Ch 7 – Twisted Every Way

There was a long silence before he spoke again: "And now, I have a question for you."

"That's fair," I acknowledged.

"What are you doing here?"

I looked down at my hands and took refuge in a partial truth. "Raoul sent me."

I could feel him tense up, even at a distance.

"I see. And why was that?"

"He wanted something."

"And why didn't he come himself?"

That, I thought, was a good question. Why hadn't he ever tried to retrieve the ring himself, instead of questioning me about it? I had the feeling that none of this was really about the ring at all – for any of the three of us. At least, not any more.

"Perhaps he thought you would only give it to me."

"And what is this thing that is so precious that he must send his dear wife after it?"

"I'm not his wife!"

"Excuse me. Fiancee," he said, mockingly.

"The ring," I blurted.

He raised an eyebrow. His face was shuttered to me now.

"Raoul was angry with me for giving the ring back to you. I came to get it. That is, I thought I ought to come. I thought – " I trailed off.

"And what does he offer in exchange?"

Suddenly, the dam inside me burst. "Nothing! I don't know! I don't know what I am doing, I've never known, and the two of you will be the death of me!"

I was in tears now, feeling foolish on more levels than I could name. Both men were surely laughing at me, using me as a toy in some game of masculine pride, and I was not privy to the rules. I got up and made toward the water again, nearly stumbling, blinded with tears of rage at myself. What a foolish child. Well, that was it. I was leaving without the ring. I had no idea where I'd go or what I'd do, but I couldn't stay here one moment longer.

I turned around to address him one final time – and ran directly into his chest. I hadn't realized that he'd been hard on my heels. This accidental contact was like a lightning bolt for both of us. Whatever I was going to say was lost. All I could hear was the blood pounding in my ears and my own sobs.

His arms went around me, awkwardly, yet instinctively, and I buried my face in his shirt.

"Christine…" he said, sounding like a man absolutely broken; undone by this unexpected contact. "Don't cry…"

All that show of pride so carefully built up was instantly torn down. The wall tumbled of its own accord. God, what were we doing to one another? What were we to one another that this should happen?

But then he was crying too. I could feel it. Lightly at first, and then in great, racking sobs that tore through his body. It frightened me, yet I felt the same. That frightened me more. And my arms went around him in turn.

We sank to our knees and held each other as if we would die the instant we let go; weeping – for all we'd had, for all we'd lost, for all we'd done, and all we'd never have; for hopes blighted, for dreams destroyed, for ourselves and for each other. Two children lost in the endless night.

"Don't let me go," I said, when I could speak.

His chin was resting lightly on my head, one hand stroking the length of my hair, the other still around me. It had taken him a few moments to find this position, unused as he was to holding a woman. In response, he tightened his grip a bit. He was still beyond words, but made an attempt to speak.

"I should tell you that I'm leaving," he said.

I loosed my grip on him and looked up. "Where will you go?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes. It matters a very great deal."

"Why?"

I had no answer for that – no answer I felt I could give, and he spoke again.

"It's something I have to do, Christine."

My head was in a whirl. I felt drained; as though I'd never be capable of rational thought again.

"If you must," I said, though, in truth, I hardly knew what I was saying.

I tightened my hold on the lapels of his dressing gown. One of my fingers strayed accidentally and touched his bare chest.

The accidental contact of my bare skin on his was electrifying for us both. I sucked my breath in, quietly, and his back stiffened instantly. I could feel him waiting. I could feel his heart beating, and my own heartbeat pounding in turn.

I moved the errant finger, meaning to remove it, but instead renewing the caress. He dropped his hold and jumped back as if I'd bitten him.

I couldn't bear the way he was looking at me. I didn't know what that look meant, but I felt as I had when I had removed his mask that first time – as though I'd clumsily ruined everything, crossed some forbidden, invisible boundary. And he'd reject me now as he had then. He was back behind his wall.

"I'm sorry!" I said. "It was an accident – I didn't mean to – is my touch then so abhorrent to you?"

"You have no idea," he said.

"Thank you greatly for your honesty," I said, stung.

The strangest mixture of emotions crossed the half of his face that I could see – sympathy? Pity? I realized that he was as lost as I was. This was no game for him, either. Neither of us had the least idea what we were doing. If I'd been sheltered emotionally, he'd been stunted. Our interactions were the blind leading the blind.

He fished in the breast pocket of his dressing gown. His face was streaked with tears. I could feel that mine was, too. We'd seen each other in tears too often.

"Here," he said.

He was holding out R.'s ring.