The Periods of Being

Chapter XI

Chapter XI

    Olive wakes in a cold sweat and visible tears running down her cheeks. She doesn't remember crying, but she wonders if she cried in her sleep. She doesn't take any time to try to figure out what her dream might've been, already knowing it might've been about Mark. He found her in her dreams and this time, Freya isn't here.

     Strands of her hair stick to the back of her neck as she sits up to survey her bedroom. The fire that crackled in the fireplace hours ago is dead; it probably died some time while she was sleeping. The room is black without the flames flickering light. Her eyes strain to adjust to the darkness as she holds a hand over her loud heart. Her heart pounds behind her chest and she tries her best to breathe deeply.

     Breathe in, breathe out, the mantra repeats itself in Mark's gentle voice. The echo of his words brings herself to settle back into her pillows. Her heart subsides in a slow pace as she removes her hand away from it to wipe the sweat from the back of her neck. The sweat clings to her fingers in a disgusting manner and she swipes it away on her blanket with a scowl. Her lungs focus on Mark's words as her heart focuses on the empty capacity of his presence. His words help, but if she was wrapped in his arms right now with him kissing her forehead, she'll be better.

     Instead, she is sitting in a bed. Alone. In pitch-black.

     She swipes away any lingering tears from crying and strains her eyes to adjust in the dark to assure herself that no one else is in the room. There is no one but her. She knows this, but her racing heart doesn't. All the shadows could be someone.

     But they aren't.

     There is no one here but her, and her heart breaks at the idea. If there is a person with her, she hopes it to be Mark...She is a fool to think such a thing can happen. She is a fool. She is a fool.

     I am a fool.

     Her heart hammers in her chest, and before she can comprehend what is happening, she is stripping the duvet off of her legs and swinging herself to an upright position with her feet dangling off the bed. Her toes stretch to feel the plush carpet below. The sensation of the floor grounds her back to reality. She stands and tries her best to not stumble as she stretches her arms to the ceiling. Her back cries out in a crack. Her arms fall limp at her sides and her spines curves as her feet guide her blindly to the window beside her bed.

    She looks out to the criss-cross hedges and a speck of the statue peaking out in the middle with the moonlight striking it perfectly. She grips the mantle until her fingers turn white with passion and fear. She shakes with all the emotion passing through her as she thinks. At least, she thinks she is thinking, but her mind is blank the whole time as she stares down at the labyrinth.

    She grabs for a robe before she can tell herself to go back to bed and forget about the whole statue ordeal. Her mind doesn't budge while her heart is full of passion for Mark. He is alive in her heart as she ties the robe around her waist to secure it. The remembrance of his touch burns at her fingertips as she turns the knob of her bedroom door. The cool knob tries to wake her from the unknown spell she is under, but it does little to do so.

     Dim wall lights guide her to the stairs down to the first floor and to the entryway. Her ears are active, listening for any creak and movement that isn't her own. Her heart beats loud, and she hovers a hand over it to silence it the best she can. Her mind is still bare of any reason. She follows the beating of her heart rather than her mind. Visions of Mark spark behind her eyes. His sparkling eyes. His gleaming smile begging for her lips to smile. They twitch up but then pulled down when she realizes she is standing in front of the grand double doors.