This is harder than I expected. Didn't think I'd actually cry, but when she said, "I do," in her dress, new wife in tuxedo, both of them so happy and serene - I guess I'm more of a softy than I'd like to admit.
The backyard is flooded in blooms of white roses. Lace and fabric cover the stucco fence of our Italian-style cottage. A white arch hangs over both of their heads.
We didn't have much money, so this is how it ended up. It's simple, yes, but looks great to me!
I recently found out that mother met Jamie when they were kids. However at the time, they were certainly not friends. When everyone grew up and left Marseille, Jamie stayed to take care of her mother and father.
Guess they aren't too happy that she turned out to be a lesbian: they disowned her, and missed the wedding. That really sucks because this was supposed to be a private ceremony with only a few close family members. The only people who shoed up are two of Jamie's friends.
When they leave for their honeymoon I'm alone in the house. I needed to stay home and pack.
Mom didn't want me to move out while she was gone, but I'd like them to come home to their own empty house: full of privacy. This is their life now, and I'll come back once they've had some time to themselves.
I close the blue shutters over the windows. The paint is cracking and rough, and I make a mental note to apply a fresh coat before I leave for Janina. Mom will be okay now - she won't be alone.
* * *
The folds of marble caressed the statue's body in gatherings of exquisite contra Pasto, natural and curvy. A remarkable replica of the Nike (the ancient sculpture of Athena) spread her wings against the wind. Her garments wrapped around her in a frozen yet windswept state, like a snap shot of unearthly beauty. White flicked the granite, as if little pearls or terracotta glass were trapped within. She stood at the nose of Edmond's ship as it rode and sliced through the waves.
Captain Cain slapped his first-mate on the back and nodded in approval.
"We'll put into port in a few days: first to Marseille, and then Le Val for shore leave."
The metal plating that covered the ship reflected light into Edmond's eyes and he tilted his head forward, the cloth over his broad shoulders fluttered in the wind.
"Yes, sir." He mumbled.
Marseille. Home. The last time he had visited it was seven years ago. When they had discovered last week that they were to deliver their last shipment there, before returning to their port of birth, his body had threatened to rebel and jump right over the stern side railing. He forced himself to take a deep and calming breath. Surely nothing would happen.
"We just need to make the drop quickly," he chanted within himself.
"Do you want me to handle the documentation when we get there?" Cain's voice rose in concern.
"No, Captain. I can manage."
He had almost accepted the offer – not looking forward to seeing the infamous city again, but it would take much more time if Cain handled the entry work. The fattening captain was an excellent seaman, but so disorganized and chatty that every time he put his finger into something, it took hours to get it back out.
Edmond glared out at the blue water that parted in waves before their ship. He required haste. Gankutsuou, who had saved their lives over a year ago – several voyages back, had only barely awoken. The crew, thankfully, was unaware of the demon's presence, blissfully oblivious how close they had come to annihilation. In order to keep the demon improving, Edmond had needed more and more of his pills. Without Gankutsuou's energy he felt himself weaken, hunger, and tire. He was susceptible to Vampirisms tendencies that only the pills could quell. Without them he would surely slip into a blood lust, or perhaps a coma, and the amount left dwindled.
He had to get home, to his townhouse in Le Val, and brew a new batch.
"Well alright, if you change you're mind you give me a call." Cain waved of his shoulder.
* * *
This is my last ship tonight, and holy hell I'm tired. It'll be nice to get to Janina and have this kind of work behind me. I'm all packed to go.
Actually I didn't even bother putting my luggage away from my last flight. Tags from Paris still hand around the checkered handles.
And that was a hard trip! I'd fooled myself, I think. I told myself everything, and everyone, would be the same – preserved. I wanted to believe that nothing else would go wrong. Of course that wasn't the case.
Who knew a city could change so much in one lifetime, but I barely recognized my own neighborhood.
We couldn't even sell the house! The bank took it. All our furniture and paintings, the things that seemed so important when I was a child…they were just jumbled into the entry hall. There was a letter…from him, but of course it wasn't for me.
I had a long talk with Franz to, painfully one-sided as it was. The leaves on his tomb rambled terribly when I'd swept them off, and I'd thought it was kind of like when I'd brushed the hair from his eyes. Almost broke down at that, and a few times after, finally did on the way home.
But the good news is I did get to see all my friends again: the ones who are still alive. It felt good to spend so much time with them, and Maximilien and Valentine promised to come visit me while I'm on Janina! Eugenie might even come play for princess Haydee!
The thought cheers me up and I stretch. The Forbin from Le Val pulls into the dock. They are a little faster then other crews. It must be an organized team. That's good. I want to get out of here.
They lower the ramp for me (the lowly government worker) who gets to sign off on the safety and content of the cargo.
I head up the ramp onto the platform. "Welcome aboard sir!" one of the porters greets me. "Better make it quick, if you don't mind me saying, sir. Our first-mate's eager for home port!"
"Le Val, right?" I smile. "I've heard that's a nice city, lots of old timey medieval buildings? Well don't worry; I'll make it quick. You guys don't have any food stuffs so…"
* * *
Edmond barked orders in an authoritative, but charismatic way as he managed the docking process and walked briskly towards the ramp. This was all right, no need to panic. Yes, Marseille looked the same, a traditional bayside village, lush and quaint, but no one from that hellish time was going to be there.
Still he felt a danger, and his nerves frayed with adrenaline as he moved forward to the port and city manager, as if something in him knew what he would find.
The young brunette looked over his shoulder with a friendly, and unsuspecting glance.
Noise on the ship didn't stop. The movement and the bustle didn't rest. And the crew didn't take any sort of notice. But, when each realized the presence of the other the space between them faded. Their surroundings blurred into a disordered gloss, like the colors of a watercolor painting when the brush is too wet.
A feeling lurched up into Edmond's throat, and he nearly stumbled, stopping several feet away from the figure that teetered, motionless, and stunned.
Steps around them confirmed this was indeed reality, and blended voices went about their work in an objectified daze.
Wind teased them, pinching at shirts and pulling at hair, pushing them to move closer.
Edmond, however, refused.
The boy had grown, and matured into a man. Yet he still looked up, shorter by a head, captivated by the icon of his fantasies. His hair, still untamed and simple, fell by eyes of world-weary blue. They maintained the same intrinsic qualities, revealing his thoughts, his loss, and hurt. He was still an open book, even after all his experiences.
Edmond clenched his hands loosely at his side and waited, feeling tremulous in his stance.
To Albert, Edmond looked macabre, a spectacle in the wrong place and wrong moment - an apparition of sorts. Dominating in height, black and flowing hair tied back, brown leather slacks fitting long and lean legs, and a white billowing shirt made a glorious picture next to sun browned skin.
And yet the younger man could not believe it.
A million instincts demanded action; to throw his arms around the former count in passionate and joyful reunion, to berate him into the ground with his fury at his presence after so much time of being 'dead,' and even to run and deny these emotions which he'd been working so hard to put away.
"Hold it together." Edmond thought to himself, seeing recognition as well as doubt, "you can still turn this around."
His eyes shut with that subtle thought concealing expression that Albert had learned to dread.
"A, monsieur Herrera," the porter extended a hand palm up, gesturing to the ranking officer, "Here is the man: first mate Jacques Adnet. My business is completed, quickly, as you'd ordered, sir. I'll take my leave to complete my other duties."
Edmond nodded at him, watching the sailor move away from the corner of his eyes; well aware the Albert had yet to look away, and appeared to not even have taken a breath.
Taking pause to absorb the long-lost presence, remember it, and calm himself he examined the younger through slanted eyes. When he spoke it was after several minutes of hesitation, decisions, and reminders to keep his voice steady and confident.
"Mousier." He offered a hand.
Albert looked at it with a scrunched up expression, as if he'd never been expected to make such a greeting before. More automatically then consciously, he took it.
He inhaled jubilation; there was no ice, no cold in that grip!
"C…coun…Count!?" He tried to cry it, but stuttered meekly instead, amber bearing into blue and intimidating him terribly.
Split between necessity, and the injustice of deceiving this poor youth again, Edmond smiled sadly and withdrew. It took the will of heroes, but he forced himself into leisurely body language.
"Forgive me sir, you are mistaken. I am not aristocrat. My name is Jacques Adnet. Come, mousier, my men are eager to return home, and you must be as well. Shall I tour the inventory with you?"
* * *
I can't look away - in case he looks back. It's important; he needs to see what he's doing to me. I need him to acknowledge me, to accept accountability, and most importantly to be real.
How many nights have I talked to his 'spirit' in that god damn cave off of the cost, how many times have I longed to show him something new, how many times have I wanted him to cradle me in his arms and fucking apologize for ruining the life of my best friend and leaving me alone?
Seven years, seven years I've ached to hear his voice, to have him smile that enchanted fanged grin, to hear him finally say I love you, and here he is - pretending I don't exist.
I am so hurt, and angry, and sick of it.
* * *
It was killing him. With every second Edmond went on about the cargo, gesturing at brown wooden crates as if they had anything to do with this moment, willing himself to believe he was Jacques and not the man Albert plainly saw. God the grief, it concealed him like the lid of a coffin.
"This is kinder." He insisted to himself, "Perhaps if he believes I don't remember he'll give up…"
Gankutsuou laughed, weakly, "Are we talking about the same person?"
Point taken.
* * *
Albert, shoving away his insecurities and injured feelings, embracing his instincts, reached out hesitantly. He caressed the fine arm through its loose sleeve, sliding down, feeling every contour and angle, to grasp the hand he knew.
* * *
He doesn't turn around, but he doesn't yank away either. I can feel my pulse throbbing in my temples, and it takes me forever to speak.
* * *
"How…how could you?" Albert wished his voice hadn't cracked. "After everything you did to me, everything you put me through, you're just going to act like you're someone else?"
The rigid man's chest rouse and fell shallowly, keeping every thought locked tight within.
"You killed Franz, destroyed my family, my friends' families, and you…you let me fall in…you let me fall in love with you instead of with my fiancé! And now you're going to leave me again?"
He had matured indeed, and didn't yell or cry. But the steadiness and safety of his voice did much more damage, though he could not have known it.
"I've thought of almost nothing else for seven long years, did you know that? How much pain you'd been in…I tried so hard to understand you, that's the only reason I'm even in this city! How can you just…."
* * *
His hand squeezes me back, and Edmond, not pretending at last turns, on the spot to look at me.
* * *
Regret and longing darkened the former Count's expression. Years of vulnerability and fears competed with longing and suspicion. Knowing better, chastising himself, he put a breakable arm around the slender and trembling waste. Their lips met, smoothly and exceptionally afraid.
* * *
I am totally ruined. The mind inside me wants to break. I want to fall to the ground, hidden here by stacks and pillars of cargo, crumple to the hard wood planks and shrink into nothingness.
I cannot survive this again.
God, when he kissed me, and then leaned his head on my forehead, the little boy inside me wanted to believe everything would work out. Hope leapt in me, I swelled and shined.
"If I were you," he whispered, cradling my cheek in his hand, still leaning his head on mine, so close and present, "and this man had truly done so much damage as you claim he did, I'd want him to stay dead."
"No," I clutch at his sleeve.
"No!" I scream in my mind.
He walks away, boards his ship, and leaves me behind, on the port, in a city of white washed stones.
