First of all: Apologies to people who think this isa new chapter, because, sadly, it's not. I uploaded the wrong document for chapter three by mistake, but the only difference is that in this one, I responded to reviews I got. The content of the story has not been changed. Again, sorry to anyone who gets this on e-mail alert and thinks I have a new chapter up.
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Well, thanks to all the people who've reviewed.
To Ishy: Really, really loved your review, and I think you got what I was trying to say. I'll try to make the chapters longer; this one clocks in at about 1300 words, so let me know what you think. . . And well, I'd love to write a review of your review about as long as the review you sent, but words fail me. But thanks anyway.
To Demonicgambit: I is glads you likes. Hopefully, you'll like this chapter as well. I can't promise about the rest of the story, though.
To the luverly luverly Chica: Your support is, as always, appreciated, and your comments, highy valued. I haven't deleted any of your reviews from my inbox, actually.
To Javed: Well, I forced you to read it, so I can't really expect anything positive, can I? . . . But, just so you know, this fic is the one where I'm experimenting, looking to expand some horizons and all that.
To EE: Yeah, I wasn't sure whether it would be overboard or not. But it was fun to write, which is why I did it. And yeah, I'm trying to increase the chapter length, but wouldn't you rather go for short, regular updates? Pwuuueeeeze? (makes endearing face) . . . it's a lot easier to write a few hundred words and post 'em up, rather than writing 5 K's each time. But I'll try to increase 'em.
To Allie-Allie: Well, now what can I say about the chicken? Sadly, he was not included in this fic.
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Uhh, there is no pace for this chapter, no slow reading or fast reading recommended. It's more based on light and dark themes, but you don't need to pay attention to that. Just read it, and like it, and please review.
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He takes her by her glove covered hands; he leads her away with him.
She winces slightly, her hands scraped as she climbed down her window, but she puts the pain out of her head. She doesn't mind little cuts and bruises; what's important is this time, this meeting, these moments.
He leads her gently to a quiet corner of the estate, walking softly in the soft shadows of the trees, diffuse light illuminating all the greenery around them, glinting off the dew in the grass, the bushes, the trees, and a cool wind is blowing, causing them to press close to one another.
He takes her to the protective shade of an oak tree, he kneels gently before her, gently makes her come sit next to him. Overhead, a single bird trills, welcoming the new day, joyous and unashamed, satisfied, as the woods slowly come to life under the pale dawn of a new day.
He leans her head on his shoulder, he holds her close to him, and she feels protected, safe in his arms. For minutes they just sit there, as close as they can be, unable to touch skin to skin, but for the moment satisfied with all that they have.
And for the moment, she feels, they are the only two people in the world, a peaceful, gentle world, which extends only as far as they can see, and does not need to extend any further. There is no past, no issues between them, there is no threat nor suffering around the corner. For these moments, there is nothing save a happy, serene present, and the promise of a fulfilling future.
But even as she nestles contentedly against him, his mind seethes with thoughts dark and disturbing though outwardly he is calm, protective, devoted, and within his mind, doubts begin to grow.
He stirs involuntarily, trying to drive the thoughts from his head, trying to appreciate the perfection of the moment, trying to appreciate how lucky he is to have her there with him, if for only a few moments more, and as he stirs, she feels, she knows something is wrong. He's hiding something from her.
She looks up at him, she sees his eyes, startling in their redness, but subdued, the black overpowering, reducing the red.
He's staring at the ground, thinking, when he notices her looking at him, and looks back at her, his subdued eyes crinkling as he gives her a smile, and even his smile, normally so free and spontaneous, is forced.
She pulls away from him, looking intently at his face, searching, as if to read him like a book full of dangerous ideas and words, and he looks at her, trying to maintain his smile, his false happiness, but ultimately he cannot, and he is forced to look away.
He stares at the ground below him, he breaks a few blades of grass, crushing them with nervous fingers. But he cannot escape the fact that she is looking at him, the fact that she wants to know what he's thinking about, that she wants to share in his every feeling, every emotion, every judgment.
But his judgment has been made.
The only thing left, is to tell her, but he does not know how he can form the words, how he can tell her without hurting her. And it scares him, it hurts him to be so dependent on her feelings. But he would still die rather than hurt her.
And it is because of that fact that he hesitates, that he sits there while she wonders what is going on, and the whole perfection of the morning has been marred, and it feels like a fog has spread around him, from him, casting a pall over the surroundings.
But in the gloom, she still stands out, bright, but confused, wanting him to tell her, and he knows that some of the fog will be dissipated by her light, if he can only tell her what he wants to tell her, what he needs to tell her.
If.
But he still hesitates.
His words are choked in his mouth, perhaps for the first time in his life, something he was not at all prepared for. He had thought he would tell her, simply, before he left. He had thought it would be simpler than this; he had thought he would hold her close, look her in the eyes and tell her, in a sentence or two. It was the reaction that he had been dreading, but here he is, not even able to tell her. Speechless. Afraid.
For her, especially.
And looking at him, she knows that he's hiding something he cannot even put into words, and immediately her mind flashes thoughts, horrors. Things that should not be. Maybe he's met someone else, she thinks, someone he could be intimate with. Someone who could satisfy his needs the way she never can. Someone beautiful to match his looks, someone. . .
Her hands grip the grass and the soil as her mind races through myriads of flashing thoughts, and he looks at her white face, sees her shoulders shake with emotion, and he knows that she's drowning in her own sense of inadequacy, and immediately he moves to comfort her, hugging her close, whispering words in her ear, assuring her as far as he is able to.
And when she is calm, leaning against his chest, still wondering what he has to hide, he strokes her hair gently, in the pale mist of the morning, under a great and spreading oak tree. And the trees whisper sadly in the wind, as if they knew.
But his dark silence continues, and at length she draws back again, face pale in the soft mist, staring with green eyes bright against his dark black and red ones.
And she moves forward, slowly, giving him an opportunity to move, giving him all the time in the world, her own heart beating faster as she leans in towards him.
And he knows what she is going to do, and he braces himself, wanting it, and knowing, disappointed that he did not have the courage to tell her, and he sees her eyes close softly as she comes towards him, and her hair is brown in the shade, and the white streak draws him towards her in a compulsion he would not want to resist.
And her cheeks are blushing pink in the cool wind, and her lips are parted as he too closes his eyes, hiding the blackness, his darkness.
And they meet, and he feels sparks of light explode in his mind, he feels his life, his energy flow out through him into her. And she's like a drug that he cannot help but have, even though it kills him, and he wants her to take him, take his being, totally, completely.
But she knows that she is hurting him, she pulls away, with his touch tingling on her lips, and his presence in her mind.
And immediately, she knows.
He looks at her, ready for the tears, ready for her to shout at him, asking him how he could hide it from her, even prepared that she might get lash out in frustration, in impotent rage, grief, heartache.
But he's not prepared for her to look at him in shock, and then rise unsteadily, back away and run with tottering steps away from him, back, perhaps, to the sanctity of her room.
And as he sees her run away from him, disappearing against the dark trees, he too gets up, slowly, and walks away from the scene.
And there is silence, save for his fading footfall, and the rustling trees. Not even a bird chirps, and the wind blows in chill fury, and as he moves out of the sight of the oak tree, it seems that everything is suspended, waiting.
And then the first snowflake falls.
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And that brings us to the end of another chapter. Did I do it right, or did I go overboard this time? Was there anything I could have added, or cut out? I'm not giving away too much, am I? (grins) Tell me, let me know what you think is going to happen. . . and tell me how you liked it.