Hello again. It's been a minute - I feel like I'm running round the empty classrooms of my old school, shouting, 'Remember me? I used to go here!'. But last week, for the first time in what feels like forever, I actually had some free time and thought I'd read over my old stories. Bad idea! Many hours later, I was sat hunched over my laptop rewriting paragraphs and adding new chapters having fallen back down the old Scarlett/Rhett rabbit hole. I started with this one as it's always been my least favourite - probably because I was so eager to get them back together at the end I forgot to give this story a middle - and I'll be updating a chapter or two a day until it's finished. Hope you enjoy the changes, and for anyone that's still around, come say hi!
Scarlett stood on the threshold of Rhett's bedroom, her mind clouded by alcohol and her heart heavy with grief, trying to recall how she had come to be there.
She remembered wearily climbing the stairs after one too many glasses of brandy and turning right towards her own sleeping quarters, eager to curl up under the covers and replace the dull ache of reality with sweeter dreams of her own making.
But from that moment on her memories became vague and blurry, almost as if she had relinquished control to a force even greater than her own will. A force which had pulled her silently to her husband's side.
Husband.
The word stung her soul. Some husband he had turned out to be, one who had hidden his love from her all these years only to run away the moment she realised her true feelings. Scarlett allowed a wave of resentment to engulf her, revelling in how it washed away other, more melancholy feelings. Such as her guilt over the way she had treated Melly and the intense anguish she felt now that she had lost her closest friend forever.
Yes, it was very satisfying to blame Rhett for everything that had gone wrong with their marriage. For the way his behaviour had made it impossible for her to guess at his love and for all of the chances at happiness they had lost as a result of his cowardice. It covered over her own faults and made her feel strong, sentiments she so craved after the events of the day had left her feeling horribly defeated.
Scarlett sighed. Thinking that way may be heartening, but it would not do her any good in the long run.
Fool that she was, Scarlett still loved Rhett in spite of his decade-long deceit. Perhaps even because of it. Why, she didn't know of any other woman who had been loved so well or for so long! And she understood why he had felt the need to conceal his affection from her. Many a time she had fantasised about making him fall in love with her only to use his emotions against him. She herself would never have confessed her love this day had Melanie's calm assurance not enabled Scarlett's heart to wrestle the reins away from her all-too stubborn head.
Recalling her hasty outpouring of love, Scarlett blushed with shame. Rhett had been so cold and detached in the face of her passionate declaration. She pulled away from the door, terrified that he would wake up and catch her watching over him like some pathetic, love-struck child.
She tied her wrapper round her middle and turned away, freezing when a small voice whispered a hateful thought.
What if this is the last time you ever see him?
In an existence almost entirely characterised by loss, Rhett had been one of the sole constants in Scarlett's life. More than that, he had become the axis around which everything else pivoted, the solid object to which she clung when the ground beneath her feet grew shaky. He would leave a gaping chasm in his wake, a bottomless hole she was terrified of falling into, never to be seen again.
Scarlett raked hungry eyes across his sleeping form, engraining it in her memory. She noticed how he was still clad in his trousers and shirt, almost as if sleep had crept up on him unawares whilst he had been busy packing. He looked as tired as she felt, his aging face pale under its tan and carved through with lines embedded there by years of bitterness and grief.
The sight made Scarlett's heart hurt. When had he grown so old? And why had she not noticed?
She could not believe that this was the same dashing blockader who had ensnared all of Atlanta in his silken web. Back then he'd seemed impervious to a war which had ground ordinary citizens into the dirt, as if his life of adventure and disrepute shielded him from the ravages of time. Gazing now upon his diminished form, Scarlett realised that he had given up his bachelor's freedoms to win her hand and the pursuit had cost him the best part of his looks, his youth and his happiness.
Rhett snored, blissfully unaware of Scarlett's burning gaze. She watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest, mesmerised by the way it made the candlelight dance across his tanned skin.
The urge to lay her head down over his heart and fall asleep to its beat was great. She was so tired. She'd run through the mist and found her true home only to see it slam down its shutters and refuse her entry. She wanted so badly to sneak inside. To crawl over to Rhett on her knees like a penitent towards a holy shrine and beg him for mercy, for forgiveness. For the salvation only he could bestow.
Her chest ached for everything she'd lost. For all the hours and days and years of happiness that could have been hers if only she'd reached out her hand and snatched at them. She knew now how much Rhett must have suffered, for there was surely no crueller fate than to stand so close to the one you loved and have them turn away.
How he must have yearned for her all these years, adoring her from afar while she remained unaffected by his presence, as indifferent to his love as he now was to hers.
A tear falling from her lashes and skating down her cheek, Scarlett brushed it away numbly and took in the rest of the room. She'd slept adjacent to Rhett's bedroom for years but had never cared enough to study it. If she was hoping to find clues about her husband's state of mind dotted throughout the room then - like most things concerning Rhett - she had left it too late. The walls and surfaces had been hastily stripped of their furnishings, leaving the space empty aside from the bed, a mahogany chest of drawers, and three bulging cases piled up underneath the window like her regrets made solid.
It would not take Rhett long to depart in the morning. How desperate he must be to be shot of her, to have packed his life neatly away before Melanie was even cold. Scarlett knew then that while he might one day return to honour his promise of keeping the gossip down, Atlanta would never again be his true home. He had folded up their love alongside his belongings, to be sealed up and stored away in some dark corner, visited by no one.
Except her. For while Rhett might be able to forget their old life and forge a new one, Scarlett would never be able to do the same. Not after Melly had made her look at herself, truly look at herself for the first time in years, and see not the fragile and beautiful Southern Belle she had always envisioned herself to be, but a woman who had endured, who had fought ruthlessly for survival against a seemingly insurmountable tide, and who had sacrificed her innocence and her morals in order to stay afloat.
A woman who did not need a refined, blond-haired knight to rescue her, nor wanted to rescue her now defeated and greying childhood friend, but a woman who was born to fight alongside a man every bit as hardy, passionate and rebellious as herself. A man who had been standing alongside her all her adult life, ready and willing to take up arms if only she would send out the signal.
Scarlett knew if she was to stand any chance of regaining his affections, she would have to fight incredibly hard, harder even than she'd fought for her beloved Tara. But she was not cowed by the scale of the challenge. She relished having something to aim for again; a goal to make life worthwhile after years of grief and despondency.
But not tonight. Tonight she was cold and exhausted and she longed for sleep. Tomorrow she'd be stronger and prepared to begin her campaign. For tomorrow was another day, unblemished by death and talk of divorce; tomorrow was still hers for the taking.
As she turned to leave, the clock in the downstairs hallway struck the hour, its ghostly, metallic chimes reverberating through the silent house.
Not yet, she pleaded to the empty corridor with its terrible, encroaching darkness. I'm not ready. I can't. Just give me a little longer.
But the chimes would not stop, and so Scarlett began to count them. In each one she heard an unmistakable death knell for her and Rhett's relationship.
One.
She turned to look back at him.
Two.
She hesitated on the threshold, as shy and unsure as the night she'd first lain with Charles.
Three.
Cursing her weakness, she took a step forward.
Four.
One more step.
Five.
And another.
Six.
Another.
Seven.
The bed was getting closer, a welcome harbour in an ocean of doubt. Scarlett fixed her eyes upon it. She could not give up now.
Eight.
The tops of her thighs brushed against silken sheets. Rhett's hand slid off his stomach and fell onto the mattress, palm upwards, as though reaching for her.
Nine.
A memory. Frank's store. His books laid out before her and his too-tight ring making her finger sweat. Rhett smiling at her from across the desk. Telling her the day she let her emotions win out over her practical mind would be the day he left Atlanta forever. It had not felt like a warning then, so why did it sound like one now?
Ten.
Her wrapper fell to the floor along with the last of her fear. He was leaving her anyway, so what could be the harm?
Eleven.
She eased herself down onto the bed, taking advantage of Rhett's out-flung arm to tuck her head under his shoulder. The smell of him overwhelmed her. It had been so long.
Twelve.
Rhett's eyes opened. He blinked, taking her in. His brows furrowed and he opened his mouth to speak. To chastise her, to question her, to take back his hateful words and lay his love at her feet?
Scarlett would never know. Because tomorrow was not another day. The only time they had was now.
'Scarlett?'
'Shh,' she said, and kissed him.