CHAPTER 22
COMFRTING ARMS
I sprung into Ichabod's comforting arms, shaking and breathing heavily.
"Shhh…" he tried to calm my unsettled nerves. "You're safe now. Nothing's going to hurt you," he cooed running his fingers through my sweat-drenched hair. He pulled away from me to examine my traumatized eyes, but when he did, his reaction was hardly soothing. His face drained of what little color it held, his dark eyes unsustainable, and he silently gasped, horrified. "Melanie, your-your face!" He brought a quivering finger to my temple and wiped away a vibrant red liquid. Fresh Blood. "You must have hit your head when you were trashing around," he attempted to rationalize, rubbing his fingers together. Lighting a small candle by the bedside, he examined my face closer. "And yet there is no open wound for which blood can be of exposure," he muttered baffled, and then instantly his eyes grew wider when his memory pegged him, and he quickly looked down into his palms. "Well then," he cleared his throat nervously. "Let's get you cleaned up, shall we?" he stood up and brought me a cloth from the wash basin – obviously avoiding the query of how the blood appeared on my face.
I deftly wiped the blood from my face, now slightly dried and sticky. My mind kept on flashing back to the dream, hazy like it had occurred years ago. The blood pouring from the rose, the surreal light from under the door, and the chilling cries of my name; they all branded themselves into my brain, not letting me forget. Ichabod slowly opened the door to the room, and even that made me jump.
"I thought you might like some tea," he handed me the cup brimming with chamomile and raspberries. I smiled thankfully at him, but couldn't put the china to my lips because my hand was shaking so badly. "Oh Melanie, the worst is over," he reassured me, squeezing my hand.
"Is it?" I questioned him. "How can you expect me to believe the worst is over when hasn't even begun?" I stared at him with cold eyes of doubt and dread.
Ichabod let go of my hand and said nothing. He laid back down next to me and let out a sigh. "You'll be okay?" he turned his head toward me, his eyes gleaming with concern. I nodded and set the full cup on the bedside table.
Blowing out the candle with a hesitant breath, I gently rested my head onto his chest. I could hear the soft strumming of his heart against my ear, and the slight rising and falling of his chest with each breath relaxed my tense muscles. "I love you," I whispered. For the first time in my life, I spoke that three-worded phrase, but ever since I first laid eyes on Ichabod, I knew they would be directed towards him.
No answer. I hadn't expected one; not from Ichabod. But when he embraced me with his loving arms, held me close, and made me realize there was no where else I'd rather be, I knew he was saying that small three-word phrase back.