CHAPTER 24

FAREWELL

The moment came when the western sun was soon to vanish beyond the horizon, shedding an imperial orange through the room. The door burst open and Ichabod stormed in, his hair hanging out of place, his nostrils flaring frenetically, and exasperated breaths left his mouth in pants. "We have to talk," he vigorously said.

"Ichabod, what on earth?" I asked stunned. "I consider this most irregular…"

"That doesn't matter."

"Then please, what is the purpose of this…this intrusion?"

"It's about us," he slammed the door with a force that rumbled the wall. "I can't do this, Melanie!" For the first time I noticed aggression and madness I had never seen before glimmer in the coldness of his eyes. "It's not fair to you, to me…to Katrina!" My mouth turned dry and my heart began to beat faster. I rose to my feet and walked over to his heaving side, placing a timid hand on his shoulder.

"Ichabod, no. Please don't…" I whispered. He turned his head to face me, and his eyes, dark and aloof, gored into my every organ.

"Is this what you want?" he pressed me up against the wall and I could feel my blood vessels explode as his thumbs pressed into the tender flesh of my arms with a strength I never knew existed in such a placid soul. "Is this what you want…" he hissed and I could feel the moisture of his breath on my cheeks. "…To be my mistress?" I bit my lower lip until it numbed and squeezed my eyelids shut, like if I closed out the world, it would all disappear, and none of this would be happening. I was petrified – not of Ichabod himself, but of his words. He was taking the truth and shoving it down my throat, and I was scared of what would become. "Answer me!" This wasn't the Ichabod I knew – this wasn't the Ichabod I remembered. I opened my eyes and our gazes met, two worlds crashing into each other.

"Yes, this is what I want," my eyes were hurricanes; the black pupils the eyes of the tempests – calm and peaceful, like the feeling you are said to endure the moment after death. My irises were murderous waves, crashing walls of water willing to challenge anything that stood in its path. My tears though, were not hurricanes, but merely raindrops, blistering my cheeks as they rolled so scornfully down them.

"Damn you, Melanie," he whispered harshly. "You're worth so much more than that."

"I'd rather be your mistress than not being with you at all."

"Listen to yourself!" I felt Ichabod's hand quiver as he continued to grasp my arm. "Don't you say it. You're far too good for that."

"I love you, damn it!" I cried as tears blinded my eyes. "Am I too good to say that too?"

Within the next stroke of my pulse, Ichabod's mouth collided with mine so brutally I felt the new formations of bruises on the my tender lips. I winced with pain, but more so with surprise by his fierce actions. I kissed him back, giving myself up completely to his dominance that would have sent me to the ground if it weren't for the wall that supported me. It felt that the whole world had crumbled in ruins around our feet and Ichabod and I, lost in the ecstasy of a kiss, were the last beings standing.

"I can't do this," Ichabod breathed heavily pulling his lips from mine. "It's sinful."

"Odd for a man who harbors neither belief in faith nor sin to say," I said coldly. "I thought life was only sense and reason…cause and consequence."

Ichabod looked at me with pleading eyes. "You must leave, Melanie, and you must understand why. I've arranged for a room for you at Mrs. Tate's boarding house. John will be here before morning to move your belongings. Now please…"

"So that's it then?" I swallowed the lump that kept returning to my throat.

Ichabod nodded his head and my brushed my cheek with a gentle hand. "I'll never regret meeting you, nor everyday I spent with you. Just remember that, Melanie." And then he left me.

I stood frozen in shock, not able to budge, not able to see, not able to feel. If I didn't move, I wouldn't hurt, but the time would come when I would have to endure that lingering, heartrending breath and my heart would wretch and coil, and sting. I inhaled a gulp of shaky air into my lungs and pain swept over me like myriad sabers slowly penetrating into my body, causing the color to drip from my face.

"I regret meeting you, Ichabod Crane! I regret every day I've ever known you! And because of you, I'll never love again!" I screamed at the harsh emptiness around me. I crumpled to my knees, my lips too numb to feel the callous words leave my mouth, my entire body swept away by numbness.

As much as I wanted to believe my raving declaration, I could not. It was a lie. I did not regret ever meeting Ichabod, nor did I regret giving him my heart. As difficult as it was to admit, I did not regret loving him, even though the pain it caused me was immensely unbearable. He taught me to love, and in return loved me back, a feeling I was utterly naïve to. He taught me to trust and open my heart, and now he ripped it from my chest, and left me, it seemed like, to bleed to my death. And yet, I loved him more than I ever knew possible for a woman to love a man.

In a time-absent fury, I began to hurl, pile, and stuff my belongings into my trunk. Everything that was in my grasp went, from dresses and garments, to silver candlesticks. I did not own much, and thus it did not take me long to bare the small room, but I was in such a state of rage that I doubted I could tell six minutes from six hours.

I flung open one of the drawers on the little desk and paused when a leather-bound book caught my eye. Dust had settled lightly on top of the cover, like a freshly fallen powdered snow, and based on this, I knew the book had resided in the drawer for a long period of time. When I thumbed through the pages, my immediate recognition nearly made me drop it. The book was Ichabod's ledger; the ledger I had thieved from his study months prior. I had concealed the book in the desk and as time wore on, I had never finished reading it. I had no idea whether or not I had planned to finish reading it. At the time, Ichabod seemed to be suppressing a secret about the legend of Sleepy Hollow, but now it all seemed rather pointless.

Book in hand, I stared out the window and down over the stables. I noticed Ichabod mounting the grullo and spurring him with fury towards the Eastern Valley. He wore his dark riding pants and boots, but his torso was clad only in a loose fitting white shirt. His mind was uneasy about something; I could tell by the way he sat his saddle, his nerves keeping him hunched forward. I didn't question whether or not I was the one who caused his tension because I knew I was. A ride through the valley would do him good; would sooth his frenzied mind and then perhaps, he would return back to himself, back to the Ichabod I knew.

Turning from the window, I placed the ledger in the trunk. Why I did it, I didn't know, but whenever I touched it's leathers, my spine seemed to tingle and a perturbed sensation fell like a lead ball into my stomach. Perhaps I kept it because I wanted to continue reading it, or perhaps because it was something of Ichabod's I could cling to. Whatever the reason, it was coming with me, wherever I went. I gazed around the vacant room and it seemed so foreign to me. I knew I would miss this place, and I knew I would never would regret coming here – this was home.