Vacant Heart

Chapter Thirteen

My surroundings are dimmed, not only by lack of light, but by the incoherence that's taken hold of my body. I'm darting through the halls, desperate to find him. It's the sound of clinking glass that points me to the direction of the parlor. I swing into the doorway, fingers aching against the wood paneling.

Aidan is standing at the opposite side of the room with his back turned to me, and is setting down a decanter of dark liquid. I'm sure he's aware that I'm hovering in the entrance, but he makes no effort to move, or speak.

He's going to make me do it.

I let go of the steady wood, and plant myself a few feet into the room, trying to catch my breath. My heart is throbbing, fearful of the confrontation I'm anticipating. His body is stiff, and unyielding, showing me without words that he's in no mood to indulge me with his experiences.

He'd much rather I moved on, acted as if I'd never seen the scars. However, I can't do that. I won't do that. I'm attaching myself to a man who is unstable, and despairing, and just when I thought I knew the depth of his pain, it's confirmed that I should stop wasting my time believing that I know anything about him.

"You tried to kill yourself?" I hear myself breathe, and it doesn't sound like my voice. I sound scared, weak. My usual boasting melodic tones are gone now, long gone.

He doesn't answer me. He's thrown back a glass like nothing, and is refilling from the tumbler.

"Aidan, talk to me," I plead.

He's bristling in the corner, his body faced toward the dark curtain concealing the window. I shuffle, uncomfortably, frightened despite myself. I'm used to a gentle, impassive Aidan. I have witnessed him heated a few times before, like the day in the dark room, but this is different.

His demeanor is changed, and I sense a weight upon the room, sinking over our heads. He's pissed, really pissed. My need to get to the bottom of this, to repair whatever is broken inside of him is what glues me to the floor, braving his coming wrath.

It's then I realize my shirt is hanging open down to my navel, and I hastily grab onto the buttons to cover myself up. I exhale, frustrated.

"I understand you don't want to tell me things, and I'm not asking for it all, Aidan. I'm not asking you to bare your soul to me. All I want are some answers."

He turns, only enough that his pupils sweep to the corner of his eyes in a watchful peering look. He's holding the glass against his sweater, and I notice his hands are shaking.

"I already told you, Josephine," he begins, slowly. "I told you on your first day here, on the first day we met. I'm not telling you shit about my life."

I stiffen at the low anger laced in his tone, and my chest puffs, preparing for a fight.

"Things are a little different now."

"Oh yeah? How so?"

"You were about to fuck me, for one," I snap, crassly. "Don't be an ass and pretend like we aren't worlds away from where we were on that first day."

He drops his face till his chin is nearly against his chest, and falls silent, walking over to the fire.

"Don't start demanding things of me, Josephine," he suddenly says, quietly, staring into the flames.

"Yeah, because God forbid, you allow someone to help you. God forbid you trust someone."

"Trust is earned."

"And I haven't earned it? I've given you my word that I'm not here to exploit you. I've opened up to you. I've tried to talk to you! Hell! When your housekeeper told me I should back away, I refused!"

"Victoria knows me. She knows my life. She knows who I am, and she knows my guilt."

Guilt? I shake my head, confused.

"Guilt for what?"

"Josephine," he warns, turning to me, his eyes wide. My hands ball up into fists.

"So, that's what this is then? This is a fuck?"

"Well, isn't that what you look for?" he snaps back, and I go rigid. His fire-filled eyes instantly distinguish to a flittering flame when he realizes he's thrown back words I said to him in a confidence, when I told him my deepest insecurities. I should be angry. I should want to scream. But cold disappointment seeps through my veins, and it brings me down considerably.

He's destroying this faster than I possibly imagined he could.

I shake my head in disbelief, and turn. His voice instantly calls out, a choking gasp.

"Josephine, stop! Fuck! I'm sorry!"

"No, screw you," I growl, storming into the hallway. I hear a loud thud of his glass, and within seconds, his hands are clasping my arms from behind, pulling me to a stop. I turn on him, eyes-wide. His are full of shame.

"I can only give you what I can give you, Jo," he breathes, desperately. "I can't give you more than what I have."

"You've given me nothing, Aidan," I whisper, staring at him oddly. "There's something here but I'm left guessing. I'm left guessing because you won't accept it."

"You don't know what you are asking me to say, to do," he presses. "You don't understand."

"I'm trying to. I'm asking you to tell me. I don't need to know everything, but I need to know something, anything."

"Why? You'll leave here in a week and go back to your life. Why does it matter what you know?"

I gape, struck speechless by how much I want to tell him that I don't want this to end in a week, that I want to extend our time together, which is something that I've never wanted in my life. The words scare me, and I know they would scare him, so I keep them inside.

"Because it does. Because I want to help. I want to know you, Aidan."

"No...you don't," he says, tilting his face away from my reach. Dejected, I pull my hand back to my chest, and fall quiet. I want to cry, and berate myself for nearly letting him in as I did before.

Victoria was right, wasn't she? Aidan's layers may be too hard to peel through.

"I haven't cared for anyone like this," I whisper, not to encourage him or get him to reconsider. I tell him, sadness filling my speech, because I want him to know why I need to back away from him now.

He lets me go when I begin to retreat, refusing to meet his gaze.

"Josephine, I'm sorry," he whispers when I reach the stairs, heading back to the darkest part of the manor. I don't answer him, refusing to let him see my tears.

My tears for him.

My tears for myself.

My tears for his secrets, which are proving to be more far more powerful than desire.