142

[REBECCA]
Tranquility enveloped me, a sensation I hadn’t recognized until its gentle embrace enveloped my being. The melody, a vessel for our emotions, concluded unnoticed, and my fingers ceased their dance upon the keys. It was only when Artemy rose from his seat that I snapped back to reality, his movement captivating my senses.
Beside me he moved, a soothing presence as he knelt, intertwining his fingers with mine. “Do you recall, Angel?” he queried, the weight of his words sinking my heart.
His question left me speechless, a shake of my head conveying my poignant truth. Eyes shut tight in the clutches of desolation, I uttered, “I can only remember… the piano. The music remains elusive, like a fleeting dream I can’t grasp.”
His directive prompted my eyes to spring open. “Allow yourself time,” he coaxed, his touch like a balm. His palms cupped my cheeks with a tenderness that resonated with my own vulnerability.
“Your performance was a symphony of beauty,” he confessed, his voice layered with emotion. “It’s as if, at last, I can draw a breath, Angel.” His words evoked a mirrored sentiment, a surge of emotion that moistened my eyes.
Artemy, akin to my own emotional landscape, was a mirror reflecting my struggles. I squeezed my eyes shut against the sting of tears, and he enfolded me in his arms, lifting me effortlessly.
Laid upon the bed, I nestled into the haven of his embrace. His lips brushed my forehead with a featherlight touch, a lullaby that serenaded us into slumber.
Thus, we surrendered to sleep’s embrace, entwined in each other’s arms. And within this cocoon of intimacy, pain found no purchase.
“You know, a pang of jealousy has taken hold of me at this moment. Observing you converse with Artemy and even having recent interactions with Mom leaves me feeling rather unfair circumstances,” I expressed.
Beside me, there stood a woman with lustrous dark hair intertwined with mine Lynda, a constant presence whenever Artemy wasn’t around. Lynda had an inherent proclivity to accompany me throughout the expanse of the house, her constant chatter a soothing background hum.
Her voice carried a touch of disappointment as she murmured, “You still choose not to communicate with me.”
The sight of her pained countenance constricted my chest. “Is there a reason behind your silence? Could it be that you hold some form of resentment towards me?” I inquired, my words laden with a sense of vulnerability.
A swift shake of my head conveyed my absence of anger towards her. Swallowing the lump forming in my throat, I directed my gaze into her eyes, a flicker of recognition tantalizingly close yet elusive.
My reticence prompted a sigh from her, accompanied by a melancholic smile that etched sadness onto her features a sight I found disheartening. Lynda was, after all, as amiable and affectionate as Artemy and Nona.
Moving forward, Lynda initiated motion, but I remained rooted in place. Her eventual turnaround brought her back to face me. “Is something amiss?” she inquired, a hint of concern in her voice.
Closing my eyes momentarily, I took a deep, steadying breath. Upon reopening them, I met her gaze with a resolute stare. “I… have no recollection of you,” I admitted, the confession hanging in the air.
Her reaction was unexpected her mouth agape, followed by a bout of laughter. A shared silence ensued, only to be broken when she enveloped me in her arms, her laughter abating.
Nestled against my neck, she whispered, “Rebecca, you’ve just bestowed upon me an unparalleled joy.”
In response, I reciprocated the embrace, the sincerity of the moment overwhelming.
Eventually, her laughter subsided, replaced by faint sniffling. Peculiarly, moisture marked my neck, a realization dawning upon me that she was shedding tears.
As I made a motion to disengage, her grip tightened, an apologetic sentiment resounding in her voice. “I’m sorry, Rebecca. Profoundly sorry. If only I had known,” her words resonated through the tears.
Perplexed, I searched for understanding within her expressions.
Her sobs persisted, accompanied by heartfelt words, “It’s a pain I endure, Rebecca. An agonizing ache that sometimes steals my breath. The person I held dear, I’ve lost beyond reclamation. An embrace I’ll never experience.”
Amidst my confusion, I could only offer solace through my embrace, echoing the support Artemy extended to me during times of distress.
My hope was that my embrace could somehow mollify Lynda’s anguish.
When her sobbing eventually subsided, she eased away from the hug, mustering a gentle smile. “Thank you,” she whispered, a fragile expression of gratitude.
I raised a hand to wipe away her tears, a simple affirmation escaping my lips, “Understood.”
Emotions flickered across her visage a trembling smile, a hint of wet eyes, a struggle to contain her emotions. “Rebecca, don’t make me succumb to tears again,” she implored with a playful pout.
“I find it unsettling when you’re distressed,” I admitted earnestly.
“You truly are an Angel,” she laughed, a reflection of Artemy’s affectionate nickname.
I nodded, my affirmation punctuated by a remark from Lynda. “Artemy reserves the title ‘Angel’ for you.”
With a roll of her eyes, she teased, “Indeed, his romantic inclinations run deep.”
Raising an eyebrow in curiosity, I prompted her to share a secret.
“Alright,” I assented as she drew me in closer.
“Know this: without my interventions, the impervious Mafia leader and his ‘Angel’ would have never united. Think of me as the ship’s captain,” she divulged with a wink and a radiant smile that underscored her allure.
“I’m grappling with comprehension,” I confessed, my confusion unabated.
“Understanding isn’t a requisite. Just acknowledge that this ship, under my vigilance, will never founder,” Lynda assured me.
Progressing down the staircase together, our footsteps halting in synchrony as we confronted the figure positioned at the foot of the stairs. Lynda halted beside me, her demeanor mirroring my own uncertainty.
“Rebecca, what a pleasant surprise,” greeted the blonde-haired woman, her smile holding an unsettling undercurrent. The same woman who had been in Artemy’s company earlier.
A surge of emotion surged within me an instinctive aversion to her presence.
“Bernadette,” Lynda’s voice rumbled next to me, tinged with a low and simmering intensity.
The name carried with it a sense of haunting familiarity, as if it had once been etched in my memory. However, the details eluded me, obscured by an enigmatic fog.
“Very well, I’ll refrain from speaking this time.”
“Kindly spare us your verbosity. No one’s interested,” Lynda retorted, her patience snapping like a brittle twig.
Bernadette rolled her eyes with an air of exasperation and ascended the staircase, her gaze a palpable iciness that sent an almost imperceptible shiver down my spine.
“I can’t fathom why Artemy still finds you intriguing,” she muttered under her breath as she passed me by, her words carrying the weight of both judgment and skepticism.
‘You exude an air of rigidity.’
‘Do you truly believe you can maintain Artemy’s attention in the long run?’
‘I share more similarities with him than you realize. Compatibility has always been our foundation.’
In an instant, a memory surged forth, crashing upon my consciousness like a powerful wave against the shore.
“I remember you,” I murmured, pivoting to face Bernadette, who halted and turned to meet my gaze, an inquisitive eyebrow arching in curiosity.
“Oh, do you now?” she quipped, her tone laced with skepticism.
The recollections were fragmented, their meanings elusive, but they were undeniably present-just like her presence itself.
I massaged my temples, attempting to soothe the faint ache that seemed to emanate from within.
“I harbor no fondness for you,” I confessed in a hushed voice.
Bernadette’s lips curved into a fleeting smile, a gesture that evaporated almost as swiftly as it had appeared.
“Understood,” she replied, her response crisp before she walked away.
Lynda let out an exasperated sigh beside me, her frustration palpable. “One of these days, I swear I’ll give her a piece of my mind.”
While I remained ensnared in my thoughts, endeavoring to untangle the threads of the recent encounter, Lynda’s march abruptly halted.
I paused, casting a quizzical glance upward, only to catch sight of Artemy entering through the door. His eyes sought me out, and he wasted no time in closing the distance between us.
Artemy’s lips brushed against mine, and then he asked softly, “Shall we head to the creek?”
A simple nod was my response, as I surrendered to his embrace and the allure of his azure gaze.
Gradually, Bernadette’s presence faded into insignificance, her image receding like a distant echo. Only Artemy remained, a singular beacon of my attention.
A nod to Lynda, a silent farewell, and I followed Artemy’s lead. We ventured away from the house, threading our way through the trees. His hand enveloped mine, his grip reassuring as we approached the murmuring embrace of the creek.
With each step, the canopy of trees thinned, and the babbling waters grew louder, an exhilarating symphony that echoed the quickening rhythm of my heart.
Finally, we stood amidst a meadow, an enclave of blossoms, where Artemy sank to his knee before me, tenderly slipping off my sandals.
“Here, you find solace in going barefoot,” he mused softly as he stood up.
Gratitude welled within me, finding expression in a whispered, “Thank you,” before he took my hand once more.
He took a step back, his gaze fixed on the path leading to the meandering river. Familiar memories stirred within me at the sight.
With a deliberate closing of my eyes, I surrendered to the past that rushed into my mind. The weight in my heart seemed to lift, and the crispness of the air filled my lungs.
As I drew nearer to the water’s edge, my eyelids fluttered open. Artemy’s figure lingered behind me, arms folded across his chest, his gaze an unwavering presence.
Yet, it was the flowing water that once again commanded my attention. Tentatively, I propelled myself forward, my feet making tentative contact with the cool, swift current. A shiver traced up my spine as I waded ankle-deep into the stream.
The touch of the water against my feet compelled me to shut my eyes, inviting the novel sensation to envelop me. Astonishingly, it didn’t evoke any pain.
Rather, it brought a sense of tranquility-a gentle comfort that caressed my senses.
Just as I was enveloped in this newfound experience, a strong arm encircled my waist, and I leaned into Artemy’s solid frame behind me.
“May I have this dance, Angel?” his voice murmured.
My eyes snapped open, those words echoing in my mind. ‘May I have this dance, Angel?’ This shared sentiment was not foreign to us.
We had danced like this before-moved to an ageless rhythm that only we could hear. Artemy guided us away from the current, his fingers intertwined with mine, the grass beneath my feet a grounding force.
“I don’t know how to dance,” I confessed, my words nearly lost in the intensity of his gaze.
Artemy’s laughter was a soft resonance. “Nor do I.”
He orchestrated our stance with an undeniable grace, my hands resting upon his shoulders, his arms encircling my waist-a sculpted unity.
And then, we began to move. Across the field we glided, each step synchronizing our heartbeats. My stomach fluttered, an orchestra of sensations playing within me, my pulse orchestrating the rhythm.
Throughout it all, our eyes remained locked in an unbreakable bond-a shared reverie of profound connection.
In the midst of the dance, Artemy drew me even closer, his embrace an unyielding fortress. In that fleeting moment, serenity enveloped me-a cocoon of safety and warmth.
He was my anchor, my guardian, a fact crystallized in that intimate embrace. As long as he stood beside me, I was sheltered from any storm that life could conjure.