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Alastair grabs his shoulders as I lower to my knees beside her, doing my part to lift her blood-soaked strands from her neck and press the pads of my fingers to where I beg a higher power for a pulse, even if faint.
But nothing greets me but the ice-cold chill of her sallow skin.
I peer over my shoulder to where the young man has lost his fight, eyes wide and brimmed in red, jaw slack. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “She’s gone.”
He falls to his knees, slipping right out of Alastair’s firm grasp with his dead weight, hands cupping his face as his body shakes, but tears do not fall and he makes no sound.
Nausea climbs my throat as I turn back to the young woman and I cannot stop my eyes from roaming her fragile frame. Her collarbones rise sharp beneath her skin, her wrists too slender, cheeks hollow as though something had been steadily eroding her. She looks less like a girl who collapsed than a bird that had already been broken before it ever struck the ground, and I know that feeling all too well.
Headmaster Whitmore enters the small space, falling silent as he takes in the sight before him. He clenches his eyes shut, chin quivering as Alastair begins murmuring placating words to him.
The next while drags on in slow motion, everything feeling as if time is passing at both the speed of light and yet, that the day will never end.
It isn’t until several hours have passed that the young woman has been picked up and driven off the property, the authorities gathering evidence, taking photos and closing up the room to be dealt with after an autopsy is performed.
Headmaster Whitmore cancels classes for the day, and Ophelia gets to work planning a vigil for Philomela, ever the worker bee.
And through it all, Alastair doesn’t leave my side, not even when the hall is left vacant and devoid of all life but the beating hearts within our own two chests.
He presses a steady palm to the base of my spine, leading me forward. My mind is a jumbled mess, flashes of the day passing through in a way that turns my blood cold.
I continue forward, allowing myself to slip away into the place in the periphery of my mind where no one and nothing can hurt me. A place I’d so often visited prior to my arrival here, but it’s grown distant, no longer providing me the safety I’d once been so desperate for. Instead, I find that with Alastair, coming back to him as he presses the door to my bedchamber open. He glances at me, not entering until I’ve answered with a silent dip of my chin.
Ushering me inside and shutting the door, he gets to work, entering my bath chambers to run a scalding hot bath, just how I like.
I aimlessly pick at my clothing, my hands trembling as I attempt to disrobe. He finds me, pressing his hands to mine to steady them before sliding the satin from my shoulders, allowing it to pool at my feet. I lift my arms over my head, each of my movements shaky but rehearsed, like a performance of my limbs rather than a conscious decision.
It feels as though I’m in a time warp, not truly present.
Once stripped bare, Alastair cups his sleep shirt at the back of his collar, tugging it over his head before scooping me up and carrying me off to the clawfoot tub that awaits us.
“Do you want to test the water?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
I jerk my head, the only response I can manage, and he nods his understanding before setting me into the tub where warmth envelops me, seeping into my weary bones and stark-cold mind as honey and lavender whisper around me.
I move to sit forward but he settles a gentle palm on my shoulder. “It’s alright. I’ll wash up after. Just allow me to care for you now, yes?”
His words wiggle their way into the deepest crevices of my chest where my spirit has been chained away, each manacle becoming undone as he wets my hair, massaging the cleanser into my scalp in a way that nearly makes me moan from the tension he’s relieving.
He takes his time, tenderly washing away every drop of the crimson staining my skin from the young girl until I’m scrubbed clean and bundled in a fluffy towel, deposited in the center of my bed.
Alastair slips his shirt back on and I sit upright, swinging my gaze to his with wild eyes. “Weren’t you planning to bathe?” Please don’t leave me.
“As much as I would gladly drink your bath water, Dr. Ravenna,” he says with a smirk that tears straight through my anxieties, “I believe it would be frowned upon and I must retrieve fresh clothing. I’ll only be a minute,” he assures me.
Some time passes, and when he returns, his deep auburn hair is damp, hanging loosely over his forehead, fresh clothing covering his body and two mugs rest in his hands. He shuts the door, taking a seat beside me and passes me one of the ceramics. I take it in eager palms, allowing the heat to warm my cool touch as I breathe in the herbal liquid—chamomile.
He always knows just what I need, and it’s this fact that has me slipping beneath the sheets, inviting him to join me. We spend the night quietly reading side by side, the silence companionable, steadying. Where so many evenings have ended in nightmares, this one grants me peace at last, lulled by the warmth of his arm slung over me.
And yet, as sleep overtakes me, a single thought lingers: how well can one ever truly know another soul?
Journal Entry
The upcoming holidays are often an unkind reminder of my general lack of abundance, but in the four years since Calista has arrived, she’s created a sort of family amongst friends, frequently advising that friends are the family we choose.
Well, if that is the case, I will continue to choose her. In all things.
Which is precisely why I left her today. I’d had no other choice as this gift is too precious, something I could not trust a courier to hail on my behalf. I’m unsure of when I’ll give her the item, but I plan to purchase a few others in its place, ensuring I have something worth offering her each year until she is finally ready to allow me to love her the way I so desperately wish she would.
