The night progressed slowly and after a while he gave up on trying to read his book. With a sigh he marked his place once more and rose from his chair. Might as well try to get some rest. It had been a tiring day and he was completely exhausted. He climbed the stairs and headed for the guest room to get ready for bed. After showering and changing into his robe and pajamas, he crept down the hallway, pausing at Daphne's door… his door. He lifted his hand to knock, but then thought better of it. However it was nearly impossible to rid himself of the helplessness that he felt.
If only….
He was worried about her; even more so than before. But as he'd reminded himself over and over, it was best to let her come to him when she was ready. Yet he feared that she never would.
Oh Daphne…
With a sigh he climbed into bed, wishing that he'd remembered to bring his book from downstairs. Reading in bed had always seemed to relax him and he definitely needed to relax. He considered going downstairs to retrieve it, but he found that he was too weary to do so. Finally he reached for the switch on the lamp that sat on his bedside and pushed it, filling the room with darkness.
His head cradled by the pillow, he took one last glance at the clouds and stars outside the window before closing his eyes. But sleep would not come. Again and again he changed positions, pounding the pillow with his fist in an effort to make himself more comfortable, but it was of no use. He tried some of the meditative exercises that he often suggested to his patients who suffered from insomnia, but surprisingly they did nothing to lull him to sleep. Even thinking about (or rather, fantasizing about) Daphne didn't help. Perhaps he should look into other ways to induce sleep. He made a mental note to start looking for different methods as soon as he returned to work.
He glanced at the clock, dismayed to find that it was barely 2:30 in the morning. Dear God, how was he going to make it through the rest of the night? If only he could talk to her. But he didn't dare wake her. Still he couldn't help himself as he rose from the bed and put on his robe and slippers. Daringly he went to her room (his room) and paused once again. His trembling hand reached for the doorknob and turned.
His heart thundered, praying that he wouldn't awaken her. The door opened just a crack, making the tiniest squeak. She stirred briefly, causing his heart to pound even further. Dear God, what would he say if she woke up? What excuse would he give?
As quickly as she began to stir, adjusting her position in the bed, she stilled. He knew it was risky, but he continued to stare at her for a moment longer. She was so beautiful. Oh, how he longed to climb into bed beside her and hold her close through the night. Surrounded by the plush, down comforter and the heat of her body, he would be contentedly warm. He could almost picture it happening, almost needed it to happen; but he knew that it was just a dream. She didn't love him; not in the way that he loved her. And he would be wise to remember that. Disheartened, he closed the door.
How did the saying go? If you love someone, set them free? He had, in fact set her free. He set her free the night that she'd accepted Donny's proposal. And even though she was here, in the cabin with him , she wasn't really his, nor would she ever be.