Foolishly Falling for You

12

Lance

As soon as I arrive on base there is a letter waiting. A letter from my mother in law. I narrow my eyes. What could she possibly want with me—

I am writing to implore you to write to your wife and perhaps send someone to check on her.

I frown. Since when we're they close?

I worry some memories have been dredged up in conversation. Her countenance seemed to fall. A doctor will be best.

Memories?

A doctor?

There's more.

You must send help for her urgently. I fear...this loss will send her down that path again.

I stand, grabbing a scarp piece of paper, scribbling.

"I have to go," I shout.
Micheal frowns. "What?"

"Send this ahead of me. Tell them it is urgent. I must return home. Immediately."

Michael frowns. "We have just been summoned! You can't just desert, Lance."

I shuffle outside, my heart beating in my ears loudly, as I mount a horse.

"Tell the king my wife has fallen ill. I just attend to her immediately."

Michael protests, but I urge my horse forward, starting back home. There will be consequences no doubt, but the ominous nature of this letter does not bode well.

There is but one other path Anita has been on. She has loved me, waiting for me to love her back. The only other path...

A few years ago, she became so destructive I thought she may well disappear. Maids found her, one night, and for a while, she went back home. To her father. When she returned all was normal.

I never even ventured to find out what was wrong. I assumed she'd had a break down of some sort, but that it was resolved. She never spoke of it again.

The night grows cold as the sunsets but I can't stop. For my stepmother to have sent that message it must be dire. She despises Anita, for some odd reason. If she is concerned...

She is dying. Or trying to. My horse barely stops as my home comes to view. I jump off, falling to my knees scrambling to my feet. What will I find? My heart is pounding. My hands are shaking.

I open the door and there she is. She stands, frightened, startled by my sudden appearance. I swallow.

"I came."

She holds my letter in her hand. "Why are you here? Did you desert—"

I come up to her, pulling at her dress, revealing her neck. No marks. I brush my fingers along it, feeling for indents. They say she tried to hang herself. I never confirmed it. There was talk and then that talk disappeared and suddenly she'd just suddenly fallen ill with low countenance. What had I just believed that?

"What are you doing?" She shouts, pushing away from me suddenly. Her sleeves hitch up. I grab her hand by the elbow, inspecting it and grabbing the other.

She struggles to get away from me, yelling obscenities, but it's all muffled to me. I am staring at her arms. Her wrists. I had not seen them. Even when we share a bed it's so dark...

"What is this?"

She pulls back violently. She's sobbing, as she falls to the floor suddenly.

She shakes her head; her hair wild and messy.

"Tell me!" I demand.

"Those are from years ago—"

"Don't lie to me. I'm a solider. Don't lie to me like I can't tell when a wound is fresh!"

She swallowed roughly panting. "You can't desert like this," she whispered.

"Anita," I murmur. "Take off your clothes."

She crawls backward, her lips trembling. "Your father...will upset with you—the king—the war—you must—"

"Take them off," I ask her quietly.

She shakes her head but no words are coming out anymore. Her lips move but they are silent, and finally her back hits the chair.

I reach out carefully, pulling her dress down. She just keeps shaking her head as if she we're stuck, her eyes on mine, wide with terror.

"Don't."
"I must," I whisper back.

I tear her dress, the fabric ripping. She screams. Screams like she's being hurt, like she's being shot. I keep ripping. Layer after layer. Until I reveal her bare skin, in the light for the first time.

Every inch of her is littered with scars. Fresh and old. Years and years worth. There is almost no space left, no skin unmarred.

I purse my lips. "You never told me of this," I whisper. "You told me you returned to your father." My vision is blurred for a moment, burning. I blink. "You didn't did you?"

Her hand shakes as she raised it to her head. "I..."

I part her hair, a familiar scar running along her scalp. She smacks my hand away, trying to pull her dress together. I pull my jacket off, putting it on her body. Her face is sheened with snort and tears.

"I needed to forget." She says finally.

It is the first full sentence she has said.

"Forget what? Forget me? I have never wished this on you I did not know—" I shudder.

She shakes her head but she does not elaborate and she won't. I already know that. I pick her up, silently carrying her up to her bedroom. I pause at the stairs. Can she be trusted alone?

Can I ever leave her alone again?

"You can't desert," she whispers blankly. "The king called for you personally."

I nod gently, taking her to my room. "Yes...but before I pledged allegiance to the crown...I pledged my vows to you. I will observe those duties in the order I made them."

She says nothing to that. I sit her on the bed, and then I sit on the edge trying to further out what to do from here? If I go to back to the battlefield I'll just get myself killed.

I can't focus. Not like this.

"Now I...am even uglier than before."

I stare down at my carpet. "I always thought you were the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. I never did doubt your beauty. Flower of the Duke is what they called me."

"I don't have any petals now." She whispers.

I keep my back to her. I cannot look. I cannot look I think I will break. And one of us must stay in one piece.

"In fact, you have grown more, my wife. You have more petals now than then. So rest. And worry not. I will be here."

"Ah...that is what worries me." She trails, as she falls asleep.