Updated 4/24/16
Chapter 9
Every evening he went to her, she would always have some treat or drink ready for him. There would be pastries or fruit or entire meals waiting to fill his eager belly. He wondered, though, if the servants ever found her behavior odd. Georgia confirmed that they did think it strange and offered her more food at dinner. The creature, however, pleaded on behalf of their secrecy, that she stop. Instead, they turned their evening meetings into treasured and unchaperoned dates. They would talk for hours until Georgia, so overcome with exhaustion, would fall asleep against her will. Although the creature kept himself hidden in darkness, they both sought out the other with shy glances and quiet smiles. This communion was his greatest achievement, or so he thought.
Georgia was always full of questions, always thirsting for knowledge. She was respectful, an echo to her restrictive upbringing, but determined. Each night she would ask if he would kiss her and he would decline. There was no anger or scorn from being jilted, she simply moved on to the next question. Her thoughts were thorough and she seemed to see him as a difficult song, one she would have to practice and mess up many times before she got it right.
To him, she was an escape from his sins and the wretched loneliness he had been forced to endure. She was his sky with hair like a sunset and skin like the distant moon, peppered with stars. Her skin was smooth and untarnished, unlike his. He felt a growing desire to touch her.
"You remind me of the faerie stories Nettie and my governess used to read me when I was a girl. You have a gentlemanly air about you, but there is something primal and strong in you. Like a faerie king or forest sprite. Did you stray from your kingdom, milord?" She asked in a fit of giggling.
"Do people enjoy this talk from you, Georgia?" He asked. Fairies seemed to be regarded as something evil or tricky in this part of the world. He wondered why she would make such a comparison.
"No. Many regard it as nonsense or pagan speech. They're only stories. Part of me believes in mythical things. Were they not based on something real? Are you not something real?"
He conceded the issue. Surely, he was a mythical being, but he was not beautiful, only terrible.
She was sitting on her bed staring into the darkness from the drawn curtains. After a moment, she turned to him. "Something happened in England," she informed him. The reason why she was so far from home. "A rumor was started, about my father, but this rumor is, in reality, a truth we tried to keep secret. When people heard, they ended their connection to myself and Sir John. My inheritance, which was supposed to be mine until I married where it would then become my husband's, is being withheld. My claim to it is being contested by my aunt. To her, this rumor— truth— negates my claim to my property."
Her companion struggled to understand the complicated rules surrounding her wealth and position. He recalled what Eva, Agatha, Felix, and their father endured in the cottage where he spent the first portion of his life. They had fallen so far in society and endured exile. Was he right to assume that Georgia was now resigned to this fate? He wondered, then, if this was the reason she had told no one about him.
Each step he took towards her was slow and hesitant, but he needed to be close to her. "What does your aunt have to do with your money? Is it not yours?" He stopped as she tried to explain, but could not without revealing the rumor. "Is there someone who wants to marry you, but cannot without the promise of your money?"
She sat straight in her bed. "No. There is no one, my poet."
He resumed his path towards her. How could it be that no one was pursuing her? They would be foolish not too. If he were handsome and not cursed by the carelessness of Victor Frankenstein then he would marry her that instant. She would never suffer from the whispers behind her back.
"My darling poet," she cried with the evidence of her despair. He sat close to her on the bed. "I've been abandoned by nearly all my close friends. A handful remain and most of them live in this house."
Her hand reached out for his. A moment's hesitation from him delayed his own touch. The tips of their fingers brushed each other. Georgia took a deep breath and laced her fingers with his. Her other hand reached up to his shoulder, he flinched, but did not move away. Georgia then prepared herself for what she would do next.
Pushing her anxiety away, Georgia leaned towards her companion. Her lips found his and she felt her mind explode. He froze, torn between wanting to run and scooping her into his arms.
"Georgia," he gasped, tearing away from her. "We cannot."
"Why?" she asked, her hurt stung him. "Do you— do you not want me?" Her eyes went wide. "Is it my poverty?"
Poverty? "How could you think that? I -I would never abandon you! Certainly not because of your financial state."
"Then why are you rejecting me? Why do you visit me each night? I care about you. I—"
"Georgia, don't be impudent." He didn't mean the words he spoke, but he was helpless to take them back, helpless to stop her reaction.
"Impudent! Impudent. I love you! I— you make me feel alive. Nothing bad will happen to me if you're with me."
He was frozen. His ribs felt tight, crushing the air out of him. The air from the open window was cool, but it did little to alleviate what he was feeling. "You love me?"
Georgia's face fell. "Yes," she insisted.
He rose from the bed, Georgia followed, grabbing his hand. He turned and growled a deep, guttural growl before snatching his hand away. He backed towards the window, shifting the curtain just enough for a moonbeam to illuminate his neck. Georgia's eyes fell on a large stitched scar that ran across his neck. Intersecting the scar was another one that traveled down beneath his rough looking clothes. They looked painful and careless. For a moment, Georgia stood still and her companion knew he could do nothing else.
"Is that what you're afraid of?" She asked, tears falling down her face as she drew closer to him.
"Georgia, I am a monster. You deserve so much better." His voice was pleading, the anger she had heard moments ago was gone. "You have given me so much. My heart is full of love because of you."
A cry audibly escaped her as she reached out for him. "My poet, my love, please. You deserve happiness. I can hear your pain, your sorrow, your loneliness. I listen, it is what I do."
Her hands trembled before him. The creature didn't know what to do. How could he ever be with her? Words were trying to fight their way out of his mouth, but nothing came. Everything in his past told him he was meant to be denied all that he held dear. If he allowed this, he would lose her, he would lose all the humanity he had left.
"I make you happy, I know I do. We make each other happy. I am holding on by a thread, please don't cut it." Tears welled in her eyes and threatened to spill out.
The creature stepped back into the moonlight, just enough so that she could see the scars again. Both of his hands went out to meet hers. They were grasping onto a lifeboat clinging for dear life. They stood with their hands together for a long time. Georgia watched his chest rise and fall and wondered just how he had gotten his scars and what Victor had done to him.
"All right," he said at last. He brought her closer to him and directed her hands to his face.
His skin felt rough under her fingertips. It wasn't supple or elastic in the way that hers was, rather, it felt dried and stretched. After a moment, she grew accustomed to it, the odd cross between life and death although she did not realize that was what it felt like. There were no words that could accurately express the sensations, he felt otherworldly to her. His face was warm in her hands, and his muscles moved with feeling: twitching and tightening in response to the stimuli.
Her fingers moved like the sightless studying maps. She found that his jaw was well defined and traced the bone up to his ears where she tugged at them playfully. He whispered her name in response. When her moment of teasing was over, her fingers pressed his cheeks before converging on his nose. Oblivious to the blemishes of his cheeks she followed the line of his straight and proud nose. At the tip, the flesh rounded, softening the point of the feature that seemed too aristocratic for him. His nostrils flared slightly at her curious touch.
Next, she dropped her fingers to his lips. They parted only a bit as she swept across them. They were supple, but not defined. Together, his lips pressed a kiss to her fingertips. She blushed profusely and gently pressed her fingers firmly against his lips.
"Don't distract me, my poet," she chided playfully. Her fingers then traveled up to his eyes and edged up to his brows which were thick and full and shielded his eyes.
"What color are your eyes?"
"Blue," he replied. "But they do not sparkle like yours. They are glassy, watery."
"And far superior to my own."
"Only in the ability to see, not in beauty," he countered.
But her hands would not be delayed, there was still much that she needed to see. She came to his forehead and found another crude scar slashed at his hairline. Her fingers gently caressed the raised wound. To oblige her, he bent lower so that she no longer petered on the tips of her toes. The scar ran about two inches along his hairline. Running her fingers through his hair she brought his head close to her and kissed his scar. He sighed and wrapped his arms around her waist.
Georgia's fingers curled around his mass of hair. The tresses fell to his shoulders and were soft to the touch, but unkempt and unruly. There was chaos to this creation, but she felt no compulsion to put order to it. She wanted to exist within it. The notion frightened her almost as much as it did him.
She leaned her head back and lifted her jaw up, bringing her lips to his. To her surprise, he responded. Their lips melted together and her companion cradled her face in his large hands as he tasted the mouth he had desired for so long. To her he tasted like honey from the evening's tea and the two of them passed the flavor back and forth.
As he leaned over the woman he had once hated he felt all the animosity and hatred for humanity fade. It was replaced by a sense of kinship, a duty to protect this race of creatures. Her lips were pulling out all of his grievances against humans and his creator and melting it like butter. Why had he not met her first? He would have known the language of music and happiness. He would have known the love he had always longed for.
When they parted, Georgia continued to plant a trail of kisses along his jaw before he stood to his full height, towering above her. His heart battled against his ribs. There was a fire in him, a desire so strong he felt like he would burst. A powerful longing came over him. His hands yearned to touch her smooth flesh and his tongue wanted to taste the hidden parts of her.
"I must go," he said at last.
"You'll return tomorrow?"
"I-I don't know."
There was a pause between them. Georgia knew why he stopped, she was glad he had, she would have given herself to him that night. He had far more discipline than she did. She wanted him to return, but she also wanted him in the way that she could not give, not yet anyway.
"Did you find Frankenstein?"
His peace flashed to anger. "Yes. He left for your homeland. It is there that his father hopes he will recover."
"Will he?" She asked. By her tone it was clear that she did not care to know the status of Frankenstein, she wanted her companion's thoughts.
"Not likely. He is plagued by his own insanity; the memories of his injustices. Do not tarnish a perfect night by discussing a person who has wronged us both."
Before he left, he swept her into his arms and delivered her to her bed. He pulled her covers away and set her upon the mattress as gently as he could. She reached up as he released her and touched his face. He flinched like a frightened bird before pulling completely away from her.
"Go to sleep, Georgia."
"Don't be angry with me."
He said nothing as he disappeared into the darkness. Who was he fooling? She would hate him for all that he had done. The nameless creature ran back to his hidden cave where he wept to himself well into the night. He loved Georgia Daniels until his heart broke at the thought of never truly having her.
The desire to ruin Victor rekindled in his heart, but he pushed it aside. Was he a man or a fiend as Victor believed? Was he worthy of loving Georgia? If he ended Victor he would lose Georgia. But as he sat in a conflict of thoughts and emotions his clever mind devised another plan. He would succeed with Georgia where he had failed with the De Laceys. He dried his eyes and with renewed determination he hardened his face for the future he was taking for himself.