Breathless

by Sullivan, Francis

  "It's alright," Wes assured her. "You don't have to say anything. I don't blame you. These things happen and you can't control it."

  "There's nothing to control!" Charlotte protested. "I've...I hated Jack for most of the time I was here! He is rude and disrespectful and I can barely spend five minutes with him without wanting to strangle him..."

  "Charlotte, would you just let me finish?" He took a moment to breathe. "I never told you about this girl I met when I was at university. Her name was Lucy. She was a student at a girl's school nearby. She studied art, which I found completely romantic. In fact, I found everything about her to be romantic. I fell in love with her so quickly, faster than I had ever thought possible. I don't even know why," he laughed at himself. "She was stubborn and terrible and found it amusing to get me riled up. But still, she was kind-hearted and cultured, and so in love with me."

  Charlotte looked down at her palms. "So...what happened?"

  Wesley shrugged and looked off. "I loved the theatre more. I got the chance to come back, and Helen wanted me to, and I wanted to. But Lucy didn't want me to. So we decided that we might not be the best for each other. We went our separate ways. And that was that."

  Charlotte shook her head in confusion. "I'm not quite understanding you, Wes. You tell me that I should be with Jack because I love him, but you and Lucy loved each other and you ended things with her. So why is this any different?"

  "Because not a day goes by when I don't wonder about Lucy," Wes told her. "Where she is, how she is, whether she still thinks about me every day. And not a day goes by when I don't wish that I had tried harder to make things work between us. Because in the end, love is what you'll appreciate most in life.

  "Listen, Charlotte," Wesley told her seriously, holding her hand. "I love you. I've grown to love you so much during the short time that I've known you. But more than loving you, I want you to be happy. And I know you'd be far happier with Jack than you would ever be with me. Because even though you two are terrible to each other sometimes," Wes said with a grin, "I see you with him on the good days, and you smile so bright that I can see stars in your eyes."

  Charlotte laughed through her tears. "Oh, Wes," she smiled. "You should have been a poet." She shook her head. "But I can't. Everything with Jack is always so terrible. And everything with you is so easy and pleasant and wonderful-"

  "And nothing like how love is supposed to feel like," Wes interjected. "Believe me, Charlotte. This might feel painful now, throwing our relationship away in lieu of a risky, tumultuous one. But I really think that in the end, you'll be happier for it." He smiled at her, his sweet comforting smile as tears fell down Charlotte's cheeks.

  She finally nodded. "Alright," she agreed. "Alright." She leaned over and kissed Wes on the forehead, as she had done only days ago, and bid him a goodbye. And stepping out into the hallway, she felt everything begin to collapse inside of her. She had lost him. She had lost Wes, the one person who had always been the sweetest to her. And unlike he had assured her, she didn't feel like she had gained anything. All she felt was loss.

  "How was he?" Jack asked her as she returned home later, throwing off her jacket and taking off up the stairs. "Are you alright?" he asked concernedly, but Charlotte couldn't reply. She couldn't stop her sobbing long enough to tell him that no, she was not alright. Nothing was alright. She ran to her room and shut herself inside, locking the door, and leaning against it as she cried, gasping for breath as she frantically glanced around her room that Helen had so lovingly decorated for her. The wicker bed, the lovely paintings, the stack of books along the wall. Charlotte couldn't take it anymore.

  She ran over to the pile of books, her beloved books, and threw them to the floor, watching as they collapsed upon each other, some opening to random pages and others tearing at the edges. She didn't care. None of it mattered anymore. Spotting the copy of Importance of Being Earnest, she grabbed it and ripped out the pages, her tears marking the smooth paper as they fell to the floor. Then she took up A Doll's House and did the same. And after that Romeo and Juliet, because it was nothing like real love. And then A Midsummer Night's Dream, because it was the play in which her mother had met Helen while performing. If her mother had never met Helen, none of this would have happened. She would have been back in France with Luc, dreadfully miserable, but oblivious to the pain of loving someone so much and then losing them.

  Charlotte screamed and threw the barren cover of the book aside. She ran to her vanity and yanked all of the pictures from the mirror: the ones of her and Helen on the opening night of the show. She didn't want to look at them, seeing Helen so happy and vibrant. She couldn't. She threw the photos into a vanity drawer and locked them inside, slamming the drawer loudly, before throwing herself on her bed and sobbing, feeling all of her strength finally giving out.

  "How is she today?" came what seemed to be a familiar voice from the open doorway. But everything seemed so foreign, as if everyone were speaking a different language, or as if she were in a different country altogether. She didn't care. She kept her eyes trained on the spot on the wall, laying stone-still in bed as she had done for days, or perhaps even weeks. It all felt the same.

  "She's the same as she is every day," came another voice, a quieter one. More solemn, as if everything weren't already solemn enough. "She doesn't talk. She doesn't move. All she does is stare. And when she sleeps, there are nightmares."

  "She won't talk to anyone? Not even you, Lewis?" asked the first.

  "Not to me, not to Topher..."

  "Has she even eaten?"

  "Once in a while she'll permit Mrs. Gates to bring in a tray with something to eat and she'll pick at it. But it's never much."

  Charlotte blinked but continued her stare. Why did they have to talk so loud?

  "Will she be alright?"

  "The doctor said it's merely a state of depression, of shock. He said she'll come to her senses in time. He said we shouldn't overburden her."

  "Will you tell her I came?"

  "She knows you came, Wes. And I'm sure she's grateful. I'll see you tomorrow."

  Finally. The footsteps died away but a new set drew near. Another visitor? Charlotte nearly cringed at the sound of it.

  "How is she?" asked a new voice, but this time Charlotte knew it well. Her heart fluttered at its sound.

  "She's the same as when you left."

  "Oh, I should never have gone," he said frustratedly. "I should have been here with her."

  "You needed to go set everything in order at the university for next term. It was only for a few days, Jack. Everything was fine."

  "Everything is not fine if she's like this!" he cried. "I have to go in and see her, Lewis. I need to see her."

  There was a definite pause, but then, "Alright. Go to her. But mind your words. Don't make it worse than it already is." He walked away. Charlotte could hear his quiet footsteps on the carpet. But the other came into her room. She could smell his familiar scent before she even saw him. He knelt down right beside her bed, his face right before hers, so close that she could hear his soft breathing, see her own reflection in his eyes, notice every freckle across his nose and spot every wrinkle running across his creased, worried forehead.

  "Charlotte," he said gently, smoothing her dark hair away from her face tenderly. "Charlotte, it's me. It's Jack. I'm sorry I was away. I had to go to the university for a few days and by the time I got word that you were like this, I had already arrived. But now I'm back. And everything's going to be alright. Please just say something. Say anything. Please, Charlotte. Try."

  She closed her eyes at his words. She didn't want to listen to what he was saying, but at the same time she couldn't help herself. She had always just been a victim to him.

  "I..." she began, although her voice was weak and unused. "I hate you," she finally croaked.

  For a moment, Jack's eyes widened in surprise. But then his face broke out into a smile and he laughed, cradling Charlotte's face in his hands. "I shouldn'
t be at all surprised that those were the first words out of your mouth," he laughed. "I shouldn't have expected anything different."

  Charlotte pushed his hand away fiercely. "No," she told him. "I hate you. I hate Lewis. I hate everyone. I hate everything."

  "No you don't," Jack protested.

  "Yes," Charlotte told him definitely. "Because everything dies. And if I hate it all, then I won't care as much."

  "Not everything dies, Charlotte..."

  "People die. Animals die. Plants die. Everything dies. What else is left?"

  Jack sighed and looked out the window, and Charlotte knew he didn't know what to say. But then he leaned close to her, so close that the lapel of his jacket was against her cheek. "Do you smell it? Do you smell the cologne?" he asked her. She nodded. "What does that smell make you think of?"

  Charlotte paused for a second. "Taking pictures together," she finally said, quietly. "At the party. The night of my first show. When Helen made us pose together for what felt like hours."

  "Right!" Jack said. He leaned back. "And listen! Listen to the noise outside your window. What do you hear?"

  Charlotte listened to the roar of the street below, something she had grown so used to during the past few months. "Cars," she replied.

  "And what does the sound of cars remind you of?" asked Jack.

  "Your car. The Aston Martin. And the night you got it, at your birthday dinner. And how I was the first person to get a chance to ride in it. And how I felt so special."

  "Right!" Jack exclaimed again, looking closely at Charlotte. "See? These are the things that can't die away. Sure, the car may break down or the cologne may wear off. But the memories, the ones you've stowed in the most precious corners of your mind, those can't die away. Those will stay with you forever." He looked into her dull eyes and reached for her hand, clinging onto her tightly. "Charlotte, I need you. I need your stability in my life. Because without it...I don't know what to do."

  Charlotte frowned. "How can I be the stability in your life when I don't have any in my own?"

  "But you do!" Jack told her. He hesitated for a moment, but then decided. "I'm taking you somewhere. You need to come with me somewhere."

  Charlotte thought about protesting, about telling him that she wasn't about to go anywhere, but then allowed him to help her stand to her wobbly feet and pull a new, fresh dress over her head. And when she wasn't steady enough, he took her in his arms and carried her down the stairs, settling her into the plush, warm seats of his car.

  "I don't want you to open your eyes," he told her. "Not until we get there. Promise."

  "I promise," she told him.

  The car ride seemed as if it lasted forever. But Charlotte didn't mind. She enjoyed the twisting, the turning, the bumps and the smooth hills, feeling invincible as they drove, putting all of her trust in Jack while she kept her eyes closed. They could crash, they could die, and she would never have seen it coming. But she didn't care.

  Jack led her through a door, and then on a longer walk inside a building. Charlotte could feel the hard wood under her feet and felt the air become stuffier as the outdoors fell away. Finally, he brought her to a place with a lot of light. She could see it even through her eyelids. It was warm. It was comfortable. It felt like home.

  "You can open them now," he told her, his hands falling away from her arms.

  And then everything became alive again. The stage lights shone down on her with such intensity that her bare skin tingled at its touch. The immensity of the bare stage bore in around her as she felt a rush from looking out at the empty audience with its rows and rows of red velvet seats. It wasn't the same as the theatre she had first performed in, the one she had fallen in love with which now lay in ruins. But all the same, it felt like home, the most wonderful place she had ever known.

  "You see, Charlotte," Jack told her, walking to her side. "This is where you belong. This is something that will never die. This is your stability. Everytime you step onto the stage, you just light up. And everyone can see it." A grin spread across his face. "You just absolutely glow when you're onstage. It's so glorious. It's irresistable. And that's why I could never skip one of your performances."

  Charlotte frowned. "But I haven't seen you at any of my shows in such a long time..."

  "I was there," Jack told her. "At every performance. I sat in the back. I would go home straight away. I couldn't bear to seeyou after the shows. Because..." he smiled, as if surprised that he was telling her thesethings. "Because everytime I would see you onstage, with all the passion and life that you brought to it, I would fall more and more in love with you. And I couldn't do that."

  Charlotte felt as if someone had just stolen her breath right out of her lungs. She fell back, looking at him incredulously.

  "So I would just watch you. And then I would leave," he continued. "But Charlotte," he insisted, taking her hand, "You can't stop. This is your calling. This is what you were meant to do. And you can't stop because Helen died. She would have hated that. You need to do it, not only for yourself, but for her as well."

  Charlotte looked at him, biting her lip.

  Jack laughed. "Oh, don't do that. I know you always do that when you're conflicted by something. But you shouldn't be. This is what you want, Charlotte."

  Charlotte sighed. "But if theatre is my calling...what is yours, Jack?"

  He looked at her seriously. "I still want to join the military."

  Charlotte's heart wrenched. "Jack, no," she argued, her voice strong. "Helen didn't want you to..."

  "Charlotte, by going to war I'm not going to just be fighting for my country. I'm going to be fighting for my mum, and for your entire family!" he countered, his eyes determined. "This is something I need to do."

  "I just..." Charlotte began pitifully, tears immediately welling up in her eyes as Jack came close her her, holding her gently. "I just don't want you to leave," she cried, clutching onto him as she buried her face in his chest.

  "Charlotte," he said quietly, tipping her chin up so their eyes met. "Charlotte, just as you want to perform, this is what I really want to do. And I'm hoping you'll support me in that. Will you?" he asked, although it was more of a plead.

  Charlotte couldn't help herself. She nodded, and then clung to him even more tightly.

  Lewis was silent for a long while after Jack finished speaking. Jack looked across the table at Charlotte with anxiety. She looked back at him sympathetically, not sure what to say, or if there was anything to say at all.

  It was the first dinner they had all had together since Helen died. Mrs. Gates had made a pot roast with lots of potatoes and vegetables, but no one had eaten much. Charlotte had convinced Jack to talk to Lewis about enlisting. She knew that it would be better to tell him now than let him find out later. But as Lewis sat silently at the head of the table for such a long while, Charlotte wasn't sure if she had ruined Jack's chances of going off to war.

  But then he finally spoke.

  "Jack," Lewis began, rubbing his temples. "I don't like the idea of you enlisting. I was here during the Great War and I saw how it affected people, how they were never the same again. I watched others lose their loved ones, as your mother lost her brother, your namesake. It's a terrible thing, something many people don't ever recover from. But," he said, looking at Jack intensely. "I think your heart is in the right place. I think you want to go for the right reasons. So I'm going to support you in whatever you decide to do."

  A grin spread over Jack's face and he looked at Charlotte excitedly.

  "I don't like it," Lewis assured him. "But I can't stop you. And I won't stop you. This is your decision."

  "I promise I'll be careful, Lewis. I promise I won't do anything stupid and after the war is over, I'll come right home and start at university," Jack told him adamantly, his face shining. "Thank you."

  Lewis didn't reply. He cleared his throat and poured himself a glass of wine. "And you, Charlotte? What are your plans for the future?"

&nb
sp; Charlotte looked over the table at Jack, who looked back at her expectantly. "I..." she began, thoughts swirling through her head. "I would still love to go back to France," she finally told Lewis, looking away from Jack's fallen face. "I would love to see Luc and my mother again. I would love to see Paris again. But I know it's not realistic, not right now. So for now, I'd like to stay in England with you. If that's alright..." She looked at Lewis cautiously. "Maybe perform in some shows if I get the chance..."

  Lewis' face broke into a smile, brighter than Charlotte had seen it since everything had happened. "Of course that's alright, Charlotte. I wouldn't want it any other way." He poured glasses of wine for the two of them. "One of you becoming a soldier and the other performing onstage," he said with pride. He looked at each with a smile upon his face. "I could not be a prouder parent than I am now."

  Charlotte felt her heart swell, hearing Lewis call her his daughter. She grinned back at him and then looked across the table at Jack, who was smiling back at her, proudly. He was glad she was staying, she could tell. She had made him happy.

  Everything felt so much lighter as Charlotte climbed into bed that night. She didn't mind turning off the light or burying herself deep under the covers. Although everything had become so terrible, she had started to realize that even in the midst of all the terribleness, there were still such beauty in the world. She smiled, remembering Lewis' happiness and Jack's proud grin shining at her.

  And then there was a creak at the door. Charlotte's smile only grew as she felt Jack crawl into bed with her, cupping his body around hers, feeling his warmth and his tenderness overcome her.

  "Thank you," he whispered.

  Charlotte smiled and took his hand. And they fell asleep that way, fingers intertwined, weakened from the tragedy, but happy together.

  Charlotte sighed in content as she woke the next morning. She turned over to say, "Good morning," to Jack, but he was gone, leaving only an imprint in the sheets to prove that he had been there the night before. Charlotte sat up, brushing the hair from her face, and hit her elbow on something.