| Subject: Chapter 302 - Part 2 (end of chapter 302) |
Author:
KatherineG.
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Date Posted: Monday, October 01, 07:02:00am
In reply to:
KatherineG.
's message, "Dreams in the Dark - continues with chapter 289 >" on Monday, June 18, 06:55:17am
She had to take deep breaths now, her hands clinging to the side of her bed, doing her damnedest to keep herself from tears and despair--the distance of her current life from his unbearable. Perhaps she should have been comforted that she was left with his child, had some part of him here to console her--as he certainly had none of her with him--but it did her very little good, a terrible fact emerging. If her Michael should never return, she would prove to be the worst sort of mother, always comparing her son to the man who was gone. It simply wouldn't be fair to either of them that little Adrian's presence--the constant reminder of the father who was missing--would cause her nothing but pain.
She didn't even want to think into this possibility, one hand on her abdomen to comfort her unborn son, trying to ask for his forgiveness for such a thought. Still, all she could do was pray that this wouldn't prove to be true--because she certainly didn't want to be as miserable a mother to her child as she had been forced to endure herself.
It was with this thought that her eyes opened, the memory of her own father coming back to haunt her--increasing all of her pain; her hand rubbed more thoroughly, hoping to console. It just wouldn't be fair if yet another generation of women in her family was left in misery to raise her child--the irony in her own case making it even more painful. Her poor grandmother might not have known the fate of her child's father by the time of his birth--her mother's situation too complex and brutal to want to imagine--but she herself had had more than a little chance of happiness. She alone had conceived a child the way the world said that she should--in wedlock, with a partner who fit all society's demands. She alone truly knew and loved the father; her soul started to writhe. But she too might meet their fate--and be forced to give birth without any hope of love again.
This possibility was too depressing, making her feel weak, as she fought against it--her head hanging down, as she worked so hard to find the strength to go on. Now that they had, ironically, won their latest gambit against Madeline--the tutor leaving her somewhat alone--she was only feeling that much more despair. For as much as she had needed and adored her husband's visit, it was so difficult--the emptiness of his departure undermining every effort. As wonderful as it was not to always be on the lookout for attack--at least from that particular front--there was simply far too much time left to think.
It was this she was left with now, little else here for her. She had even retreated to her bedroom half an hour ago, hoping to avoid her caretakers' observations, their attempts to keep her strong. As deeply as she appreciated their efforts, there was only so much of their attention she could take. There was just too much pain to wish for the attention of any sort of audience.
This truth was unavoidable, as was her entire situation; she took a deep breath, sitting back up, trying to keep her emotions intact. Still, when her eyes found her husband's telegram once more, all the love she had for him only mingled further with the pain--the truth of his distance far too difficult. Even so simple a reminder made her ache for him now.
She did try to comfort herself, doing her best to carry on the way she wanted him to, as well; she sat up straighter, willing her own resilience--reminding herself of the truth. Despite the brief terror she had had when the message had been delivered--telegrams during wartime a stereotypically bad omen--she was grateful for his effort in sending it. Knowing that he had arrived at his destination intact was certainly some sort of consolation; her sigh lingered, head turning away. If only it were enough.
She wasn't entirely sure what had set off this particular round of sadness, why she was so miserable when she had had the miracle of some form of correspondence with him--but she supposed that it was simply all-too-painful a reminder. With Michael so far away, this telegram was the best she could hope for for at least several weeks. All she was left with until then was the memory of the words he had given her, as he had left.
She smiled slightly, gaze drawn by the brief document once more. Some of those sentiments were here, as well, her husband apparently unabashed to send them through whatever mediator had filled out the form for him and then on through any number of relay stations until it reached her eyes. They were simple, really, but clearly heartfelt, the entire telegram typically concise: "Have arrived safely. (Stop) I love you. (Stop) Take care. (Stop)." Even with the keywords for the operators in between the phrases, she felt his love; a small smile emerged. She supposed that she should allow herself to just focus on that.
She tried to now, touching the message, remembering how he had whispered so softly in her ear just before he had had to go; she closed her eyes, the memory overwhelming, feeling once again the cherished pressure of his arms embracing her, his breath against her skin: "I will always be with you, Nikita, no matter where you are." His hand had touched her cheek in the way she would only ever want from him. "Nothing can ever stop me from loving you."
It had been with that that he had kissed her, tenderly, reminding her--as though she could ever forget--of the man he was, of all the reasons why she had fallen in love with him, all those which would assure that no one else would ever quite exist in her heart. In some ways, that could be a dangerous truth--as both of them knew all too well, their love so all-encompassing as to be entirely selfish. But there would never be any part of either of them which didn't belong entirely to the other.
God, this was a help, as painful as it was; she had to sigh, feeling his loss so acutely--almost hoping that he was busy enough to be able to ignore such emotions for her in return. True, she didn't want him to be at all endangered, but--as she had started to fully realize only these past few weeks--there was a sort of sanity in action. But this was the first time in her life that she had been restful enough to discover the dangers of peace.
Her life had assured that she would never realize this before--but the fact held no great comfort for her; she tried to let it go, allowing her gaze to devour the telegram once more. All she could do, at least until the baby arrived--possibly ever again, if he didn't return, although she quickly dismissed the thought--was move forward, remembering his love. His brief visit had assured that she knew the truth: even if they were separated, their love was stronger than any other part of their lives, would survive the most permanent of separations. She smiled, despite her fears--vowing to remember. Until he returned to her, one way or another, until she had her next, precious word from him--received an address where she could contact him--she would keep the knowledge of his love absolute. Sometimes, it was the very existence of something so precious which meant the sole difference between sanity and madness. Always now, love was all there was.
[End of Part 302]
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