Was he doing the right thing? Was he being selfish? He had admitted to himself long ago that he would always want her… maybe he was being to swayed by his emotions, enslaved by his heart. In one smooth movement his feet left the pavement on the veranda and landed on the corners of the railing, ready to jump down. He could leave any time he wanted and she wouldn't think twice about it. She would live on without him… he hoped.
But then he remembered… that day in the gallery, eating his breakfast and thinking about her (always thinking about her) when the thought had struck him. What if she did this because of you? Which was ridiculous because she wouldn't do something so stupid on purpose. She was too strong to be compromised by what her heart said. Then again, that was always what he had thought of himself, and look at him now: waiting at her window like a moth to a light globe, like Romeo to his Juliet. These past three weeks had bee agony to live without her, to know she was hurt and that he couldn't help. How parting was such sweet sorrow*
And when the thought had appeared he had done the stupid thing and left it to grow inside his head instead of pushing it aside. Now it was all he thought about. She had tried to kill herself because of what I did… and yet she hadn't attempted suicide over the torture? That was obvious evidence against his theory. So he had let himself think it had been an accident. Until he had come to see her that day.
He had dressed n his William Rookwood façade because it's appearance suggested age that laid down immediate acceptance for the gravelly voice that accompanied it, used of coarse to mask his own voice. Dear William's face had been one of his best adaptations of the real man's face V had made even though V had only known him for some five minutes. That shocked expression would stay with him all his days, the face of his first victim, his first kill. It came in handy that memory. Although now it was somewhat regretted. He had been inexperienced, the death had been slow and sloppy. Although he had deserved to die, V knew that if she had seen what he had done, she would know that it was not meant to be between them. That stupid girl. Why did she have to hurt herself like this? Why did she have to hurt him?
His feet still balanced on the railing, V forced himself to make a decision. He could leave here and let her live her life without him: a life which even though it would hurt now, would be better for her in the long run. Or he could step inside and take her up in his arms and bring her home. And explain that he was wrong, even though he hadn't really bean. Not exactly anyway. Instinctively his hand reached for the window latch slipped the space open.
The wind caught the curtains, blowing them out of his view of the woman on the bed. Her shaved head laying facing him against the pillow. Her perfect lips catching the moonlight. Those lips have deserve better than mine against them, he thought, but I will never stop longing for them. Never. When she comes to he senses, she will realise how foolish she is. For ever loving me. Me who beat her, me who broke her, me whose deeds deserve a punishment worse then death. But she wouldn't let me die. Maybe she wants me to be miserable.
Those words, that thought, this feeling: She would die for me? That day when he had come to check on her the nurse had told him what happened. It hadn't been an accident. The shock had struck him to his very core. It had been true. She had done it! And it was his fault! With age as an excuse, he had sat down, he had needed to sit down. His self hatred would have brought him to his knees if he hadn't. she had tried to kill herself because of him. She would die for him. This wasn't just lust or childishness anymore. This was not a game of pity or shame. She would die for him. Even after all he had put her through she would die for him?
It was true, he must have driven her insane. This woman was mad, probably beyond the point of saving. So was he… He found himself turning to look behind him at the vast city. His eyes travelled down to the ground thirteen stories below. Just one little push would send him to his death. A second of loss of balance. She had been on this precipice, the line between choosing to meet her maker and surviving another miserable day. She had chosen to end her life… he could feel the way she felt then. He could push himself out of her life right here and now. A hundred people's deaths would be avenged right here and now. I would die for her, he thought.
"I love you, and I wont let you die"
I want to die, he thought, I really do. A few moments past while the masked man made a decision. He prepared himself. The silence in the night deafened him, the chill froze him. Finally two booted feet stepped off the balcony and into space. Silence.
Silence. Wind blowing. Curtains fluttering. The nurse stepped in and came over to the window to close it. It was cold, it had been a long night. She was working double shifts, she was tired. She froze at the sight of the bed. It was empty. The two booted feet landed softly, not on unforgiving pavement, but on the roof of the building beside the hospital. With uncertainty in his mind and his heart swelling with hope, the masked man prayed he had made the right decision. He carried his love home.
* Romeo and Juliet (by William Shakespeare)