Ficlet: Twelve Hours
This ficlet takes place between the first two posts of this portion of this thread.
Melou has closed the door behind him, and Angela just backs up towards his bed, sitting down upon it.
And for a long time, she just stares at the closed and locked door, not moving or thinking. Whether she’s breathing or not is anyone’s guess. After a few moments, she lets out a little gasp, breathing as if it hurts her, and she stands up and paces.
She’s trying not to think, but she keeps replaying that over heard conversation over and over in her mind, remembering what Melou told her to do if…
But no, of course he’d be back, he was brave after all, and strong and he and his brother could deal with this.
But how many…
…Couldn’t they?
Angela looks out of the window at the softly fading late afternoon sun, her long fingers caressing the chain around her neck. She shivers. It’s so quiet, so quiet to her. Though she can hear the bustling of serving girls and young men going back and forth under the window or outside the room. It’s still too quiet. It’s too quiet.
It’s too quiet without the sound of his breathing. Angela’s face crumples, and she covers her mouth with her hand as she begins to cry. It’s quiet, when she does. Oh, god. I love him. This is awful. I love him, and he’s going to die. Please…
Angela has never been in love before. She’s never let anyone get as close, both physically and emotionally, as she’s let him get. And now she’s terrified that she’ll never see him again, and stays at the window, crying quietly as the sun sinks down and she’s left in darkness.
It’s dark and she’s alone. If anything, it’s quieter now. She feels like throwing up. Now she’s trying to hear something, anything, his footsteps coming down the hallway, his hand on the door. A rustle outside that she might imagine was him coming back to her.
It’s getting cold now as she stands by the window, and she wonders how long it’s been, because she’s completely lost track of the time. Her tears are cold on her cheeks, and she’s suddenly so very tired.
Putting out her arms and feeling around, she makes her way slowly over to the bed, lying down. She lies down and hugs a pillow to herself. It smells like his hair, and she closes her eyes and stares off into the dark with tears rolling down her cheeks.
She doesn’t remember dropping off, but she wakes with a start in pitch blackness, cold and shivering, as if she’s heard something, and she sits up and stays so still in the darkness, listening, but there’s nothing out there to hear, really.
She crawls into bed, wrapping herself tight in the covers, mostly cried out though she still sobs every so often. Angela doesn’t even know who she’s praying to when she whispers I love you, please come back. At the moment, she doesn’t even care if she goes back; she just wants him to come back to her, to smile that adorable, overconfident smile that made her like him at the first.
Eventually, she drops off, but wakes up about every ten or twenty minutes with her heart pounding from nightmares she doesn’t remember.
Angela dimly registers a dull clang on the floor, but she doesn’t want to acknowledge it, she just wants to sleep, so she fades again into sleep.
Someone is stroking her hair. Angela murmurs then comes awake, sitting up and throwing herself into his arms. Melou is cold and wet, but he’s here and she just holds him, engulfed in painful joy.
Melou has closed the door behind him, and Angela just backs up towards his bed, sitting down upon it.
And for a long time, she just stares at the closed and locked door, not moving or thinking. Whether she’s breathing or not is anyone’s guess. After a few moments, she lets out a little gasp, breathing as if it hurts her, and she stands up and paces.
She’s trying not to think, but she keeps replaying that over heard conversation over and over in her mind, remembering what Melou told her to do if…
But no, of course he’d be back, he was brave after all, and strong and he and his brother could deal with this.
But how many…
…Couldn’t they?
Angela looks out of the window at the softly fading late afternoon sun, her long fingers caressing the chain around her neck. She shivers. It’s so quiet, so quiet to her. Though she can hear the bustling of serving girls and young men going back and forth under the window or outside the room. It’s still too quiet. It’s too quiet.
It’s too quiet without the sound of his breathing. Angela’s face crumples, and she covers her mouth with her hand as she begins to cry. It’s quiet, when she does. Oh, god. I love him. This is awful. I love him, and he’s going to die. Please…
Angela has never been in love before. She’s never let anyone get as close, both physically and emotionally, as she’s let him get. And now she’s terrified that she’ll never see him again, and stays at the window, crying quietly as the sun sinks down and she’s left in darkness.
It’s dark and she’s alone. If anything, it’s quieter now. She feels like throwing up. Now she’s trying to hear something, anything, his footsteps coming down the hallway, his hand on the door. A rustle outside that she might imagine was him coming back to her.
It’s getting cold now as she stands by the window, and she wonders how long it’s been, because she’s completely lost track of the time. Her tears are cold on her cheeks, and she’s suddenly so very tired.
Putting out her arms and feeling around, she makes her way slowly over to the bed, lying down. She lies down and hugs a pillow to herself. It smells like his hair, and she closes her eyes and stares off into the dark with tears rolling down her cheeks.
She doesn’t remember dropping off, but she wakes with a start in pitch blackness, cold and shivering, as if she’s heard something, and she sits up and stays so still in the darkness, listening, but there’s nothing out there to hear, really.
She crawls into bed, wrapping herself tight in the covers, mostly cried out though she still sobs every so often. Angela doesn’t even know who she’s praying to when she whispers I love you, please come back. At the moment, she doesn’t even care if she goes back; she just wants him to come back to her, to smile that adorable, overconfident smile that made her like him at the first.
Eventually, she drops off, but wakes up about every ten or twenty minutes with her heart pounding from nightmares she doesn’t remember.
Angela dimly registers a dull clang on the floor, but she doesn’t want to acknowledge it, she just wants to sleep, so she fades again into sleep.
Someone is stroking her hair. Angela murmurs then comes awake, sitting up and throwing herself into his arms. Melou is cold and wet, but he’s here and she just holds him, engulfed in painful joy.