Absolute Surrender (42 page)

Hugh seemed to contemplate Charles’s words, and Charles saw Hugh
’
s understanding in the widening of his eyes. Hugh nodded, took Amelia in his arms and kissed her cheek, said something Charles was sure comforted her. Probably along the lines of:
Don
’
t let him touch you, and you
’
ll be fine. Or, just remember me whenever he
’
s close.
Perhaps even something such as,
I
’
ll see you soon.

LIAR
.

Amelia patted Hugh
’
s shoulder as he released her and smiled. Then Hugh turned to Charles, as he must, as the past days had dictated he absolutely must, and Charles waited to see if he had the bollocks to pull this off. Hugh
’
s hand jerked as though he meant to reach for Charles to say his good-byes, but Charles didn
’
t move. He refused to dishonor his wife by playing into the farce.

His wife.

Charles’s eyes flitted to Amelia, then looked on Hugh, and Charles knew Hugh understood the depth of his anger in that moment as Hugh took an involuntary step back.

Hugh meant to leave the explanation to Charles. Hugh meant to leave him with a woman who couldn
’
t, without Hugh nearby, bear his company, his words, or his touch. Hugh was so terrified of the future that he was going to abandon Amelia to whatever fate was to come.

The
woman
he said he loved
.

Hugh turned away and nearly ran from the house as Charles watched Amelia
’
s confused gaze follow.

Hugh stumbled blindly across the green expanse of the moors. This pain, this rending, this wresting of her from his soul was like an evisceration. Parts of him never seen, meant to be hidden and kept safe, were laid bare and spread across the countryside. He would never again be whole.

Damn me…
forever.

Hugh stopped halfway to the forest and turned toward the cliffs and considered. How much of a coward was he? For Charles had him there. He
was
a coward, a spineless, timorous coward. He was
beyond
cowardly. Hugh was not even fit to be considered a martyr for this, because what he did now wasn
’
t truly for Amelia, but for himself. Hugh simply couldn
’
t conceive of a solution in which he was not the one on his own in the end. So why not effect that end now? Shouldn
’
t that be easier?

If Hugh could not manage an ending of any kind in which he wasn
’
t the one bereft of her…why see it through? He looked up to realize he was walking back toward the Cliff House and fell to his knees to stop his advance. Thrust his hands into the soft, unmanageable dirt of the rolling hills. Pulled and dug and felt the rocks tear at his flesh.

Coward.

Hugh punched the ground.

Worthless.

Punched it again.

Nothing.

Again.

He felt the pain lance through his hand and up his arm to his shoulder like an arrow. He stood and turned, staggering away from the Cliff House once again. He shook his left hand and felt a rill of blood trickle from a cut, spiraling his fourth finger, then dripping toward the earth. It served him right. Because even if he did return…Hugh no longer deserved her.

Amelia knew.

In the way Hugh made too many excuses.

In the way Charles didn
’
t move.

In the way Hugh practically ran from the Cliff House.

In the way Charles had been silent.

In the way she now felt Charles’s presence, his anger, emanating from him like a great furnace behind her.

She couldn
’
t pull her eyes from the door.

She couldn
’
t move her feet.

She couldn
’
t turn around.

Amelia stood.

She simply stood.

She did nothing else.

Her back straight, her hands held gently—not too tight—on the quilt around her shoulders.

Hugh.

Hugh left.

He left.

Hugh was gone.

He went through that door and let it close behind him
—
without me.

Hugh left me.

She breathed, felt her heart stop in her chest, then sucked in more air—forcing her heart to beat again. She wondered how exactly to alleviate the pain. It would stop when her heart did. Yet, that wasn
’
t a possibility now, was it?

He
’
d left her.

He left me,
she thought. At least, she thought she
’
d thought it. Apparently not, however, because Charles caused the air in the Cliff House to shift around her, the floor to sway beneath her, then her very skin to shiver as he spoke over her shoulder.

“But that
’
s
not
what I
’
m going to do.” Charles’s words behind her were hard, stern.

Very sure. Very specific. Very certain.

Yet he didn
’
t touch her, and she was thankful. She was fairly certain if he touched her, she would spin, fall apart, rage, destroy, hurt.

What was it she did now if not hurt?

She took a deep breath and hoped,
hoped,
that in that breath, in the expansion of her chest, that Charles would be close enough behind her that she would collide with him, melt into him, possibly disappear into him, to allow him to feel this for her.

Shock. This is shock,
she thought.

Hugh left me.

…

…

…

…

That
’
s
not
what I
’
m going to do.

She tried to turn, but it really just ended up being a twitchy dance of muscles as her body fought to stay where she was in the hope that the door would open and Hugh would be there.

The darkness came for her, as it always did, from the corners of her vision at first, a simple threat, a crawl, a snail’s pace. Just a warning, this…this beginning of it. Though most of the time she missed this very beginning because she was preoccupied with other things. Whatever it was in the world that was causing her to panic—things, so many irrelevant things, simple and mundane things. Comparatively speaking.

Yet here, now, as she stood and did nothing else, she saw it clear as day as it closed in. Faded the corners, softened the center, loomed like a great winged bird over prey, the shadow chasing until there was nothing but the blackness.

This time, though, felt different. Because she wasn
’
t the only one here. There was someone else with her, as though he waited in the darkness for her to arrive.

That
’
s not what I
’
m going to do.

Charles didn
’
t touch her with anything more than his breath across her shoulder and the heat of his hands close to her waist…it was not enough.

That
’
s not what I
’
m going to do.

That small, gentle, quiet reminder that she was not alone. That no matter what happened, he was here with her and he would care for her, and as the final darkness came for her, she allowed it, she sank, and as she did, he spoke, the words on his breath settling on her soul as they chased across her skin.

“That
’
s not what I
’
m going to do.”

Charles’s hands were on her before her head fell back, before her eyelids drooped, before her hands had released the blanket around her. He caught her long before she collapsed. Charles had been prepared for it. Knew he couldn
’
t yet touch her as she would spin away from him, possibly hurt herself in some terrible way if he startled her enough at the beginning of her crisis. He wasn
’
t sure how he knew this…but he did.

Charles
just stood with her, comforted her as much as he could with only his presence, hoped that he could prevent any damage that might be caused by the fall.

He knew one thing: he could do this. He could be here for her. Charles could give her whatever strength he had, be her consciousness, her safety, her eyes and ears while she was away.

She always comes back.

Hugh
’
s words in his head rankled.

Charles wrapped the blanket around her and moved toward the hearth. He kicked the rod that sat by the fire, knocking it down, then kicked the sharp end of it into the embers, and with his foot on the handle, he stirred the embers enough to let them reach new wood.

Then he turned to the big, overstuffed chair he
’
d recently vacated. Charles lowered himself, bringing her to his lap, letting her legs curl across his thighs, tucking her toes into the throw so they wouldn
’
t grow cold.

Charles held on to her, rubbed her back, kissed her temple, whispered at her ear.

“That
’
s not what I
’
m going to do. I
’
m not going to leave. I
’
m here for you, Amelia, I
’
m right here. I
’
m not going anywhere.”

Come back to me.

“I
’
m waiting.”

I
’
ll wait for as long as you need.

Charles had never been so gentle, not in all his life. He
’
d never believed himself capable of this level of caution, care, as though his hands were not his own. It took all of his concentration to do this, to take this kind of care, but he did it, thinking it was what she needed because it was what Hugh had always given her.

Charles listened to her breathing, watched for the changes. He knew she would be exhausted and wasn
’
t certain whether she would actually wake this time or simply sleep. She
’
d done both in the past, depending on just how powerful her episode had been. Charles closed his eyes and held on.

How was this supposed to work without Hugh? Hugh anchored her, brought her back from the edge so easily. Hugh never panicked. He could see the episodes coming, knew what to do.

Charles couldn
’
t yet do this. Perhaps this was more important, being here while she
wa
s gone. Perhaps he was concentrating too much on preventing the episodes, when what he should have been concentrating on was somehow lessening them.