back onto my heels watching his face, so cold, like stone. I reached out again and trailed the back of my fingers along his cheek. He shivered and stood, walking to the window, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"I'm trapped,"

I sat on the floor, with my white dressing gown and woman's heart as he stood by the window.

"You're never trapped,"

I heard him turn and walk to my door, "Wait," I said, "Please don't go, I want to help you."

I looked over at him, my eyes large with pleas for advice on how to reach him. He looked down at me, his own eyes beginning to well even more with tears. I held out my hand to him. He walked over and took it, just as he began to sob. I brought him down to my level and wrap him in my arms, holding him close as he cried into my chest.

I held him still as he went tranquil, his shallow breathing deepened, inhaling evenly, like the waves on the ocean, beating in time with the moon and tides, beating in time with my own breaths, beating like the heart of an infant within it's mother's belly. He drew away, his eyes red. He stood, looking at me. I stood with him. We faced each other, saying nothing, just barely touching. His hand rose to my cheek and touched it so lightly like I was a porcelain doll that would break at the most rapid of movements.

"I'll talk to him," He replied, bringing his hand down.

I smiled softly. He leant forward and kissed me so softly I almost didn't feel it. I caught his lips in mine before he could retreat and held them like his heart for as long as I could. He pulled back, smiled, and left the room.

I shook like a leaf in a torrent of angry winds and rains.

I tasted hopelessness in his lips, mingling with broken dreams and the same sugar salt that lingered on my tongue for hours after he kissed me. He smelled like autumn and tasted bittersweet.