“Having you here and not having you is worse than it would be if you were gone.” I swear the ache traveling through his veins runs into mine as he impales me with a stare. “I can deal with the idea of you being in Paris with your fiancé…husband, whatever he’s going to be to you. What I can’t deal with is seeing your face every day,” he says softly as he looks at his boots then back to me.
My eyes sting as his darken.
“I can’t stand the idea that you’re down the hall without me, every fucking night.” He brushes his knuckle along my cheek.
When I reach for his hand, he pulls it away.
“I no longer like walking into the kitchen, seeing you in your apron and cooking. I don’t want to hear your laugh or your voice. I don’t want to smell you when you walk past me. I don’t want—”
I fist handfuls of his coat. “Balthazar, I love you,” I whisper, unable to accept that he can’t stand me, can’t be near me. I can’t bear to be smothered by more hurt. “I love you,” I repeat.
His jaw ticks as he shakes his head. “And I sure as fuck don’t want to hear those words come out of your mouth again.” He peels my hands off his coat and pushes me back. It’s gentle, but it feels like a shove. “It isn’t fair to me or Cort. You can’t toy with me like this. I can’t take it. It’s cruel. Can you not understand what I’m going through? Those words are selfish now. Selfish and unkind. Maybe it makes you feel good to say them, but to me, they feel like knives. You want to hurt me more?”
“I never wanted to hurt you,” I say as I taste the salt of my tears. “This isn’t my fault. I won’t apologize for loving you…and I won’t stop saying it.”
I know I matter to him. I’m someone to fight for, to care for. Not someone to break or push away. He’s protecting himself and the boys. I understand it, but I hate it. How do I change this? How do I make him realize he’s the one I want, the one I love?
He storms out of the barn. After stumbling through the door, I chase him. I jog in order to keep up with his long strides until we reach the woodpile. He hauls the ax from the heap over his head then slices the wood like butter.
“Did you hear me? I won’t stop saying it.” Wiping my face, I utter, “I won’t stop saying I love you.”
“Matilda, I’m going to say this one more time.” He growls as the ax splits a mammoth chunk. “No more I-love-yous.” He enunciates every word. “You ought to book your ticket and get on with your life. The sooner you do that…the sooner I can get on with mine. You being here… This isn’t good. Not for me, not for the boys. You should do the right thing and say your goodbyes. I’d hate for you to regret causing us more pain than you already have.”
“I’m not ready to leave.” I sob.
The thud of the ax handle hitting my boot and his glare makes me jump. “You are one selfish little thing right now.” He reaches for the handle, and I grab his shoulders as he rises.
“And you’re more blind than I thought you could be.” I bunch his coat in my fists as I yell, “I’m right in front of you!” He steps back as I shove him. “And here I am, invisible again.”
“Yes.” He scowls.
I’ve never felt more hate come from a person other than Lavinia.
“You’re invisible to me…and you’re going to stay that way.”
34
Balthazar
The more you take, the more you leave behind.
Footsteps
Being around Matilda has proven to be a greater challenge than seems possible. She fills every room in the house with her presence, her beauty, and her love. Would I like her to stay? More than anything. More than anything I’ve wanted in years. The only other thing I’ve ever wanted this much was to have a mother and a father.
As for that, I can’t blame Imogene for the way she and Everit are going on like lovebirds. Hell, maybe it’ll buy both of them more time. Love has to be healing when you’re dying.
In my case, love feels like it’s killing me. Thing is, Matilda has an obligation to Cort. I know she loves me. I know it’s hurting her too. But this is in her hands now. She needs to go to him and do what she feels makes the most sense. If marrying him is it, then so be it. And, as much as I want to fight for her, I won’t get in her way. Maybe she’ll get over there and decide otherwise, but that’ll be her choice. Hers alone.
Night falls and my bedroom door creaks, yanking me from my thoughts. I assume it’s one of the boys until I look toward the splinter of light. I’d know her curves if they were thrown into a bag of pillows. She says nothing as she walks to my bed. My body says everything. Can she hear the way my heart is pounding? What is she doing now? Making things even more impossible. I stare at her silhouette as she stands in the sliver of light and pulls her nightshirt off. Why would she do this to me?
“Matilda, no.” I’m so weak for her. All I want is to press my body alongside hers. All that’ll do is cause things to be worse. She climbs under the blanket against my will.
“Balthazar.” Her fingertips kiss my bare chest. “Tell me you love me the way I know you do. I miss you so much.”
I grab her hand and receive a yelp. “Matilda, you should go. I’m not doing this with you.” My voice thunders from the cellar of my hell. Every word I speak over my aching heart is beginning to feel darker and uglier. I flip onto my side. How am I resisting her? She has a fiancé, I remind myself. She’s off-limits. She’s not mine. May never be again. She presses her naked warmth against mine, every soft curve meeting my need. Just to have her here, just to feel her a little bit. Just this one last—no. No.
“Matilda.” I turn to face her. Leave, is what I need to say. But it never comes out.
In the dark, my words catch on my tongue. In the dark, her hand touches my lips, and her touch unlocks and opens every closed door. In the dark, she awakens everything inside me, and my hunger wars with my hurt. In the dark, I kiss her with enough force to cause whiplash.
Everything is a whirl, a race, a pursuit. Our hands move in lightning speed over each other’s bodies, through hair, down tightened abdomens, onto hips, and between legs. A ghost couldn’t divide us by the way we share air. Our tongues lash and roll in chase, our lips slide and suck… God, to get closer… To be inside her—everywhere. She grinds against my erection with unbridled lust as her legs wrap around me. I know—god, I know what I want to do. But if I do it, I’ll never recover from her.
“Matilda, fuck… Bloody hell.” I take her waist in my hands, and pull my lips away.
“Balthazar, please. I miss you so much. I can’t keep going like we are. Why do you hate me?”
“I don’t hate you,” I tell her. “But you’re… you’re engaged to Cort. We can’t. This is wrong. It’s torture for me.”
“I don’t love Cort.” She whimpers as I push her wrists off my chest. “I love you.”
“Then you’ll need to go over there and make things right with him. If you love me the way you say you do, you need to leave. Because this, what we’re doing, will break me. You living in this house is butchering me. I can’t look at you anymore. I want you so much, but you aren’t mine to have.”
This must be what it feels like to get stabbed. But why do I feel as if I’m the one plunging the weapon in? The penetrating ache is so deep that I’m certain I’ve lost a limb, or an organ… Yes, my heart. She’ll be taking it with her when she leaves for Paris.
“Tell me,” she says, weeping. “I need to know that, if I leave you, I can come back.”
“What if you don’t? What if you go and you realize you’ve made a mistake? You might not want me…us.”
“No, that will never happen. Tell me. Tell me you love me…so I don’t think I’ve already made a mistake.”
I know the instant I wake at dawn that everything has changed for us. I can feel the emptiness all around me and inside of me, a pain that’s spreading through every limb in my body. A note on the marble vanity in my bathroom confirms that she’s gone. The note is stuck in a page of my Keats book.
Two words, my answer is only two words.
To keep me, you must give me.
“Your word,” I mutter as I crumple the paper she scribbled the riddle on.
I couldn’t have told her, couldn’t have said, “I love you, Matilda. I love you more than any woman I’ve ever held in my arms. I will never love anyone again the way I love you.” I wanted to say it. God, I wanted to tell her so she knew I’d be here for her. But I couldn’t, knowing full well she may not ever come back to me.
I hesitate to send her a text, unsure of what I’d say. I know what I’d like to say. Don’t stay away long. I’ll be here no matter what. I’ve never stopped loving you. Please let him go. Please be my wife. I miss you already. I love you so much. I’m dying a little more every day without you. Do you feel me disappearing the way I feel you slipping away? Instead, I do nothing. It’s for the best. I think this every time I push my urge to reach out to her down. Give her time, give her space. Think about what she’s going through. Even if it kills me, which might be soon.
I suppose our goodbye was my silent answer to her request. I didn’t expect more. I wonder how it was for her to leave, knowing all that was still here. Though Imogene and Everit are leaving this week as well, so maybe that piece was okay for her as we all agreed they were doing what made sense for their lives. I envy them, as pathetic as that sounds. Why would anyone envy two people dying of cancer? What a wretched thought. I must be losing my mind. But to be around them, to witness their joy in having found each other, both of them knowing it’ll be short-lived but filled with passion. It makes me open my eyes a whole hell of a lot more to everything around me.
Days turn into weeks, and weeks twist into lost hope. I’m the statue under the pigeon that’s getting shit on. Winters here are drab and thankless, much like England. I fiddle with seedlings, the animals, the kids, and lots of catch-up reading during the day. I spend my nights writing after I’ve put the boys to bed. I’m drinking too much, eating too little. I’m lonely. Angry. Hurt. Alfie, Duke, and Rowdy often come for poker nights and pizza, knowing what kind of hell I’m living inside of my head and my heart. Duke has informed me that the shelter is close to shuttering, and that too makes me think of Matilda. This time, it turns to hope.
35
Matilda
I am born in fear, raised in truth,
and I come to my own indeed.
When comes a time that I’m called forth,
I come to serve the cause of need.
Courage
Two weeks in Paris and nothing has changed. Cort has been on a ventilator since I arrived as pneumonia smacked him shortly after he came out of his coma. Most days I sit in his sterile hospital room talking to him and the walls, I’m not sure how aware of me he is in his minimally conscious state.
While ordering coffee from the hospital cafeteria I text Balthazar.
Me: Hi…Are you ever going to text me back, it’s been two weeks of nothing from you.
I have no one to talk to about what’s happening in my life. Balthazar is ignoring me. Cort’s parents want nothing to do with me. Dad and Imogene? Nah, I’m not about to burden them with my drama.
How can I tell Cort I don’t want to marry him while he’s lying in a hospital bed with a ventilator shoved down his throat? How do you tell a man you thought you loved a few years ago that you have moved on. Moved on when you were told he died. Had to move on. Had no choice. Am I a horrible person? Most days I think so.
The accident’s timing was astonishing, considering how it coincided with my sister’s death. I missed, in that fateful week, not one, but two funerals. My fiancé’s and my sister’s. I stayed in Paris, healing, learning more about myself, exploring the city. Being alone after his death made me realize maybe I was more special than I’d thought. I was shining on my own as my confidence grew inside and out.
I check my texts for a message from Balthazar. Nothing. Maybe my leaving was more than he could handle. I miss him terribly and all I have now are memories of us that I replay on a nonstop reel in my brain. I’ll never forget that first time with Balthazar. Everything I’d always thought making love should’ve been, it became. He made me a woman, where with Cort I was a girl. Balthazar took possession of our lovemaking and turned my passion for him into a ball of un-douse able fire. The butterfly factor came in like a migration, the tsunami waves of pleasure were constant.
What will happen now between me and Balthazar? I’ve tried to fight for him. I told him I loved him, told him he was the man for me. I just hope to hell the porch light is on and the welcome mat still says welcome when I get back there. Will I ever go back? He may be done with me.
As I stroll down the hall and near Cort’s room, I see his parents outside his door talking with a doctor. His mother, Nan, is hunched over, shuddering in his father’s arms. I quicken my pace to speak to them.
“Is everything okay?” I receive a nasty stare from his father as he shuffles them into Cort’s room and closes the door on my face. Nice. Pressing my ear to the door I hear several people talking over each other, everything is in French making it hard for me to understand. A nurse comes to my side asking me to move out of her way as she opens the door to Cort’s room, two more nurses follow her. My body tenses as my pulse flies, what the hell is going on? With my impatience getting the best of me I reach for the door handle and press it down. Leaning my shoulder against the door, I ease it open and peer into the commotion-filled room.
Cort’s mother and father embrace each other in a tearful hug.
“Is he, is Cort okay?” I ask as I take two steps into the room. “Nan, please.”
Nan’s wet eyes and sullen mouth are all I need to see in answer. But I press on, I need to hear someone say it.
“Is he alive? Please tell me he’s okay.”
My chest tingles with dread as Nan’s unfocused gaze and trembling hands are all I see. “He’s dead. This time he’s dead.”
“He’s dead?” I push past her and thrust my way through nurses who are already tying up details. No more blinking lights or mosquito sounding buzzes come from the monitors I’ve studied for weeks. The ventilator tube that’s been in his mouth since I arrived now dangles from a piece of tape on his scruffy jaw. I peel the sticky strip off his face and drop the contraption to the floor. One of the nurses I recognize hugs me and tells me she’s sorry. And for the first time I cry. A sob comes from a hollow place inside of me, along with an ache that travels through my stomach and drives its way to my hands as I clench them. Cort is dead. Reaching out to his face, I touch his forehead, then his cheek, my finger travels across the plains of his face, stopping on his lips, which I lean over and kiss for the last time. He’s beautiful, calm, free.
Complications from pneumonia combined with a string of seizures had finally won. The arc of my world is once again changing and I have nowhere to go.
Three days have passed since my last text to Balthazar when I told him Cort had passed, so I send another, needing someone to talk to. He hasn’t once tried to communicate since I left; not one call or text I’ve sent has received an answer. It hurts more than I can attach words to. I hope he’s only doing it to protect himself. I check my phone again, but there’s no response. Maybe he’s moved on. Maybe he had no choice.
I stroll the soaked streets while hiding under my umbrella en route to the metro station. As I sit through stop after stop, I check for new texts. Has he had enough of me complicating his life? I have options, though most of them don’t thrill me now that I know what love is really like. Now that I know how it feels to be with a man I adore, not to mention the twins. God, how I’ve missed them all. Will they ever be mine again? Have I lost everyone but my father? At least I was able to call him to talk about Cort’s death and a little of what I’m going through.
The screeching halt of the metro signifies my stop at the Saint-Germain-des-Prés station. I exit the train and consider my night. How depressing. I curse under my breath. Cort is cremated, and Balthaz
ar is an ocean away. I buy a bottle of wine and some takeout at a small shop on the street where I live. Then I peek at the English section of a bookstore, hoping for a romance novel to occupy my night.
Halfway to my apartment with another five minutes of walking in front of me, my phone dings, signaling a text. My fingers have never moved quicker or felt more dipped in butter. Please let it be him.
Balthazar:I weaken all men for hours each day.
I show you strange visions while you are away.
I take you by night, by day take you back,
None suffer to have me, but do from my lack.
What am I?
Me: Sleep.
Balthazar: Would like to lose some sleep…you?
Me: Sure let’s talk! Call me!
Balthazar: Don’t want to talk. Just want to lose sleep.
Me: I’m confused? And getting tired of you not wanting to talk. Do you love me or not…answer me pussy!
Balthazar: Been thinking a lot about that.
Me: That you love me?
Balthazar: Pussy.
Me: Screw you!
I march down the street and receive one more text.
Balthazar: Okay.
My eyes fill and sting. After shutting my phone off, I backtrack to the pastry shop I just passed. I need something to take my mind off of my miserable life. Sugar. The glass shelves of the patisserie overflow with ass-fattening sweets. Hallelujah! I lick my drooling lips and point to five decadent beauties, my new boyfriends. Lickable and about to be well-loved. Funny how my dinner plans have changed. Food therapy.
I march out of the pastry shop and rip the box of treats open as I steer around people walking toward me.
When I stuff a Napoleon in my mouth, the creamy layers squish out, getting caught by my tongue. Oh, yes. Baby, you are all I needed. I think about swearing off men as I wolf down the rest of the pastry in my hand. And then, in slow motion, I get twisted on the leashes of two tiny poodles. My armload of treats along with my new friends take flight. And—as gravity has it—everything comes down. The dogs, pastries, old lady, her groceries, and a deep chuckle from above. The chuckle lands the hardest, and it guts me. I look up to verify, and my heart does a tap dance, gifting me a triple confirmation.
How To Tame Beasts And Other Wild Things Page 22
