Love's Forbidden Flower (34 page)

With my mind claiming it’s ready for anything I enter the kitchen—but I get far more than expected. My eternally immaculate galley resembles the inside of a small ship tossed about at sea. Upon seeing me, the frazzled captain races to pour coffee and hands it to me gallantly. “Good morning, luv! I’m sorry to turn your kitchen all pear-shaped,” Christopher says while scratching his head and looking around at the disaster he's created. “But I could tell you were about to wake. I knew you'd be famished.”

“How did you know I was about to wake? It’s 3 A.M.”

His head dips and he looks to his shoes, just like the day we met. “Well, I don’t know if I should've done this, but when I helped you onto the bed you held onto me shirt and kind of tugged so I curled next to you. Just before you wake you used to always put your head in the crease of me neck and start nuzzling. As much as I was rather enjoying it, I—” He stops to observe my clasped lips as I slip my hand over my mouth. “Oh, bloody hell! Your stomach was making an awful racket! When’s the last time you ate?”

The animated bouncing of his disheveled hair pushes my chuckle forth and propels my arms around him. Dawn has broken after the apocalypse. “Hi Christopher. It's been such a long time.”

“How are ya, luv?”

“So much better now. I can’t believe you're here.”

“Oh, stop crying. Now you got me started.” Christopher pulls away and looks over the room, keeping his face from view. “Bloody mess I've made, eh? Sorry. I tried to make you breakfast but some boiled eggs are the best I could do. How do you live with no food in the house?”

My eyes close, as if trying to block out the memory. “I tried to go shopping a few nights ago, but I ran into some bad luck.”

Christopher’s eyes scrunch as he turns to the ground. “I’m sorry, luv. I forgot that.”

“It’s fine. Let’s get these eggs in our stomachs then find a place to eat. I feel a little weak.”

“Everything feels like it's going to make me sick.”

“Here, drink more water,” he says, again handing me a glass. “If you get sick you get sick, but you need water and a little more food in you.”

“Don’t say food.” My moan sounds as abrasive as sandpaper on cement. “Talk to me about something to help me get my mind off of how I'm feeling.”

Christopher has no idea where to begin as he's rapidly finding many subjects are off limits for evasive reasons. “All right, how's your job?”

“I quit yesterday. When I called out for a few days, they weren't too appreciative even though they knew the messed up reason. Since I need out of this place immediately, I bailed.”

My dizzy head raises just enough to see Christopher briefly before needing to crash down again. “Christopher, how is it that you're here?” Quickly I squeeze his hand realizing how harsh the words sounded. “That came out wrong. What I meant was, what about school, and how did you get here so quickly? Every time I looked at flights to you it would've taken so much longer.”

The face of concern held since his arrival now glows like a small child after his first lick of ice cream. “I went to the airport and flew directly.” His attention turns to the glass of water, trying to give it to me while anticipating the desire to avoid the next question.

“There are no direct flights to Syracuse from Manchester.”

I watch every bit of his squirming reaction while his answer blurts as if he’s shamefully caught red handed. “There are if you have access to a private plane.”

“You have a plane?” After jerking up too quickly my skull falls back down with a groan.

His sinking head confesses as if he is a pacifist who has committed murder. “No, me dad’s company does. I had his secretary arrange the flight and asked the butler to pack my essentials. I’ve never done any of the like before. I don’t feel very comfortable talking about these things, but I’ll tell you. I should've told you so many things yonks ago.”

“You have a butler!” If the next thing he says is that he has a den of exotic animals, I’m deeming him delusional and putting him in the cell next to Donovan.

“Yes, Jeeves.” He bounces his head in jest, forcing my chuckle. “Actually it's Gerald, but we all joke and call him Jeeves. Nice chap, really. He's worked for us for donkey’s years.”

“I'm really glad you're here. I'm not in a good place now, but if you have the time to be here, I really hope you'll stay and give me a chance to get my head together so I can appreciate you.”

“I didn’t know if I should come, really. I'd been so upset for not coming when you first told me of Donovan's problem, but I was tied up with—Well, when you come right down to it I was just pissing around not knowing what I was doing.” His shoving motion attempts to discard frustration before his enigmatic smile flashes. “But I’m here now for as long as you want me to be.”

Allowing my muscles to relax, my focus alters to the remnants of my breakfast only to feel ill again. As painful as it is to let go, this disaster needs to be closed out so I can move on—quickly.

When the vomiting finally ceases, my Mancunian nurse practically drags me into bed. I just pray that soon he's not taking me to the hospital. Hopefully my stomach will retain the sleeping pills he claims the doctor gave him. They remind me of Grace's words stating he has his own problems. When this ordeal is done it will be my turn to play hero.

Blissfully the drugs knock me out cold.

Over fourteen hours later, just as I stir, Christopher walks into my room with a cup of hot coffee gripped in his hands.

“Did you—” I look to find the other side of the bed untouched. “How did you know I was about to wake? It's 2 A.M.”

“Well, usually after you get done nuzzling me neck you let out a very specific little moan and stretch a bit, meaning you’re just about to open your eyes. I slept on the sofa outside your door and heard you, so I ran and got the coffee. I hope you don’t mind me coming in.”

The warmth of the steaming cup in my hands is no match to that of the man who took a private plane over 3,000 miles to get to me as quickly as possible. For the first time it hits me that he's really here, and I remember the effervescent joy he brings. I'm truly blessed that he ever graced my life. “I can’t believe you noticed something like that.”

The luminosity of his heart shows he has missed me too. “Come on, luv. Let’s get you some brekky then attack that room. You’ve got big things ahead of you.”

“I'll manage those.” Christopher claps his hands together and jumps to the task.

As the closet door flies open the blend of Donovan's musk and cologne rushes over me. The engulfing aroma pulls me close to him again, tempting me to mourn our loss. But the battle over tears is won as I choose to let this fragrance be a reminder of his strength, thus renewing my own.

Upon finishing the closet I scan the room, knowing it's empty sans two remaining posters and a few things in the desk. Christopher is meticulously respectful of Donovan's belongings, and the process is taking forever. Even if able, I wouldn't have the heart to tell him this stuff is all a joke.

While the packing of the desk is completed, Christopher approaches, fearing he is about to be the messenger of newfound misery. “Lilyanna, I discovered this just now. It was attached to the wall behind a poster.”

In Christopher's hand lies a sealed envelope with my name on it, causing the dizzy feeling of yesterday to return in full force. The earth’s rotation drags as I take the envelope and move to the living room sofa. The enclosed letter is dated this past January. Donovan must have stuck it to the wall as he decorated the room.

I fear that someday you will find this because if you do, it means you are cleaning out my belongings, and I finally snapped. I feel it coming. I know you're fighting to save me, but I may be too damaged by the hate of the others. None of this is your fault.

You have sacrificed too much loving me. Don’t try to fool yourself. You're making yourself ill, and you don’t see it. It's time you look out only for yourself.

Go make your dreams come true. I'm adding you to the signature cards on my bank accounts as soon as you move in just in case I do something to make you find this someday. Take that money and do great things. It's not much, but use it as seed money to start that bakery you always wanted. But before you do anything else, track down Christopher. Give him one last chance to be in your life. I don’t know if he's worthy, but I saw how much he loved you, and God knows you're still in love with him.

I love you. You really are my soul mate, and I've been a happier and stronger person because of you. All that is good in my life is because of you.

My trembling hand holds Donovan’s letter openly toward Christopher who watches over me from afar. “It’s all there. The abridged truth of everything that happened and him thinking that someday he'd kill himself. I need some air.”

The note lays open on the coffee table for Christopher to read at his own risk. If he deciphers the code and gets the real story, it will be because deep down inside he knows the truth and it's already too late.

The world seems grey again as reality is absorbed. Donovan was right. My sacrifices for him grew each day. For years I've given him so much love and understanding that it drained me. The overall situation has brought about my physical illness, leaving me nothing to heal with.

How do you move on when nothing of you remains but an empty shell? How do you begin filling again when you may have lost your desire to put in any love? I’ve longed for Christopher since he left, and now that he's finally by my side I'm closed off. It's more than mourning the loss of Donovan. I'm locking myself away.

When I muster the fortitude to return home, I find my car loaded and Christopher frenziedly packing the kitchen.

“All right, luv?” he rushes over to ask. Despite his racing heart, he seems overtly focused.

“Yes. All right?”

“No. I want you out of here. I'm taking Donovan’s things to the storage house down the road. When I come back we'll put your belongings in there as well. Have a suitcase packed with your essentials. We can buy anything you need along the way. We leave as soon we finish here.”

Christopher smacks the tape gun in his hand onto a moving box, grabs my car keys, and leaves me behind—stunned.