Willing to Wait

He awakes with such a loud start that it nearly knocks her out of the chair she was resting in because of the fright that clutches at her heart and widens her orbs. Light green eyes dart over to his bed, a deep frown seeping onto her lips while her forehead lines with worry. She pushes out of the rickety, wooden seat and crosses over to his bed with three strides, coming to his side just as his breathing becomes more labored and he starts to writhe in pain.

“Ssshhh,” she soothes, pushing back tendrils of his silky, sweat drenched hair. “Just try to be still, Emmett.”

Her tone is calming, not seeming to be riled by the sudden scare his awakening had surged through her or the fact that her beloved was currently recovering from an nearly fatal wound, and her small hands don’t shake as she continues to run them slowly and gently over his forehead and through his hair. As he exhales, the streams of air he sucks in become slower and soon she can feel him settling underneath her touch, his body calming a little even though she knows he’s still in quite a lot of pain.

She offers up a tired, warm smile as his gaze finally starts to search her face and leans into his touch when he raises a big hand to her cheek. “You… You came,” he chokes out. “After everything, you came to be with me.”

“Of course I did. What kind of a woman would I be if I just let the man I love lay in bed, hurting and scared?”

Standing, she pulls away from him, heading to the table that rested with a bowl and pitcher of cool water. As she pours a steady, thick stream into the plain white bowl, she can feel his eyes on her, hear his unasked questions and feel the wonderment that was seeping out from his body. He was confused, which didn’t surprise her any, as she wasn’t too sure on her presence in the quarters that she’d once hoped he’d rightfully make her his wife in.

At first she’d hesitated in going to him when the beginning of all these heinous crimes had started, then news of his injury had reached her and the feeling that had nearly made her faint was something that she realized she might have to live with for the rest of her life. It was almost as horrific as the way the victims of this Poe copycat had died, this feeling was, and being away from him for much longer while his life hung in the balance was something she knew she couldn’t do.

She’d gone against her mother’s wishes, ignored her younger brothers protests and walked the many blocks that it took for her to reach Emmett’s place of residence. The doctor had let her in on passing after caring for him, only taking the time to give a brief, grim report of how the surgery had gone before dashing out with a troubled expression. That was hours ago and she’d been lying in that hard chair ever since.

“Bryn.” The hoarse call of her name breaks her from her reverie and she continues to soak the white cloth in preparation to apply it to his sweaty forehead, throwing Emmett a side-glance out of her peripheral. “I’m sorry for the way I treated you before. It was wrong of me.”

Again, she shushes him gently, but this time he ignores her protests, and grabs onto her wrist when she leans forward to apply the cold compress to parts of his clammy skin. Surprised, Bryn is leaning with her chest against his and his parted lips just inches from her; she’s deadly close and hopes he’ll pull her into the situation that was arising in her mind, though thinking twice about the request because she knew that the chances of Emmett actually kissing her once again were slim to few.

“You don’t have to apologize to me,” she mumbles, not being able to help when her gaze trails down to his pink lips. She swallows thickly and feels as her eyes glaze over with lust, greed and desire; she was gone already and he hadn’t done anything more than barely touch her.

“But I do, Bryn,” he counters, gently gripping her wrist tighter. “It wasn’t gentlemanly of me, to call of our engagement in such a quick manner and leave you with no explanation. I know it must’ve hurt.”

“We should talk about this later, when you well.” Frowning again, she goes to pull away from him, but he’s holding her wrist too tight and he doesn’t let go when she tries to yank free. He’s got her at arm’s length now and is starting to breathe heavy again, signaling that their exchange and her fighting him was taking a toll on his health. “Emmett, you’re not well—you should rest,” she whispers.

“Well then promise that you’ll stay with me until I am better. I know it’s a selfish request, but I want you near me, Bryn.”

Her heart stutters at his softly pushed words and she’s unsure if what she heard was right—if what had reached her ears had actually come out of his mouth. He wanted her with him, she thought, smiling while tears pulsed into the corners of her eyes. He was asking that she stay by his side..

Walking over to his bed again, she perches herself on the edge and takes his hands in her this time after he’s let go of her wrist. Nodding a bit, she whispers, “I’ll stay, Emmett. Just rest now.”



“May he rest in peace.” The last line from the preacher signals for Emily to release the fistful of dirt she’d had clutched in her hand since her arrival to the graveyard and Bryn watches with a trembling heart as the blonde headed woman lets the crumb-like pieces swivel down on top of Poe’s casket.

The girls loud wails of anguish and pain and heartbreak that ring out through the dreary skies, only muffled when her father pulls her into his thick chest. Twisting her hands tighter around each other, Bryn glances to the other faces in the slim crowd of villagers who’d come to say their final goodbyes to the writer and is not surprised when Emmett’s handsome face sticks out to her.

He’s looking at her with an expression she cannot read and doesn’t look away when he realizes she’s watching him. Frowning, she has to glance down to the moist ground that rests underneath her shoes for tears are rising up from emotion much like Emily was experiencing at the moment. The memory of how he’d left her again still stings too much to remember and so she decides to take her leave and head for home, only wiping away the tear treks when she’s turned away from his sight.

She wonders if she had stayed if he would’ve tried to approach her, but figures not, as she’d caught the rumor of his departure on the afternoon boat meant for France. He was leaving and that meant all his hushed words of sorrow couldn’t have been true days ago; they must’ve been lies he’d used to coax her into being his nursemaid. This thought makes her face burn bright with humiliation and sadness, as she’d given him the second chance he’d asked for and it had been used and casted away like a dirty handkerchief.

“I hate that I always hurt you,” a voice rings from behind her. “I promise it is not my intention to make you so sad, Bryn. I wish I could love you as much as you love me.”

This makes her stop, uncaring that other people are passing by now as they, too, leave Poe’s burial, and bury her face in her hands while her heart hammers out more painful sobs. She does her best to hide the heartbroken sounds from the passerby’s and finally has to seek refuge in the church. He follows in after, she hears as she slams herself down in a pew, and takes a seat next to her, even going so far as to reach out and cradle her wet face against his chest.

There are seconds that pass in which he does nothing but smooth back tendrils of her hair that have fallen out of place from her neat hairstyle and try to gently kiss the droplets of tears that brush down her cheeks. She can feel him trying to make her better—trying to piece back together everything he’d destroyed time and time again, but knows that his attempts won’t work so well as all the times before. He’d broken her far worse this time and part of it was her fault, as she should’ve known to not believe, but the other was all a result of his continuous playing of her and her emotions.

“I swear to you that I honestly love you,” he mumbles, his upset feelings coming out in the way of deep sobs too. “I care for you so much, my love, that I’m willing to let you be happy with someone who’s worthy of you than make you be an inspector’s wife for the rest of your life.”

“You think I care about what you do for a living, Emmett,” she questions, pulling her head back to look up into his face. “I wouldn’t care if you swept the streets for money, as long as it was your bed I was being loved in at night.”

Shaking his head, he moves his body away a little, so there’s room existing between their bodies, and slides his orbs to the wooden floor. “You say that now, Bryn, but when—“

His words are interrupted when she frames his face with her dainty hands and pulls it down to hers, so that they’re resting just mere inches from each other’s, and finally grabs his lips in that kiss that’s been achingly pressing behind her mouth. He hesitates for a moment, with his big hands hovering near her waist, until finally she feels him haul her against his chest and put the emotion she knew was hiding just underneath the surface into the rhythm.

She knows this won’t change his mind and that he probably will still be on that boat to France, but realizes she doesn’t care, as having Emmett in her life at all was better than nothing. Maybe she’d have to wait for years and years, but she would if that meant getting to do this again—she’d wait for the rest of her life if it meant Emmett was the prize she was given in the end.