To my Dearest Friend

Harbouring hearts

Yves montague

I don't know what I expected to feel like but I did not expect to feel this nauseaus. I can barely keep my eyes open while it is morning. I wonder if I am really tired or if I am simply scared, I think it's the latter. I thought it would feel freeing, I would finally be free from the expectation from society but the air surrounding me feels like it is sufocating me. I wonder what normal people feel like on their wedding day.

It's been a month since I have been seeing Cyril again. It almost feels like nothing happened, we both know it is better to forget the things that have hurt us. But I could never deny that when I see his face I see someone who is not only my friend, I could not lie that I don't see the person who harbours my heart. I wonder if he sees. it. I groan, I can't get my cravat to look right.

'Seems like somebody is nervous' Cyril says jokingly as he begins to tie it. I look down at him while he is tying it. 'I do not think I would have expected to ever seeing you marry.' Cyril says with a chuckle. 'Well, I once want wanted to marry somebody.' I say with stupidly nostalgic tears in my eyes, masking the memories that are running through my mind. 'Really?' Cyril says curiously and looks up. His face changes expression as he notices the one on mine he looks down again. 'Well, how that would not be possible.' He says while he lovingly pats on my chest, signaling that the cravat is tied to his wishes. I sit down in a beautiful chair, my legs are trembling with the restlessness of a clock ticking away hours on end.

'I have never kissed her.' I say out of the blue, everything today seems so incredibly and dangerously unknown. I do not have the control I wish to nave, the one I believed to obtain with this marriage. 'Hardly anyone kisses before marriage, especially in high society.' Cyril says as he puts the bouttonierre in the flower hole, they're lilies. Exactely what Eleanor wished for. 'I do not even know her favourite flower.' I say as my doubt escapes my body through the rivers of sadness. I rest my head on Cyril's shoulder. 'I do not think Eleanor has one' He says jokingly. I chuckle through the tears.

My hand is looking for his as if it is a blind man in a labyrinth without light. Before I can find his hand he finds mine, our little fingers interlock, such a small touch but the only thing I need from him. Although I know I will hunger for the things that we once have had. I wonder who to pray to, God has given up on me and hell is to too full already. Who is my God if not him? My rain? My precious?

My life is beginning again, I am a butterfly of society, I am a ghost of freedom and today I am showing that even with the purest intentions of destroying your own he heart takes more than selflessness, it taken utter hopelessness, it takes anger, it takes more than me, more than this. Tnan I hear myself say it. 'I do not know whether I can do this.' Cyril kneels. 'You can do anything you set your mind to Yves Aubrey Montague, but not one in forcing you. Give up on it.I do not understand at all why you are doing this.' He says I rest my forehead against his, I feel the pain in my heart as a hot tear filled with emotions strokes my cheek.

 Cyril Courtenay

I do wonder why it is that he has decided to marry. He looks me in the eye, his energy that has always been there even in the worst moments seems to have gone, he seems so tired. His eyes are half open and drooped, his eyebrows are up in the arrogant manner of his father.

'Isn't this who I am supposed to be?' He stands up and walks towards his portrait. He has dozen of them but this the one where he looks like a copy of his dear father. 'A well dressed fraud thinking he has original ideas. Screaming to a God he has not known or believed in. No language to express his rotten ideas. charming the ones who do not believe the facade, and alienating the ones who see through it. I have always been my father and my father has been me. So from tommorow on I will know no joy anymoге only the grief of a boy who's name was Yves.' He sticks a Ietter opener which was lying there in the eye of the portrait. I smile.

'How dramatic dear Yves, and now the real reason, why are you marrying her?' He looks back at me, a smirk of surprise drawn on his lips. 'You know me too well.' He says 'I did mean most of it but it is not the reason' He says. 'What is it than? I ask curious why he seems so reluctant to tell me. 'Well, to put it lightly Eleanor is not normal.' 'I do not think I follow' I say. he looks at me, I know he is admiring my innocence. Innocence, how could he? My innocence is long gone. Pernaps naivety is a better word. Or malice, no, I have never done anything with malice. I hope. I think. Don't doubt yourself Cyril!

'She is like you and me once were.' He clears his throat 'Are?' he says, avoiding eye contact. I frown, 'Well, than why are you marrying her!! I say with a frown. He laughs and bites his lip, 'This is going to sound insane, but swear it will never escape your lips.' He nods. 'Well, my sister she has found her rain, her sunlight, her muse. I do not want her to be forced to let it go, I do not want another love story ending in tragedy.' I bite my lip in and effort not to cry. 'still not clear how this relates!' I say. 'Lord help me!', he exclaims as be he stande up with a laugh. 'You are about as thick as it gets! Eleanor and Frances' he says and I finally realise. 'Are in lovel' I exclaims. 'Shhhhh, not so loud! was that so hard dear?' He says with a laugh. 'So you are marrying for her?' He nods. 'Wow, asthonishing what you do for her.' I say quietly 'I would do anything for her.' He says while he looks out of the window and I realise there is nothing I would not do for him. Why have I ever been so foolish to let him go?