They Say...
Chapter eight
They say your life flashes before your eyes when you’re about to die.
He comes to meet me in the grounds the next day. A scattering of grey cloud moves slowly across the sky, causing the sun to turn on and off again frequently, like a stage light. Even now, in the warmth of summer, I still feel cold, and pull my coat closer around me, concealing myself from the breeze.
When he comes and kneels down beside me, I turn away, to look down at my other side. An unusually tall blade of grass catches my eye, and I reach over to it and pull it from the ground, and I twist it a few times round my index finger before tossing it over my shoulder.
“Look, can we just forget last night, even if only for this conversation?” he asks me, his voice still calm, but naturally, not the forced tone I last heard him speak in. I turn around to face him slowly, and notice that he looks even more tired than usual, and his eyes are slightly red around the edges. I start to try and speak, but he presses his finger to my lips to silence me.
“You need to hear me out. Listen to what I have to say. Then you can tell me what you think. Firstly, what I know you feel for me is not unrequited. I love you too. I just didn’t want to show it. Secondly, you know what I am. But do you know what I could do to you? If I lost control, I could easily kill you. And I couldn’t live with myself if I ever did something like that. You know how everyone else sees me? If we did get together, they’d look down on you as much as they do on me, maybe more so for choosing this. I have no job, no money, no family left to help. Also, I’m older than you are. Much older. I’m not saying that that’s a bad thing, but people could use it against us. Don’t you think you should find someone more your age? Someone who isn’t dangerous, who wouldn’t kill you? Are you certain that you love me, against what everyone thinks, and would think? Could you?”
He stops there. For the first time, our eyes truly meet, and we look deeply into each other’s, as if desperately trying to see past them, into each other’s minds, seeing each other’s thoughts. I move my hand carefully across the ground until it meets his, and I grasp it gently. He averts his eyes to look down towards it, while I keep my head up, still watching him.
“Don’t you think I’ve thought about everything you’ve just said already. I don’t care about any of it. None of that matters to me. I love you. I don't care what they say about us. If you’re not convinced, then I’ll prove to you what I’ve just said. Marry me.”
He looks stunned, not knowing what to say, what to do. I don’t wait for a reply, but lean in towards him. At first he hesitates slightly, but then does the same. We meet in the middle and at that one moment, everything seems to dissolve, until the only things in existence are him and me, joined, close together, our bodies touching. His hand lets go of mine, and moves up my back, following the curve of my spine, to my hair. I do the same my palm curving to form a perfect fitted shape resting on the back of his neck.
When we break apart, he turns away from me. I see him breathing heavily, forcibly. He raises his hand, now slightly red, to his face, obscured from view, and makes a sweeping movement across it. He repeats this movement when I lean across and place my hand on his shoulder. His breathing starts to become more normal, its weight decreasing. He turns around and takes my hand off his shoulder, holding it instead in his own.
Then he whispers one word.
“Yes.”
He comes to meet me in the grounds the next day. A scattering of grey cloud moves slowly across the sky, causing the sun to turn on and off again frequently, like a stage light. Even now, in the warmth of summer, I still feel cold, and pull my coat closer around me, concealing myself from the breeze.
When he comes and kneels down beside me, I turn away, to look down at my other side. An unusually tall blade of grass catches my eye, and I reach over to it and pull it from the ground, and I twist it a few times round my index finger before tossing it over my shoulder.
“Look, can we just forget last night, even if only for this conversation?” he asks me, his voice still calm, but naturally, not the forced tone I last heard him speak in. I turn around to face him slowly, and notice that he looks even more tired than usual, and his eyes are slightly red around the edges. I start to try and speak, but he presses his finger to my lips to silence me.
“You need to hear me out. Listen to what I have to say. Then you can tell me what you think. Firstly, what I know you feel for me is not unrequited. I love you too. I just didn’t want to show it. Secondly, you know what I am. But do you know what I could do to you? If I lost control, I could easily kill you. And I couldn’t live with myself if I ever did something like that. You know how everyone else sees me? If we did get together, they’d look down on you as much as they do on me, maybe more so for choosing this. I have no job, no money, no family left to help. Also, I’m older than you are. Much older. I’m not saying that that’s a bad thing, but people could use it against us. Don’t you think you should find someone more your age? Someone who isn’t dangerous, who wouldn’t kill you? Are you certain that you love me, against what everyone thinks, and would think? Could you?”
He stops there. For the first time, our eyes truly meet, and we look deeply into each other’s, as if desperately trying to see past them, into each other’s minds, seeing each other’s thoughts. I move my hand carefully across the ground until it meets his, and I grasp it gently. He averts his eyes to look down towards it, while I keep my head up, still watching him.
“Don’t you think I’ve thought about everything you’ve just said already. I don’t care about any of it. None of that matters to me. I love you. I don't care what they say about us. If you’re not convinced, then I’ll prove to you what I’ve just said. Marry me.”
He looks stunned, not knowing what to say, what to do. I don’t wait for a reply, but lean in towards him. At first he hesitates slightly, but then does the same. We meet in the middle and at that one moment, everything seems to dissolve, until the only things in existence are him and me, joined, close together, our bodies touching. His hand lets go of mine, and moves up my back, following the curve of my spine, to my hair. I do the same my palm curving to form a perfect fitted shape resting on the back of his neck.
When we break apart, he turns away from me. I see him breathing heavily, forcibly. He raises his hand, now slightly red, to his face, obscured from view, and makes a sweeping movement across it. He repeats this movement when I lean across and place my hand on his shoulder. His breathing starts to become more normal, its weight decreasing. He turns around and takes my hand off his shoulder, holding it instead in his own.
Then he whispers one word.
“Yes.”