Counterpoint

Chapter 17

Jefferson

   Well...that was interesting. My heart is still beating like a drum inside of my chest. I place a gentle hand over my heart as I lie back on my bed. The steady and insistent rhythm of my heartbeat rumbles like the cry of a gong through my head, reminding me of what happened between Hamilton and I. Can I even still only call him Hamilton? It seems that so many once consistent facts of life have become blurred lines in the sand of a constantly refreshed beach. There are a good deal of questions that will need to be addressed, but all I can focus on in this moment is the pounding of my heart underneath my palm and just how much I love the feeling it brings. 

   It's been so long since I have last had a feeling like this. There is a faint warmth that blankets my hand as it remains stationary on my chest. It almost feels as if someone had laid their own hand atop of mine. I close my eyes and allow myself to simply enjoy the warmth it brings instead of growing anxious and overthinking it. How long have I laid on this bed and thought about what my life would have been like if Martha had lived?

   A small wistful smile graces my lips as my memory conjures her face and her radiant presence. Just the sight of her face brings back so many memories. I swear that I can almost smell her vanilla body lotion lingering on the air as I think about her. I love that smell. There had been nights, not long after she passed, that I would find the same brand of body spray that she used and bathed my sheets and pillowcases in it. I never dared touch the bottles that she had left half full, they remained safely on the corner of my bathroom sink, untouched by anyone but her. Exactly as I wish to keep it. 

   If she had lived, I imagine that at this point we would be married. Maybe even have a child of our very own on the way. Martha had been married once before, so her children became my children in a sense. They were never fully capable of viewing me as their father, but they accepted me as the one that made their widowed mother happy. That was all that mattered to them, their mother's happiness. 

   The warmth that resides on my hand slowly travels up my arm before it comes to rest on the junction of my shoulder and neck. I lean my head slightly in the direction of the heat, reveling in its comfort and familiarity. My eyes flutter shut and I swear that I can feel the gentle brush of a thumb on my cheek. A gentle sigh escapes me.

   "Martha," I breathe. "I miss you, darling girl." The gentle press of phantom fingers disappear and I find myself to be filling with disappointment. My chest aching from the familiar feeling of my grief flooding its chamber. "I don't know what is happening to me." I whisper. "I think I am trying to distract myself from the pain of losing you." 

   Silence greets my words, offering me no response nor solace. No answers to my unspoken questions. 

   "Sometimes, when I look at him...I see you looking back at me." I whisper. "Are you watching me through his eyes?" I ponder my own words for a moment before slowly shaking my head. "No, I don't believe you would ever torment me in such a way. You were too good to ever try to hurt me like that." I bring a hand up to my cheek and feel dry skin meet my fingertips. "It's curious how I can't bring myself to cry, even though I am speaking to you like this." 

   "You are a good man Thomas,"  She had whispered that to me, holding onto my hand as tightly as she could manage while lying in her hospital bed. Even when deathly ill she was still so painstakingly beautiful. "You love with all of your heart, and I know that you will again. Hearts are strangely powerful structures, they break and rebuild, finding better and stronger bonds to hold themselves together. Find the better person for you, Thomas."

   "There is no one better than you, you foolish woman." I murmur, my words barely above a whisper.

    Eyes that don't belong to Martha stare back at me in the void of my mind. The way that they look at me is electric. I can feel their pulse scorching through my bloodstream. I find myself struggling to look away from these eyes as they stare back at me from the darkness. They seem to be pulling me into their depths. The closer I drew the more I began to see of the face harboring such magnetic and electric eyes. 

   Brown hair curtains the gentle angles of the face that harbors such beautiful eyes. There is a faint flush of pink that lingers on their skin as they stare back at me with just as much apprehension and curiosity. Alexander stares back at me from the very depths of my mind. I watch him in silent fascination as he shifts lightly from one foot to the other, unsure of where to cast his gaze. I reach a hand out to touch his face but just before my fingers meet his skin he vanishes.

    My eyes open and my chest feels uncomfortably tight as I struggle to breathe evenly. My heart continues to pound in my chest, however it seems to have found a second wind of vigor as I can feel my skin practically jump underneath my fingertips. I swallow harshly as my mind summons the noises that he had made when I barely touched his ears, reminding me of how his eyes scrunched shut so tight as he struggled to not appear human. Why is that so endearing as well as challenging? 

   "Is this what you want for me Martha?" I murmur. "For me to fall for a complete asshole?" I am once more greeted with silence as I lie on this bed. I had told Hamilton that I wouldn't keep him in such a state of embarrassed pleasure, however my fingers begin to twitch at the thought of touching his ears again. Making such a proud man become so malleable and vulnerable is a curiously thrilling experience. 

   "If this is your plan Martha, i'm sorry to say that I think I am beginning to slip." A small smile graces my lips as I sit up on the bed and run a hand over my face. "God help me."