MM: Angst or exhaustion
— groveyswife
So this prompt led me into this chapter which has been on my mind since I completed Chapter 2. Yes-it is angst-ridden. No-it is not the end of the story. There is more to come for all four of our characters, so I hope you'll stay along for the ride.
Hugs to all of my readers, and many thanks as always to Cls2011 and miscreant rose for their feedback and friendship. Own nothing. Love it all. Feedback welcome and most appreciated!
He sits just in front of her, alone, staring out the window as he is prone to doing these days, face unmoving, jawline fixed. She should walk over to him immediately, sit down and speak with the same candor and openness with which she had just spoken with Commander Blake.
But this is different, and she knows it. This is Matthew.
And Matthew means everything.
She grips the doorframe until her knuckles are white, drawing in a steadying breath, silently counting to five before shoving herself into his line of fire.
She only hopes her thoughts of facing him are exaggerated. They may not be at all.
"I wondered if you'd come."
She stops mid-stride, gazing at his profile, at eyes that won't look at her, at shoulders rigid and squared.
"Did you?" she begins, folding her hands together. "That's odd, for I've had the distinct impression you've been avoiding me all day."
His gaze drops to his lap, his lips pressed in tight.
"And if I were?"
Her stomach falls to her knees.
"I couldn't blame you."
Blue eyes then look up, fixing upon her own with an intensity that makes her cold.
"God, Mary," he whispers, his expression beginning to crack. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Her starch flows out her spine in an instant, and she fights the urge to collapse to the floor in front of him.
"I should have, I know," she admits, moving a few steps further in his direction. "But I couldn't bring myself to do so. I was certain you'd despise me."
He turns away from her again, and she freezes in place.
"Do you, Matthew?"
They are the most difficult words she's ever uttered, and she holds her breath as they fall from her lips with the weight of iron.
"I don't know what to think, Mary."
For a fleeting moment, she wishes Commander Blake were standing by her side for support.
"Neither does Papa, I'm afraid," she confesses, her fingers beginning to fidget as she remembers her father's expression from this morning. "I know I'm a terrible disappointment to everyone."
"Oh, for God's sake, stop saying that," he shoots back in frustration, finally turning his chair to face her directly. "Can you just give me a reason? One reason, Mary. That's all I ask."
She stands dumbfounded, collecting her thoughts, shaking her head slightly.
"I'm not certain there is one, Matthew," she returns. "One that will satisfy you, that is."
"Was it love?" he continues as if she hadn't spoken. "Because if it were…"
"How could it be love?" she interrupts. "I hardly knew him."
"Then why?"
His question targets every moral impressed upon her during her formative years.
"It just happened, Matthew."
The air shimmers in a weighted silence, her shoulders heavy but erect.
"I'm certainly not proud of it, but there it is," she adds, sighing with her arms. "I won't try to make it into something it wasn't."
He turns his face back to the window, hurt clouding his eyes.
"So you just," he pauses, biting his lower lip. "You just took him as a lover? A man you barely knew?"
Her chest caves in at the impact of his implication.
"Not exactly," she clarifies. "I didn't invite him to my room, I'm not even sure how he found it. But once he was there, I didn't make him leave."
She sees his chin quiver. It nearly breaks her.
"And he didn't…"
"No," she insists quietly. "It wasn't like that."
"What was it like, Mary?"
Her limbs go numb, as if doused in cold water, her eyes rounding as she feels completely exposed.
"I'd rather not go into details," she whispers. "Not about something like that."
"No," he nearly laughs, in spite of his eyes being hard. "I mean what was it like to live with that secret pressing on you all these years?"
Her heart constricts yet again, her legs pressing her to flee while her feet remain fixed as granite.
"To look everyone in the eye and not say a word, to send me off to war with no answer, no explanation—"
Her hands begin to shake.
"Was this why you wouldn't accept me?"
Her legs nearly give way, her breath now coming in snatches.
"Partly," she breathes, shutting her eyes to his scrutiny.
"And the rest?"
He is silent until she looks at him again, and for a broken moment, they are the star-crossed lovers standing uncertainly on the grounds, talking around each other on a day that changed everything.
"I think you know," she confesses, pressing back tears with every ounce of strength she can muster. She feels hollow, numb, even listless in spirit, yet she fights back her fears and faces him, needing an answer that only he can give her.
"Would it have mattered, Matthew?"
It is now his turn to look shocked, and he shakes his head with an odd expression, clearly uncertain of what she is asking.
"If I had told you then," she expounds. "About Kemal Pamuk, about how he really died, would it have changed anything between us?" Her breath catches painfully, and she clears her throat. "Would you honored your proposal to me and stayed, even knowing what you know now?"
Eyes lock, expressions solidify, each waiting for the other to give an indication of what should be said.
"I don't know, Mary," he finally admits, and she feels something crack open inside of her. "I honestly don't know what I would have done."
She stands on faulty legs, fingers frigid, heart bruised but beating. At least now she knows. At least now, she has faced him.
At least now, she has answers.
"I'll leave you alone," she voices, moving away from him, pausing to listen for any sounds of rebuttal.
There are none. Only a silence more gut-wrenching than she has ever known. And with that, she walks away, not pausing to look back at the man she has lost again.