"There's a drumming noise inside my head
That starts when you're around
I swear that you could hear it
It makes such an almighty sound"
- Drumming Song, Florence + the Machine
Author's Note: What did I tell you about reactions varying...
Many thanks to Catherine Medici who edited this story.
I.
They had an agreement and she was not going to break that deal. She had promised him answers today and he had accepted her terms. She could lose him, all of him, because of her silly bravery. She started questioning her epiphany the morning before their meeting – could she really not wait a little while longer? Why was ending her suffering more important than their blissful relationship? Was she truly in love with him? Was there a way to postpone what could possibly be the end of their uncertain little heaven? In the wake of her fears, her hunger for him did not seem all that urgent. But she knew better. And a deal was a deal.
She registered her efforts at looking particularly presentable that day and deemed them silly. He had loved her through sweat, grime as well as blood. Not even a garden of peonies could save what was bound to die. But he did like that fragrance. He'd inhale a little more generously whenever she wore it and she liked each of the possible explanations she'd come up with later, upon dissecting their encounters and nestling them securely in her memory. She pondered over the instances in which he'd made it clear he was beguiled with the scent - it was as if he was inhaling the sweet scent of an innocent child, that special, fleeting scent that would wear off as the child grew. Or, maybe he was a man who liked the scent of a woman, plain and simple. For a while, both possibilities made her happy.
She wore the perfume.
II.
Selfishly, he wanted to push and probe until he found what it was that made her bolt from her seat that afternoon and run for what seemed like her life. He didn't feel like employing his patience, not one bit. He was hoping she'd tell him over the phone. Or, that she would leave him with room to negotiate; maybe visit her at her home and ask her questions until she caved. She asked him for time and he gave it to her, like he'd give her almost everything else she'd ever ask of him.
Upon further analysis, he was relieved to discover she didn't sound angry during their short conversation on the phone. It soothed him so. Knowing she was not going to attempt ending their relationship again over one of his many misdeeds.
His calm was short-lived, like it always was. Because she sounded unhappy. And truly sad. He couldn't have that. Not that he had the power to make her anguish go away – Heaven knew he'd inflicted most of it. He'd get punished for it all, he was sure of it. Maybe she'd punish him today, just like he deserved. And he'd let her because he loved her. He loved her too much and in ways he was yet to define. He was in no hurry - it was enough, what she was giving him. He was overjoyed whenever she suggested a meal or a movie; all things platonic. It was enough. It was plenty. And he was happy to be whatever she needed him to be. He did think of her as the little girl he'd saved over twenty-five years ago, of course he did. How does one forget an angel? But because he was no angel, he thought of her as the grown woman she'd become. She was too much of a good thing; how was he to ever choose?
She chose for him.
III.
"I'm in love with you," she told him. She watched as shock overtook his entire face. It was done. The exquisite balcony they were leaning against was the best extension to the apartment he'd be occupying for the next two days. It overlooked the best parts of the lively neighborhood she'd loved for years, and the setting was somehow so serene, it filled her senses with an unjustified sense of hope. It was that sweet part of the afternoon, right around four o'clock when everything was calm and quiet. Not even a horn to swallow up the sound of what she'd just told him.
She hadn't opted for "I love you" either or any other admission that would, at the very least, leave some room for interpretation. She left herself not a single exit, no chance for an escape. It wouldn't have worked anyway – that was the catch with clever men.
She thought about moving, about straightening her back and getting away from the heady scent of him. But she didn't want to rush him into reacting. What she needed was the truth, a true liberation from the heaviness she'd gotten off of her chest. So, she stayed.
IV.
He said nothing for the longest time. It terrified her when he kissed her temple again. It almost convinced her that, to him, she'd always be someone too pure to taint. But he kissed her eyelid next, as well as her cheek and the side of her mouth. He nuzzled, he lingered.
"I need to figure out what to do with my love for you, Lizzy. Will you allow me that?" he asked her, his infuriatingly straight nose perfectly aligned with her cheek.
She nodded.
Death was avoided that day.
The End.
