| Chapter Five: Revelations |
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| Disclaimer: I still don’t make any money from this. Though it would be really cool if I could money with my writing, but alas, it’s not in the cards right now. |
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| I had my hair tied back and pushed out of the way with a bandana, cleaning the room that led to the lift. I made V go out and get more bookshelves for the piles of books in this room, and was organizing them diligently by author’s name. I was flipping through the pages of one of the books when I sensed someone watching me intently. I turned my head, and sure enough, V was leaning against the doorframe.
“How long have you been standing there?” V straightened up and I could hear his smile. “Not too long. How is it going?” “Great. But do you have anymore secret rooms filled with books I should know about?” “Well, I haven’t shown you my library yet.” I gave him a look of disbelief. Oh, Lord. “You have a library?” “No,” I loved hearing that teasing note in his voice, “but maybe I should. I never realized how many books I had until you started organizing. But I came in here to tell you I won’t be able to join you for dinner tonight. I have some business to attend to.” I frowned up at him. I knew better than to ask what kind of business. He rarely told me what he did while out in the outside world. “All right, when will you be back?” “Not too late.” I turned back to the book in my hands, a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. I hate it when he’s so vague. “Okay, just please be careful.” He walked over and kneeled beside me, facing me eye to mask. “Don’t worry about me, Veronica. I will be fine.” I looked up at him and felt my stomach clench at his proximity. Every thought and worry seemed to float away, and I had a sudden urge to pull him into my arms and hug him. I saw his hand lift and I realized how badly I wanted him to touch me, too. But before either of us could do anything, he stood up abruptly and walked back to the door. “Have a nice evening, Veronica. I shall see you in the morning.” And with that, he was gone. I slammed the book I was holding down to the ground in frustration. God damn it! What is wrong with me? What in the world is happening to me? After about an hour I had to give up on the book organizing. I was feeling restless and frustrated and decided to take a book up to the roof. I was currently working on “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings”, but after 15 minutes of sitting on a bench, wrapped in a blanket, trying desperately to get into the story of a young pregnant black girl, I gave up. I just couldn’t get my mind into it. I couldn’t pull my mind away from how badly I wanted to touch V. I carefully placed the book on the bench beside me and curled up deeper into the blanket. I could smell a hint of leather in the fabric, and the reminder of him was a comfort. When I first started to live with V, it had been because I had to. I understood he did it to protect me, and I was just trying to make the best of a bad situation. I threw myself into the books he had, thinking that since I had to stay, I might as well read all that I could while I had the chance. But something happened I didn’t expect. I honestly thought that V and I would live as strangers in his home. I thought I would just be an intrusion, an interruption to the life he lived. But he had gone out of his way to be a good host, fixing me meals, talking to me, inviting me to watch movies with him when I had tried to stay out of his way by hiding in my room with a book. I couldn’t help but open up to him. I was always a bit of a loudmouth, and talking to him was just so easy. Over the past couple of months, I really started to live for the evenings where we spent together, not for the wondrous books I kept discovering day after day. It’s hard to explain. He was so easy to talk to, so understanding and patient. He had a quick wit and would banter back and forth with me with unparalleled intelligence. He could make me smile with his dry wit and it always made me swell in happiness when I could get him to laugh at my own silly sense of humor. He would listen to me patiently whenever I rambled on about one thing or another, and never seemed to mind if I would talk for five minutes straight without reaching any sort of point. It was my own feelings I was having trouble coming to grips with. Both times I had touched his skin had been spur of the moment, driven by overwhelming emotion or alcohol. And both times had been a blessing. He rarely initiated any sort of physical contact with me, but with every day that passed, I wanted to be with him more and more. I wanted to spend more time with him, talk to him more, get to know him better. It’s been weeks since the last time I wished I could reenter the outside world because now more than anything I just wanted to be with him. I pulled the blanket tighter around myself, the chill of the winter air threatening to settle in my bones. So what was I thinking? Exactly how did I feel about this literature quoting terrorist who loved to cook me meals and talk to me about anything and everything? Obviously we had developed some sort of strange friendship, and I seemed to care about him. A lot. And then it hit me. The realization was both liberating and terrifying. I tried to rationalize, saying it was impossible, I had only known this man for just over two months, it can’t be. He was a killer, how could I possibly… but I did. But I have never even seen his face, how can I possible feel this way for a man whom I never even seen his face? But I did. Once I admitted it to myself, it was impossible to hide from. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t deny what was happening. I was falling in love with the terrorist known as V. You can’t control whom your heart bestows itself upon, and only fools dare to try. |
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| Hours later, after a long hot bath and a small dinner, I found myself lying in bed, unable to sleep. The old grandfather clock in the main hall of the Gallery had recently chimed two in the morning, and I still couldn’t stop worrying about V. I know he said he wouldn’t be home – God, this place was a home to me now – until after dinner, but he said he wouldn’t be too late. And it was getting late. What if something had happened? What if he had been captured or hurt? What if something went wrong? How would I know?
Frustrated, I kicked the sheets off and dragged a blanket out of my room to the sitting area. I obviously wasn’t going to get any sleep, so I might as well wait up for him in a place I could see him as soon as he got home. If he asked why, I would just tell him I couldn’t sleep. He didn’t need to know about my epiphany just yet. He would probably think I was being foolish, saying I was in love with a man I hardly knew, or worse, that I was just infatuated with the mysterious man who had saved me and that it would pass. It would probably make life very uncomfortable around the Gallery, and I still had about nine and a half months to go. I rested my head on the arm of the couch, on the side he normally sat on, and allowed myself a moment of self pity. I was falling for a man who would probably never be able to reciprocate. How wonderfully cliché. Young damsel in distress falls in love with her masked savior. It would make a great sappy teen romance. I could almost taste the bitterness of my thoughts. I closed my eyes and breathed in the scent of him, the leather and soap smell, willing my emotions to calm down, to stop whirling around in my soul. Where in the world could V be? I hope he’s all right. I hope he’ll be home soon. I hope… I awoke with a startled jump when I heard something crash. I automatically jumped to my feet and ran in the direction the sound came from, my heart pounding, adrenaline rushing through my system. I reached the main area and stopped dead in my tracks, shock temporarily freezing me. A vase was shattered on the ground, the glass glittering dangerously in the dim light. Standing over the shards was V, hunched over, an arm pressed around his side, gasps of air whistling painfully through his mask. Oh God, he was hurt. I was by his side before I even realized what I was doing, thankfully avoiding the glass scattered on the floor. I wrapped an arm around his waist, putting my shoulder under his, and when he tried to protest, pulling back weakly, I tightened my grip. Soon he relented and allowed me to help him walk carefully towards his room. God, he was heavier than he looked, but I was able to look past my own discomfort to help him. He had lost a lot of blood, and the further we walked, the more weight he put on me to carry. I kicked open his door, and had to half drag, half carry him to the large four poster bed in the middle of the room. I had never been in his room before but didn’t stop to look at my surroundings. He was hurt. I had to help him. I carefully helped him lie down on the bed and moved his arm gingerly. I touched his waist, the area he had been covering so protectively, and my hand came back dripping red. He was bleeding. A lot. I quickly left his room and came back with a bowl of hot water and clean towels, flicking on the lights to help me see. I sat down beside him and began to unfasten his clothing, but one of his hands reached up and grabbed mine. “Veronica,” his voice was raw with pain and weak with loss of blood, “please… I can… I will… take care of it.” I gently but firmly pushed his hands away and continued working on his vest. I knew he didn’t want me to see his skin, but now was not the time to be shy. He hardly had the strength to speak, how could he take care of himself in this state? I couldn’t just step aside and leave him like this. I pushed open his vest and began to unbutton his shirt swiftly. This time, when his hands stopped mine, they were stronger and more forceful. But his voice was weaker, his breathing shallow with pain. “Please…” I again pushed his hands away, and continued to unbutton his shirt. He couldn’t protest again. He had lost too much blood. And I think he realized now was not the time to argue with me. Once I finally had all of the buttons undone, I opened his shirt carefully, trying to gently pull the fabric off of the wound without causing him pain. This was my first view of his scar covered chest, but I was more focused on the most recent wound. A bullet wound. I felt my heart clench in pain and let out a small hiss of worry. I quickly pulled off his gloves without any more protests from the hurt man, throwing them to the ground, and carefully leaning him forward so I could pull off his shirts completely. They were literally soaked with blood, making a sick squishing sound when they landed on the ground. While I had him leaning up, I looked at his back and was grateful to see there was an exit wound as well. Good, that meant I didn’t have to dig out any thing. I don’t know if I could have handled that. I quickly but carefully cleaned up the blood from his back, gingerly patting the open wound clean. V hissed in pain, his hands gripping the bed to keep from yelling out. I bit my lip hard in concentration, trying to keep my emotions at bay, folding up one of the towels and covering the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. I carefully made him lie back down and began to work on the entrance wound. There was more blood on this side, and it was still oozing out with a vengeance. I cleaned it the best I could, wiping away all of the dried gore gingerly, the bowl of water turning an angry red. When all of the blood was gone, I placed another folded towel over the wound, and lifted his hands to hold it on. I quickly stood up, and turned to go find some real bandages when I felt a hand gripping mine. Flesh against flesh. “Please… don’t leave…” I looked down at him, his mask looking at me, that permanent smile almost looking like a grimace of pain. His whole body was tense, his breathing still ragged and shallow, and my heart wept for him. But I had to get him bandages. I tried to make him let go, but he didn’t relent, holding on to my hand with a strength that must have come from pure desperation. My heart felt like it would burst from all of the emotions I was feeling. Giving in, I moved to his other side, his uninjured side, and sat down carefully, trying not to move the bed too much. I held his hand, trying desperately to give him some comfort through that small touch, not knowing what to say in a situation like this. He gave a small cough and I grimaced at the pain it must have caused him. “Tell me… Tell me a story… Please… About… Anything…” I bit my lip hard, trying not to cry at the raw pain in his voice. I searched my mind desperately for a story, any story, something to comfort him with, but my mind was blank. I looked around desperately, searching for an idea, when my eyes fell on a colorful book on his dresser. It was the first Harry Potter book, the first book I had read when I came to the Gallery, the book that made my mom who she was. He seemed to live through my memories. My voice was soft and shook every now and then, but I tried my best to speak soothingly, to give him that comfort. I knew it didn’t really matter what I said, he just needed my voice. And I was willing to give him anything he needed. “Once, when I was about seven, my mom took me to a zoo. It was huge, filled with all kinds of animals. My favorite were the zebras, they were so different and beautiful. Have you ever seen a zebra?” I didn’t wait for an answer. “They’re like horses, except stripped white and black. I always loved them. I even asked my mom if I could have one and she had teased me saying most little girls asked for a normal pony, but no, I asked for a zebra, an exotic and unusual creature. “But while I was there, we were able to see the dolphins. I loved the dolphins, loved how playful they were, and when mom left me to get something to drink, I climbed up on the railing, trying to pet the beautiful creatures. One of them was so close, swimming up to me, splashing water at me, and I reached as far as I could. Then, next thing I knew, not only was I touching a dolphin, I was in the tank with the dolphin.” V chuckled softly, and I gave his hand a light squeeze. I continued with my story, telling him how I grabbed on to the dolphin and was pulled around in the water with it. I told him about how much fun it was and how the trainers had to forcibly pull me out of the tank. I also told him that when my mom came back, she started laughing, saying she had always wanted to swim with the dolphins and I had lived out one of her dreams. I kept going, telling him random stories from my childhood, mostly about my mother, some about my grandmother, until his breathing slowed down and evened out. I gave his hand another squeeze, but when I tried to get up to return to my room, he held on tightly in his sleep. I smiled down at our clasped hands, and suddenly it clicked in my head that V was half dressed. I looked over his scar covered chest, really looking at it, and resisted the urge to reach out and touch him, fearing I would wake him. Like his hands, it wasn’t that bad. He didn’t look like a monster. He was a man. A man with a past. A man who treated me better than I had ever been treated by another human being. Suddenly I let out a long and hard yawn. God, it was late. I carefully laid down, trying hard not to move the bed too much so it wouldn’t wake him. I kept my body facing towards him, our entwined fingers between our bodies. I ran my eyes over him and allowed myself a feeling of bliss that I was beside him, lying with him, and about to sleep with him. Even if he didn’t feel the same about me, and even if this was the only time we would sleep like this, at least I had this memory. Another precious memory of him. As sleep began to overtake me, I smiled softly at the man sleeping beside me. It was official… …I was in love. |
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