𝑰𝑵𝑲 • 𝑻𝒆𝒘𝒌𝒆𝒔𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒚 / 𝑳𝒐𝒖𝒊𝒔 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒅𝒈𝒆

Look Away

I'll want you till my final day

Until the light descends

You'll always be the one for me

Right to the very end

—————

Three months had passed since that night. And although no-one had really spoken about it, it was known; I was no longer engaged.

Jonathan had disappeared, making no appearance on the estate. People rarely saw him in town, and only ever in passing. Luckily, I was not one of those people.

It crossed my mind frequently; what would happen if we saw each other again? I'd imagined unkind words, brutal insults being thrown on both parts. It would be for the best if we just never saw each other again. And three months later, things were looking good.

It had been a sunny spring morning, mid March, warm and bright. Light shone through the windows of Lady Tewkesbury's room, tracing checkered patterns onto the floor. Specs of dust danced within its rays, floating effortlessly in the air.

I was with mum, we were doing up her Lady's chamber. Dusting the curtains, fluffing pillows, collecting laundry. It wasn't until we were pulling the bed linens over the mattress that I lost my patience. The silence had been unbearable, haunting, it pricked at my skin and burned in my blood.

I couldn't take it anymore.

I kept looking over at her, waiting to see if she would look back at me, pay me any sort of attention. Just acknowledge me in any way. But she didn't, and she hadn't, not since then, not really. So tugging the final corner over bed, I swallowed my pride and tried to speak to her.

"So," I tried, casually, "When are you going to start speaking to me again?" I played off as easy going, doing my best to mask how upset I really was. She was, is, my mum. I wanted to talk to her, wanted her to help me, tell me what to do. I wanted her to be a part of my life.

But she said nothing, and continued with her tasks, walking over towards the vanity to clear up some discarded rouge. I waited again, gave her a moment, a chance to respond. I wished for her to do so, but again, she just wouldn't.

"How many times am I going to have to apologize?" I could hear my voice wavering, words shaking near their ends. I was upset, having tried for so long only for nothing to come of it. Since Christmas, all I had gotten were brief instructions when in the presence of others, nothing in private, nothing that meant anything to me.

"Mum," I pleaded.

She stopped in her tracks and set down her duster. I'd only just noticed how tightly she'd been holding it, observing her pale knuckles. She finally met my gaze, turning around to face me, but did nothing more. She just stared, almost as if waiting for me to catch her drift, but there was nothing to be caught.

"How did you do it Florence?" She sounded exasperated, tired, disappointed. "How did you manage to drive him away?" There was a tinge of sadness to her voice, I hadn't considered until then that she could have possibly been anything other than angry. But now I could sense the pity. And I hated it.

"Help me make sense of it."

I wish she could see the things I wanted to say without actually having to say them. I was often met with the same dilemma when speaking to Tewkesbury, but I suppose it's too much to ask. There's just no quick fix for honesty, no shortcut, no easy way out. The cold hard truth is one we must all bear

"What could you have possibly done?" She said quietly, speaking to herself now rather than me. It's like she'd given up on me, no longer expecting an answer. Instead trying to decipher the puzzle on her own. Except there was no puzzle, not to me at least, so I couldn't symphathize. I know what happened, although, sometimes I wish I could forget.