False Southern Gentility

Christine struggled to swallow as the cool water ran into her mouth; she coughed painfully and the water ran out of her mouth and down her throat. For three and a half months anything beside water made her retch with the most violent pain. She could not sleep, her hallucinations were not sleep, they were torture, evil inside of her own mind.

She relived memory after memory, saw her mother, even spoke to her mother. But Jacqueline had only scolded her for her choices, told her what a miserable person she had been, how it had been her fault that James had died, had she not been trying to play the part of a man, nothing of this would have happened.

When Christine had tried to argue with her, tell her that she had done everything for her, for her family, for her life! She had faced everything that ANY woman could EVER think of, she had seen her die, had seen the flames flash over the remains of her bed as she laid there, clad and crying, listening to the Yankees footsteps fade away down the hall, his laugh as he slammed the door and then sat the house ablaze.

But then the doctor would come back, with tools and hands that hurt, hands that made her cry out in pain when he touched her, hands that made her flinch away as he would press something sharp into her veins.

She cried, for hours and days, she would cry out in the dark, cry out for someone, anyone to help her, to save her. And then, like a light in the darkness that had become her life, her sister was there, taking her hand and fighting away all the pain, saving her from herself.

Christine opened her eyes, looking around the room at the light from a small lamp; she sat up painfully. The doctor sat up across the room as Christine cleared her already raw throat. "Easy." he said as he ran across the room, putting what seemed like a brick hand on her shoulder.

Christine nodded as she looked around her room, her blankets were no longer black, they were a light purple color, she had seen them before, they reminded her of the blankets that had sat on her mother's bed.

"Stay here." he said as he walked out of the small door across the room, his usually small stride, stretching as he ran to the door, flung it open, and slammed it as his footsteps faded into soft muddles.

Christine licked her lips with a furrowed tongue,her mouth felt dry and broken, her lips, swollen and busted. She breathed in a quiet breath, her entire body was sore, pulling in so many directions. She felt on her stomach, her hand sliding on the small rumbles through the skin; she winced as she dropped her hands.

The door opened quietly, Mary stood in the doorway beside who else but Christopher Rudd. He looked terribly unshaven, his eyes were dark and bloodshot and his clothes seemed to hang on his now much smaller frame.

Christine smiled, a weak and drawn smile. "I--" her voice cracked from not being used in so long, how much pain could come from all of this, it was just plain...irritating.

"Here," the doctor said as he pushed past her sister and her...what was Christopher to her? An irritation, an oldish friend? Was he even a friend, he seemed to be more of a...quiet annoying irritant.

Christine looked at the doctor as he trotted over to her, a small glass of water in his hand. "Drink slowly now, not to much at a time." he ordered in a soft tone.

She nodded as best as she could and then let him place the glass to her lips. As soon as the soft liquid touched her tongue, she craved more, leaning forward painfully as she groped to have more.

"Slow. Slow." the doctor said as he tipped the glass further towards the low ceiling.

Once Christine had had her fill of water, for the moment at least, the doctor left her alone to speak to her sister, and Christopher.

"Oh, sister dear, you...I was so worried, and then when you--" Christine shooed off her sisters ramblings with a heavy hand.

"Will you shush?" she asked Mary. "And you," she said, turning to Christopher, "for how long have you been living in the pits of Hell, Mr. Rudd?" she asked as she closed her eyes and waited for the spots of color to fade.

Christopher looked over her small form, how small and sweet she looked beneath the heavy blankets; how deceptive this woman could be.

Christopher looked over her small form, how small and sweet she looked beneath the heavy blankets; how deceptive this woman could be. "About a month, I find the climate there very favorable." Christine could hardly stifle a smile.

"Well, if you decide to, er, change your residence, give one of the men at the firm a visit, I'm sure there are plenty of others looking for a lovely little piece of reality as yours." Christine smiled as Mary and the good doctor stood in shared stunned silence.

"Ah, the firm, something that I had been meaning to speak to you about for..." he stopped as his mind wandered into the days and nights that he had been sitting in that small parlor. "for a while." he finished uncertainly.

Christine swallowed as she blinked again, working harder to clear the small colors in her eyes. "Well then, if you'll--" she coughed as her throat went dry again; Christopher practically ran across the room to place the water to her lips, she shook her head away.

"Will you stop that." he said as he tipped the glass further as the water flooded her mouth and throat; Christine shook her head harder, Christopher held her cheek as he lifted the remnants of the water into her mouth; Christine surrendered and swallowed.

She cleared her throat as Christopher sat the crystal glass down again. "Pardon that." she said as she breathed in a rugged breath. "As I was saying, if you all would excuse me--us." Christine said as she looked from Mary to the doctor.

Mary smiled uneasily, "Oh yes, of course." she said with a smile as she placed an easy yet firm hand on the doctors sleeve to assure her sister was given no trouble; the motion was lost on Christine as so many things were.

As the two people left, Christopher sat down at the foot of her bed. "Now," Christine said as she raised herself up higher for another moment, "what did you need to ask me about the firm? I thought that the draft had already gone through?" Christine's anxiety rose as the thought of the money not being safe inside of the bank.

"Oh calm yourself, Christine." Christopher said as he scooted further up on the bed and took a hold of one of her small frail hands. "The money is same in the bank, right where I placed it. Now can you listen to me?" his voice was none the jest. "Good then, now, as I said, your money is safe, and I don't really care about the firm, I'm still not sure what's happened to it since I've been--" he stopped.

"Since you've been where?" Christine asked; desire to know why she could not remember his face during the few moments of lucidity. Why it bothered her so much, she did not know.

"What?" he asked as he looked back to her. Christine rolled her eyes, irritated at not being listened to. "Anyways, lets just forget it." Christopher said as he gave her hand a playful squeeze. "Besides, what I've got to ask you is something far better than any news about your--my firm."

Christine swallowed, her throat raw again. "Well, get on with it then, I really don't--" she broke out in another coughing fit but managed to put up her hand to signal no to him.

"Anyways, I have come to ask you to marry me." he said it so blankly it almost completely missed Christine.

"What?" she asked as she sat back, breathless.

"I'm asking you to marry me, I'm sure you've noticed that for quite sometime I have been smitten with you, and well, I've seen the way you act, the way you perceive those around you, you see me, and I see you, no matter how you put it.

"I understand you, Christine Emerald Threlkeld Wilkins--" she cut him off quickly.

"I will not speak of him, I will not speak of my first husband, he was nothing more to me than a flight of girlhood fantasy...no, you will not even think to bring Peters' name into your mouth--" she stopped as a small sob escaped her, "if I do not utter his name, and no one else should either, I do not expect you to. Is that clear?" she asked as her eyes glazed over with tears.

Christopher gritted his teeth quietly. "Christine Emerald Threlkeld Wilkinson," he held up a hand for silence as he moved closer to her. "I will not steady my lips because you want me to, and you will not steady your lips for mine."

Christine's eyes flashed as she thought through everything that Christopher was saying. Why in God's name would he marry her? They both hated each other, that had never been a secret, they really couldn't stand being in the same room together. Why in God's name would he want to marry her?

"We are alike, I know you don't want to admit it, but we are. You and I both have done what needed to be done in harsh times. I made my money with my hands," Christine lifted her eyebrows and stifled a laugh, "let me finish. I made money with my hands by playing poker and shaking hands." Christine finally decided to laugh.

"Yes, and how did I make my money?" he asked as she pulled back her hand from his grasp, already fuming at the thought of him being anywhere near her.

"With those devilish looks of yours. Those hips, the incessant swinging to they make when you walk, those dazzling burgundy eyes." Christopher said as he raised an eyebrow and laughed.

"Well I've never been so insulted in all of my life, how dare you come here--"

He swept up to her, swinging her off of the bed into a standing position; her legs shook from not being used for such a long time. "Don't look at me like a fool, don't look at me like a fool when you are the fool!"

Christine breathed in a deep breath as his mouth swept down over hers, his lips like fire to the touch. She pushed her hands against his shoulders, his kiss only deepened, his arms bending tightly around her waist; she gave in.

As he pulled away she had the strangest feeling of anxiety, yet she hadn't the faintest idea why. She had never felt anything for him before, not a thing...that was a lie. She had felt something when the rain had begun to pour down on them in the street, yes, then she had felt something.

She wouldn't dare admit that to him though, that had been nothing but anger and resentment finding a way out in the strangest of ways.

"Marry me." he said as he bent close to her face, his lips only inches away from hers, his breath was sweet, warm against her skin.

She nodded as he shook her, "Yes, yes I'll marry you." she said and suddenly a rush of quiet over fell her that she had never known before.

He smiled, coy and easy, so natural. "Tell me you love me." he said as his lips grazed her cheek in a quiet whisper.

She swallowed. "No." his head came back up naturally and his easy smile was now gone, a cold and rugged smile replaced it.

He laughed, cold and stark as his lips came back down on hers. "Yes, yes, I don't love you anymore than you love me." he laughed, "That was a line from the book that I gave you, did you know that?" he asked as she shook her head no.

"Well then, I must be off." and with that he sat her down on her head and left.

Christine stared up above her, wondering what she had just agreed to, but in some strange way, that peace she had felt reigned over her, giving her solace.