Standard disclaimers apply.
He senses her before he even turns around, stomach dropping upon the realization of her presence. How is it that she always knows when he returns to this place? Comes here herself, as if to intercept him? To torment him further? God, how he wants to hate her.
But he can't. Especially now.
When he does turn around — which he inevitably does, because he's learned by now that he's powerless to resist her — he notices first that she's soaking wet. If the rain is anything like it was earlier, he's surprised she made it here at all — don't the nobility have rules against traveling alone in such storms? Apparently not. After all, she herself is a vicomtesse now.
After he's crossed to her — to tell her that, and send her away again, of course — he sees that she's crying. Her tears mix with the rainwater on her face, and he remains at least three feet away. He can still tell.
"I'm sorry," he says, because he feels guilty for leaving. He knows he was right to do so. But it still hurts, the both of them.
He has hurt her so much.
He never planned on confronting her after — or, indeed, on seeing her ever again — so he doesn't know what else to say. Should he explain? Surely she knows why he didn't stay.
But then, why is she crying?
Rather than struggle with the words he's not sure will come anyway, he remains silent. But she has no such reservations, despite the sobs wracking her body.
"Raoul is dead," she chokes out. And then she collapses on the ground.
Raoul is dead.
Emotions he doesn't completely understand, that he hasn't felt this intensely or together in years, overcome him. Horror. Elation. Confusion. Concern. He wants to hold her close to him again, to kiss her until the pain goes away, but he doesn't think that's appropriate. He also wants to kill someone, but as the person causing her pain is already dead, that's not possible either. But why did she come to him? Does she want something from him?
He doesn't know how to help her. Never really has. Surely never will.
She doesn't protest when he lifts her gently into his arms and carries her to his chair. Doesn't even lift her head. He receives a similar lack of response when he lowers himself onto the cushion beside her and pulls her partially onto his lap. She cries into his shirt for hours, and he rubs her back lightly. Tries to be content with that meager allowance of contact. It's enough for now. It has to be.
In time she quiets, her breathing even now. Her eyelids have fluttered closed, and her heartbeat steadies. She is asleep. He intends to hold her through the night this time, free to in ways he wasn't before, but even as the thought crosses his mind she jerks away. Panting, as if she was having a nightmare.
This nightmare, unfortunately, continues into real life.
"Raoul is dead," she says again. Agitated, as if it is the first time. He nods, strokes her head gently, pulls her closer to him once more.
"I know," he whispers.
Of course he does.
Thoughts yet? Reviews are confidence boosters . . .
Much love,
KnightNight