[ARTEMY]
I cradled Rebecca in my arms, feeling the subtle shift in her position. With a sleepy sigh, she nestled even deeper into my embrace. Gently blinking open my eyes, still blurred by remnants of slumber, I gazed down at her.
Her peaceful sleep contradicted the turmoil of the nightmare that had haunted her mere hours ago.
Since that fateful night, several days had passed, days of her silence but nights plagued by relentless nightmares.
She was reconnecting with her emotions, however faint and nearly imperceptible. The nightmares were stark evidence of this reawakening.
Rebecca had convinced herself that numbing her feelings was the way to navigate her pain, yet unknowingly, she was unraveling her own essence by shunning her emotions.
The catharsis she needed was inevitable. I was resolute in dismantling the barricades shielding her heart.
“Good morning, Angel,” I breathed into her ear, placing a tender kiss there before propping myself up on my elbows. Another sigh escaped her as she blinked her eyes open.
For a fleeting moment, Rebecca’s gaze was vacant, then she shut her eyes again, dismissing me, as she did every morning.
How innocent, like a kitten. She seemed to forget that my stubbornness surpassed hers. Her resistance was futile; victory was assured on my part.
I had conquered before; I would triumph again.
“The day is advancing. It’s time to rise and nourish yourself,” I urged gently, punctuating my words with a kiss on her nose.
I noticed a slight scrunch of her nose, followed by the flutter of her eyes open.
Reluctantly withdrawing from my embrace, Rebecca struggled to sit upright. I slipped an arm behind her back, assisting her into a sitting position.
My palm found its place on her taut abdomen, and when a playful kick greeted me, I couldn’t help but smile. How could I not? “Good morning to you too.”
Attempting to withdraw from my touch, she sought distance from my hand, but I pressed it more firmly against her belly, where our child practiced their tiny kicks.
My hand eventually retreated, and Rebecca’s replaced it, cradling the bump protectively. At least she was acknowledging our unborn child.
My gaze remained fixed on her until she averted her eyes. Fleeting emotions sometimes danced in her expression, only to vanish almost instantly.
She waged an internal battle against herself.
Perhaps I needed to become her adversary as well.
In a sudden surge, I acted, surprising even myself. Patience had been my virtue, but it seemed that virtue was waning.
Shifting over Rebecca, I straddled her hips, our faces now in close proximity.
Her eyes widened in astonishment-finally, an emotion surfaced. I watched her gulp audibly, her gaze navigating the contours of my face.
Tenderly cupping her cheeks, our noses brushed. “Return to me, Angel. I await your return. Allow me to aid you, to mend the fragments within. Offer us a chance. Fight for what we share.”
She closed her eyes. How obstinate she was.
“Rebecca, open your eyes.”
Her eyes snapped open. “As I told you before, and will tell you again: do not avert your gaze. I desire your eyes upon me. Look at me. See only me, Rebecca.”
Her breath hitched, her gaze tethered to mine.
A tentative lick of her lips and a struggle to look away-I observed her hands, restless on her abdomen, their trembling revealing her internal tumult. A glance at her countenance conveyed her vulnerability, her fear.
Rebecca appeared discomposed.
Damn it. My push was excessive.
“Angel,” I murmured, capturing the corner of her mouth in a gentle kiss. “Without your words, I am powerless to assist. And I yearn to be your aid.”
Rebecca’s eyes fluttered, and her gaze fixed upon me, an expression of pure astonishment etched across her features. Her head tilted slightly, as if awaiting the continuation of the narrative that had abruptly captured her attention.
A surge of emotion caused my own eyes to widen in response. Those words had left my lips in her presence once before, and the memory of that moment weighed heavily upon me.
My heart clenched with a mixture of hope and trepidation, contemplating the possibility that she might remember. My trembling hands gently cupped her cheeks, a physical manifestation of the tumultuous emotions swirling within me.
“You hold more value than you realize,” I murmured softly. Months ago, those same words had been spoken to her, and now they resurfaced from my lips, imbued with the hope of invoking a difference once more.
Our foreheads met, and I held her close, our connection both fragile and intense. “In the hearts of others, you ignite joy. You radiate light, my Angel. You’ve catalyzed a transformation within me, evoking emotions I had long suppressed. Your advent in my life unveiled the grip of shadows that had controlled me unnoticed. Your presence illuminates, akin to a true Angel.”
In the past, I was feeble, withholding my true feelings when she had been wounded and my initial words were spoken. Only now did I dare unveil the authenticity of my emotions.
The passage of time had seen a metamorphosis within me, a transformation that emboldened my intent.
And thus, I endeavored to redefine our shared history.
With a sigh, I distanced myself gently. She exhaled audibly, her grip on the comforter betraying her internal emotional turbulence.
My hand found its place beside hers, mere inches separating our fingers-close yet untouching.
“May I reach out to you?” The question hung in the air, her gaze shifting to our adjacent hands, though her reply remained unspoken, as anticipated.
“Would you allow me to hold your hand?” The words lingered, met by her gasp for breath and the sudden upward snap of her head, her startled eyes meeting my gaze.
Observing tears welling within her eyes, my chest seemed to constrict in a mixture of agony and longing. Her tearful gaze descended to our nearly-touching hands, a poignant display of unspoken longing. I yearned to bridge the gap, to establish that connection. Yet, I held my ground, awaiting her initiative.
Her tears teetered on the brink but did not cascade. Swallowing hard, she shifted her hand over her abdomen, delivering her answer without words.
It was an instance reminiscent of deja vu.
A soft chuckle escaped me, shrouded in breath. “Very well. So, this is the path you wish to tread.”
I ascended onto my knees, positioning our faces in close proximity. “If this is your game,” I continued, “I shall partake. I won’t reach out unless you entreat me to.”
The memory flickered behind her eyes, discernible in the parting of her lips-a subtle betrayal.
“I shall withhold touch until you plead for it,” I concluded, my tone low and dripping with seductive intent.
We were poised to revisit the genesis.
Rebecca flinched, her eyelids sealing shut as if shielding her from vulnerability. An impulse to embrace her surged through me, a desire to harbor her pain, to stave off her nightmares.
Yet, my efforts over weeks had yielded little solace. Thus, the course of action demanded innovation.
“Nona shall bring breakfast. Following sustenance, my duties call, albeit I shan’t wander afar,” I elucidated. This ritual had taken shape-a routine born from her panic, designed to grant her reassurance of my unwavering presence.
Stepping away from the bed, I caught a fleeting glimpse of Rebecca in the full-length mirror, her proximity evidence of her budding self-sufficiency.
As I tended to my oral hygiene, she mirrored my actions. Cleansing our faces in tandem, she maintained her attire as I changed mine-a narrative of slow, deliberate progress.
As we emerged from the bathroom, a meticulously arranged breakfast tray awaited us. Rebecca settled onto her side of the bed, a sense of anticipation in her posture.
I situated the tray between us, attending to her with delicate morsels while attending to my own meal. Words seemed unnecessary in that moment. Rebecca gazed at me, a perplexed expression knitting her brow, yet not a single word escaped her lips.
The reverie was interrupted by a soft knock on the door, prompting me to rise from the bed. “That must be Lynda,” I murmured to Rebecca.
“Please come in,” I called out, slipping into my suit jacket. Lynda entered with a gentle smile, her eyes resting on Rebecca.
“Are you prepared for the tour?” Lynda inquired, directing her expectant gaze toward Rebecca, fully aware that Rebecca’s response was unlikely.
“Today, I thought we might explore the back garden,” Lynda continued, offering assistance to Rebecca as she rose from the bed.
Following Rebecca’s recent bout of panic, Lynda had initiated a plan to help her regain familiarity with the estate’s expanse.
Rebecca glanced in my direction, seeking tacit approval, a silent plea for consent. Her unspoken query hung in the air, waiting for affirmation or denial. If I signaled assent, she would venture forth. If I indicated dissent, she would retreat to the safety of the room.
But times had changed.
“Would you like to accompany Lynda?” I gently inquired, observing her eyebrows knit in question and her hands tremble by her side.
Come on, Angel. No need for fear. I’ll be there to catch you if you stumble.
“Rebecca, would you be interested in exploring the back garden with Lynda?” I persisted, prompting a quicker rhythm in her breath. Lynda cast me a concerned look, yet my focus remained on the fragile beauty before me.
She met my gaze unwaveringly. A deep inhalation steadied her, her eyes locked onto mine. It was almost as if she was drawing strength from my presence.
As though I were a wellspring of courage for her.
A supportive smile tugged at my lips. She held her ground, her determination seemingly culled from the intensity of our connection. With a subtle nod, she signaled her assent.
Hell yeah!
Internally, I wanted to shout with joy, raise my hands triumphantly, and leap into the air. She had done it!
I pressed a fist to my lips, clearing my throat as emotions threatened to overwhelm me. “I’ll be in my office. Enjoy your day with Lynda. She’ll look after you,” I managed to convey.
She nodded once more. This time, the smile was irrefutable, impossible to contain.
With a subtle nod to Lynda, I gracefully exited the room, my purposeful strides carrying me forward. Retrieving my phone from the depths of my pocket, I initiated a call to the singular individual whose assistance I knew to be indispensable.
A voice, seasoned and steady, responded, “What’s the matter?”
“Bernadette,” I began, my tone a blend of urgency and resolve, “I require your presence in my office within the hour.”
“Count on me,” she assured. I terminated the call before further exchange could transpire.