AHH! She's updated within a reasonable period of time for once in her short, nutty (and far too hormonal for the likes of normal society) life! Is the world coming to an end? What shall become of us? And what of Larry's hairbrush?

Chapter Forty Two: My Beating Heart

…Be still my beating heart
Love is whispering your name
There were years suffering in the dark
Holding back the tears and pain...

-Gone Are the Dark Days, By Point of Grace (this band is an old favorite of mine. Gota love four-part female harmony!)

Φ

Leah

I awoke to a painfully throbbing headache.

I could feel every one of my heartbeats pulsing angrily inside my skull like a miniature thunderstorm. The room spun violently when I began to move, and my stomach wobbled threateningly. Could I make it to the washstand before I vomited?

"I'll never do it again, I swear!" I whined to God, half awake and sorry that I had ever opened my eyes. "Just make it go away."

Speech did little to settle my stomach or my head, but the demands of the former far outweighed those of the later. With one swoop, I flew to my washbasin. I found my target just in time, becoming ferociously sick.

"By Christ's Church!" A curse I had overheard from one of Joseph's apprentices fell from my groggy lips thoughtlessly. It took me a minute to realize my profanity.

"Sorry!" I squeaked out, dizzily looking heavenwards and crossing myself.

What in God's name had possessed me to do it?

"It probably had something to do with seeing 'La' Sorelli in Philippe's arm, no?" A snide little voice in the back of my head goaded me on.

"Look at you! Sick and unkempt while she's probably sleeping in his arms. You were a fool to ever dream that anyone here would be interested in your heart and not your skirts, you idiot."

"Shut up." I grumbled uselessly as I tried to make my self more sober. When the racket failed to cease, I simply tried to ignore it. "I only wanted to get that image out of my head. I'll never do it again!"

The voice then began to have a hearty laugh at my expense. "Listen to yourself, girl! Wake up! You are talking to thin air, you ninny."

It is rarely a good idea to listen to little voices in your head. That is just the sort of thing that causes one to be hauled away to le maison des lunes.

It is even less prudent to pay attention to such a voice when it is laughing at you.

I was relieved to be rid of my inner conflicts as by the time I returned from emptying my washbasin in the latrines and giving it a good scrubbing. The world had regained some of its equilibrium, and I was left alone in my head to sift through my memories of the night before.

She had humiliated me intentionally, gaining my trust while knowing what I felt for him. And he was no better. He had merely sought to use me and discard me. He hadn't even been man enough to say goodbye to my face!

They had betrayed me.

They were no different from anyone else in my life. Why should they be?

"Will everyone hurt me like this, Lord? Is this all that I can look forward to in life? True, I knew that coming here meant that I was not likely to find a serious suitor or hope for a husband … but why must you hold out the bait and then rip it away?" With a frustrated cry, I hurled my thin pillow at the peeling wall, not caring if the damn thing burst at its ancient seams.

Seeing Philippe and Sorelli happy in one another's arms had been a treacherous assault on my fragile heart. I had been so reluctant to let them near it, so careful to keep it safe in the beginning. Where had my resolve gone? This was my fault, for I should never have grown so close to them. I should have left my soul within its strong walls, where it had been safe.

If only I had conceded to Philippe when he had asked! Months ago, he had covertly suggested that I spend the night in his bed. Oh, he had been a gentleman and phrased it in a much more inviting way, but I knew what he had been asking. Why had I refused? It could have been me in who slept safely in his arms tonight instead of that backstabbing … witch!

After that night, he had grown more and more distant. It was obvious to me now that his intentions had been less than honorable. I would have only been one of many flippant encounters in his life. But still, it didn't matter!

All that I could think of were his kind, endearing touches and his few gentle kisses. He had spent time with me of his own free will, as one must when one cares for someone. It had been wonderful to find someone, anyone, who made me feel the way he had.

For the first time, I had felt that I could be pretty. It had been marvelous to believe that I was someone that a man found worth his time. In his presence, the world seemed to be an almost cheerful place, even after the loss of my dance. Whenever I had been near him, my heart had always beat a little bit faster. He had made me want to keep trying.

Why had I let go of him?

"There was that little matter of your virginity." My inner voice piped up sarcastically. Try as I might to rid myself of the creature, it refused to be evicted from my thoughts. I had once explained this to Beth, only to have her repress a giggle and inform me that the voice was my conscience.

"Bloody conscience! I was never even asked if I wanted one!" Despite the foolishness of conversing with a possible sign of psychosis, I tried to counter its attacks. The time I had spent with my Abuelo and his philosophical cronies had given me a taste for debate.

Even if I was only arguing with myself.

Besides, would it truly have been such a loss if it meant gaining a little more time with Philippe? The mere thought of him brought me dangerously near to crying. How much was my purity really worth to me, knowing that there was a real possibility that I might never see a golden wedding band on my finger? Why hadn't I taken what I could get for it?

"Because you knew it was wrong, you goose!" Retorted the voice, wagging an invisible finger of admonishment in my general direction. "And you still do. That is, of course, unless you have truly become an empty-headed, flighty little chit who will take whatever she can get. You are better than that, aren't you, you slack-jawed twit?"

It is most definitely not a good sign when the little voices start insulting you.

"I have not!" Was the only response I could give. It didn't mean that I was no longer mourning all that I had lost, but I began to realize the painful futility of considering 'if only's'.

It is a particularly pathetic thing to loose an argument with a little voice in your head.

Tired and hung over, I returned to my squeaking bed and curled up, hugging my knees to my chest and fighting the urge to sink into the ground and die on the spot. Alcohol had not helped the situation one iota, despite what I had believed the night before. I had pilfered two extra bottles of cheap wine from the kitchens where the party's refreshments had been housed. I had slipped down and back quietly, in hopes of erasing the terrible evening from my head, after my escort had bid me goodnight.

My mind wandered into the foreign land of that commanding, mysterious creature. He had been wonderful throughout the night, though a bit forward from time to time. Then again, I secretly admitted, his easy disregard for convention had been rather thrilling. It felt dangerous and exciting to be near a man who seemed to be interested enough to take bold liberties with my person.

He had danced as closely to me as a lover would, only minutes after meeting me. He had whispered in my ear several times during the night, throwing propriety to the wind. He had even come very, very close to kissing me! The voice had slyly whispered that I ought to slap him, but my heart had been leading the dance between the two of them since the instant we walked out onto the dance floor. My conscience had eventually admitted to defeat and slunk off to a silent portion of my head while my feet remembered familiar steps.

It had felt incredible to be dancing again! It was not ballet, and I certainly could not express myself with the passion I once had in the solitude of an empty stage, but Oh! It had felt positively sublime to move to the music once more. Even better, I had a partner again!

True, 'Señor' was not Philippe, and I didn't have the heart to inform the silly man that his new title was simply the Spanish word for Monsieur. Yet this new man endangered a piece of my heart that had been undiscovered until he awoke it.

Not even the Comte had so affected my body. Señor's lightly veiled, respectful touches had stirred up a dormant portion of my soul, and caused my skin to flush at the thought of him even now. I had enjoyed the feeling of his hand on my waist, and the sensation of his shoulder muscles flexing under the thin fabric of my glove. I had actually wished that he would continue his improper advances, eager to be nearer to any part of him. A tingling in my stomach had shuddered violently whenever he looked at me with those unsettling eyes of his.

They were the deepest shade of brown that I could imagine, reminding me of damp earth. At one point in the evening, I had wondered naughtily about just what kind of plants might grow in such unusual soil… Strangely, there were also flecks of luminescent gold enshrined in his irises, reflecting and scattering the light that played over them.

It was strange. I was divided between wanting to investigate the seedlings he had planted in my heart, and needing to run from anything that was attractive, male, and stood on two legs. What sheer stupidity could possess me to want to bare my tender heart anew to a stranger who would surely abuse it, just as everyone else had? Why was it that I always seemed torn between two ends of a perilous spectrum?

Still, his presence had been the one bright spot in the darkness of my family's attempts to buy my forgiveness and the ballroom betrayal.

More confused than when I first awoke, I began to plan what I would wear to dinner in two night's time. He had been eager to see me again, and I was still doubtful about his intentions.

Yet in truth, the intentions that truly worried me were my own.

Author's Notes: It's not very long, nor is it action-packed, but I wanted to give this major change in Leah a little time to sink in in this chapter. What did you guys think of her inner conflict?

(The funny bits about the advice on little voices were inspired by some story I read on another website. I think it was an X-men fic. If it was your story that I found inspiration from, please let me know! I don't want to make any presumptions about you letting my leach a little of your creative juice. If you want me to remove them or recognize you, I am putty in your hands, dear author or authoress. It has been a little while since I've read that story, but those lines just stuck with me.)

Oh, and here's a teaser for next update: There is some material that was inspired by a bumper sticker I once saw. "My mind is like a steel trap! (Prone to rust, and illegal in 48 states.)" Food for reviewing thought, dearies!