Chapter 3: Argument and Engagement

Days continued to fall off of the calendar quite quickly, and before I knew it, my twenty first birthday came and went without Matthew's return to safety-- or at least his return back to me, for safety was non-existent-- or at least that's what I had been told.

I sat at the mirror, combing my hair. I had never missed him this much before-- but then again, he had never actually been gone for such a long amount of time…

As I slowly pulled the silver comb through my dark hair, I wondered why Matthew had remained away for so long-- was he hurt? Was he in trouble? Had he found the second half of the prophecy, deemed me too dangerous to remain with, and decided then and there to never return again?

No.

He would not have abandoned me; had the second half of the prophecy stated that I was dangerous to anyone who came into close contact with me, he would have returned, and remained with me forever. Matthew was not the type to run from danger… he was the type to simply embrace it, and work to change it forever.

I pulled the beautiful comb from out of my hair, and gently lay it down on my bureau, as Matthew had given it to me a few months before. I was going mad with boredom-- I wanted to get out of the apartment, and go somewhere to take Matthew off of my mind, but I simply could not feel secure going out by myself. If Matthew--

A knock came at the door-- it was him. I knew it!

I stood up from my seat at the mirror, and ran out of the bedroom, into the hallway, and immediately opened the door to reveal Matthew on the other side, clutching a bouquet of wildflowers from some distant world, "You're home!" I screamed, taking the flowers as he stepped inside, and then embracing him, "Thank God you're home."

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Everything was perfect now. There was no need of any fear, worry, or resentment. Matthew was with me now, and as long as we were together, we were one…

I don't know what it was about him; his eyes, the way he looked at me as we kissed-- Everything about him comforted me; made me feel wonderful-- whole again. But still, there was something amiss. He was acting different lately; he would not look directly into my eyes, and he would not hold my hand as often as he usually did.

After a few days of this overly strange behavior, I decided to question him.

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He held me close as we overlooked the sea from a safe part on the cool sand that kept us dry, although we were still freezing our asses off. "I wish it could be like this forever," I whispered, and he nodded, and held me closer to him. I could feel his warm chest slowly rising and falling… It was comfortable. I loved him so, and although he had not told me-- for he never did, I somehow sensed that our time together was once again limited. So, it was time; it was now or never, "Matthew," I whispered, gently pulling away from him, and hugging my shivering shoulders tightly, "Why do I keep on having the feeling that you're keeping something from me-- when you're away from me, I mean."

"I cannot say," he replied, gently.

I sighed, exasperatedly, "Matthew. It's not right. I hate the fact that you're keeping things from me… Why can't you just tell me the truth instead of leaving me here in the dark whenever you're gone? I've no warning whatsoever whenever you leave. It's driving me absolutely crazy, Matthew."

He turned away from me, "Beatrice, you know how much I care for you, don't you?"

I chose not to answer; he went on, "I am trying to keep you safe, Beatrice… There are things I have heard-- things I have seen that I simply cannot tell you just yet. I know you hate to hear this, but it's just too dangerous for you. If I told you, you would be more vulnerable to the shaska, and how they want the prophecy to be fulfilled."

"That's bullshit, Matthew, and you know it. It's not a matter of my fucking safety; it's a matter of whether or not you feel secure."

"Why don't you just grow up, Beatrice? You're acting like a kid."

"Whatever," I replied, angrily, wanting to scream at him-- to make him talk; to make him tell me what was going on, "I can't help but acting this way, when it's exactly how you treat me, Matthew."

"That's it, isn't it, Beatrice?" he asked, turning around; his face was becoming red. I had never seen him so angry before; not ever, "You just want everyone to feel sorry for you, don't you--?"

"You know that's not true, Matthew, you know that--"

"You act like you're the only person in this universe who has ever suffered."

"Fuck you," I hissed, angrily, "You know that's not true!"

"Who are you trying to convince of that, Beatrice? Me or you?"

"I'm so sick of this, Matthew… Why don't you leave if you feel like that?"

"I will then."

"It figures!" I screamed, angrily, "Just when things get a little tough between us, you leave on one of your little adventures."

"Bye," he whispered, and he turned his back to me again.

I was now fearful, for some reason; I panicked. My heart began to race-- I suddenly realized that if he left now, I would be distraught-- unstable, in a way. My anger turned to worry at what could lay ahead for me on my own.

"God, Matthew. Why can't you turn around? Please," he began walking away from me; I caught up with him, and spun him around, "Please," I begged, tears shining in my eyes, "I need to know-- I need to know what you've been up to, Matthew. I need this. I hate not knowing if you're going to come back or not."

"Well, then, you're going to hate the next couple of days."

And with that, he was gone. Again.

This was our first fight.

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The "couple of days" soon turned into weeks.

At times, I was mad at him, while at other times, I pined for him. I loved him, and I simply could not believe that he had had the notion that I didn't care for him; sure I resented him for not being as open with me as I would like, but that didn't mean I didn't want him with me.

I sat at the window overlooking the sea nearly all day, anticipating his return, when I could apologize, and feel safe once again…

At long last-- after what seemed like years had passed, a gentle knock came at the door, and although it was nearing three in the morning, I immediately bolted right out of bed, and ran to open the door, and allow him inside, "I've missed you so much," I whispered, gently, and without thinking, I threw my arms around him.

"And I have missed you as well," he replied, and I gave him a warm smile, "I'm so sorry, Matthew… I didn't mean to be such a bitch to you. I know now that if you could tell me, you would." He nodded, "But don't leave me ever again," I whispered, "Please don't leave me again," I felt a strong wave of emotions, and began to cry.

"Shh…" he whispered; his words comforting me, "Don't cry, my Beatrice… Don't cry…" I nodded and finally stopped, but my shoulders continued their incessant trembling, "Beatrice, I know it must have been tough after that night I left."

I nodded, and grasped his hand, as he closed the door, and followed me into the living-room; he flicked on the light-switch, and we sat beside each other on the couch, "I'm sorry for hurting you that night, and I want you to know that I didn't mean any of that crap I said."

I smiled, "Neither did I."

"I know that."

We laughed together, and he held me close, "Beatrice," he whispered, "I have a question to ask you-- I know it's sudden, but would you marry me?"

I looked into his eyes, and began to laugh again; hysterical laughter, although it was out of happiness more than glee. I had not been expecting this-- I had not been expecting anything like this. Without thinking, my answer came, "Yes," I whispered, and we began planning out arrangements for our marriage the following day; after all, time was short. For all we knew, we would be dead the following week.