Post by captain benjamin harland on Jan 11, 2012 2:42:01 GMT -5
Aíne did not have to be in his flat for Benjamin to feel her presence. The small butchers-block that served as his countertop was scrubbed clean; a small teacup with a yellow rose now rested alongside his dented tin mug in the cupboard. An occasion a bouquet of flowers would be arranged into a water pitcher because she couldn’t take them home. It didn’t matter how well they played house together, at the end of the day Aíne’s home was with someone else. Benjamin was merely a distraction.
His hands gripped the side of the washbasin as he stared at his reflection in the small speckled mirror that needed to be silvered. He was in love with a ghost. He could hold her; whisper promises to her, but in the morning she was gone once more, leaving him nothing more to hold than a dream. Even with that knowledge he could not let her go. All he could do was hold her tight in the moments that she was by his side. Only this morning she had laid curled beside him, her hair trailing across the crook of his arm. Benjamin hadn’t wanted to wake her. If he had been a painter he would have found some way to capture the gold the sun had spun into her hair, or the soft rose of her parted lips. Or if he were a poet he would have sought to express her beauty through words. Instead he was a mere soldier who memorized plans and manoeuvres. As he held Aíne in his arms he had memorized the soft dusting of freckles across her shoulders to the place where they were hidden by her hair. Benjamin was certain that he had never seen such simple beauty before. In those quiet moments with her nestled in his arms her beauty left him aching for no reason at all. Their love existed in a dream. Eventually one would wake and leave the other behind, waiting.
A sigh curved itself upon his lips as he reached for the small bar of shaving soap that rested in a chipped porcelain bowl on a shelf above the sink. With practiced movements he chipped off a few slivers of soap and added a small amount of water before working it into a thick lather with the brush. It amazed him how the mundane tasks of everyday seemed new since his secrets had been laid bare before Aíne. He felt nearly buoyant since he had confessed his love to her. He only hoped that she felt the same.
Their interludes cost her more than him. While he knew she was following her heart, being with him meant that she had to forsake her wedding vows. It didn’t matter that Danny was nothing more than a shell of who he had once been, his heart still beat, and breath still filled his lungs. As such Aíne was bound to Danny; Benjamin was a mere intruder. But he could not bring himself to give her up.
A loud, insistent banging at the door broke his concentration. Benjamin hissed in pain as the razor slipped, slicing a thin line across his cheek. “Cap’n Harland! Open up! Cap’n Harland, sir, please!”
“Just a moment,” he called, reaching for a threadbare flannel and pressing it to his cheek. His gait was still slow as he made his way to the front door, though most of the pain had subsided, returning like an unbidden visitor on damp days. The knocking persisted as he made his way down the narrow hallway to the front door causing his face to turn down in a scowl. He released the lock and pulled the door open to reveal a dishevelled woman he had never seen before. “Can I –”
“Are you Cap’n Harland?” she interrupted, her voice filled with breathless anxiety. “Yes, and you would be –”
“Maggie. Maggie Johnson. But that be of no matter. Ye need to come with me at once.” She reached for his arm, and Benjamin withdrew, taking a step back. “’S Danny. Imma neighbour o’ the Donoghue’s. E’s taken a bad turn. The screamings something terrible.”
Benjamin wasted no time as he followed the strange woman into the street. It wasn’t a matter of following his heart but returning to it.
