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I never heard the familiar sound of springs creaking in the sofa, or the rustling of Atticus’ heavy body moving against the cushions. I wondered what he was doing; I imagined him standing in the living room, staring intensely at something, but seeing absolutely nothing. I wanted to cry, but more than that, I wanted him to lie next to me so I could allow him to cry.
I got up and went slowly down the hallway.
I had been right—Atticus stood in the center of the room, staring intensely at seemingly nothing; the outline of his tall form loomed in the darkness, silhouetted by the borrowed moonlight pouring dimly in through the windows.
“Atticus?” I spoke softly from behind.
He did not move and no answer came.
His back was bare—I glimpsed his shirt on the floor—and as I drew closer, as I felt the heat emanating from his skin, even in the summer heat it only made me want to touch him. And so I did, first with my hand where I pressed it against his back, then with the side of my cheek as I rest my head where my hand had been, absorbing his warmth.
“Thais,” he said without moving, “go to bed. I’ll be sleeping on the sofa from now on.”
I shook my head lightly against his spine. “No,” I whispered, “I won’t sleep without you—I can’t sleep without you. I only feel safe with you next to me.”
“Well, you shouldn’t.”
“But I do.”
“Thais, go to bed.”
With my cheek still against his back, his heartbeat thrumming in my ear, I drew my arms around his waist and enclosed my fingers. I felt his shoulders rise and fall, and then his large hands touching my small ones, carefully pulling them apart.
I let him reject me; my hands fell to my sides, but my cheek remained on his hot skin.
“Thais—”
“If you won’t sleep in the bed with me,” I said, “then at least stay with me until I fall asleep.” That was not what I wanted, but I would’ve said anything to get him in the room with me, and then hope he would choose to stay.
Without another word, I left him standing in his grief, and I went back down the hallway toward the flickering light beckoning me from the bedroom.
I lay alone, until finally Atticus came into the room.
He wouldn’t look at me when he sat down on the edge of the mattress. He wouldn’t look at me when I raised my body from it, attentive to him. He wouldn’t look at me when I moved closer to sit beside him and swept my lips over his shoulder. And he wouldn’t look at me when I laid my head against his arm.
“Did you kill him?”
ATTICUS & (THAIS)
It was such a dark question coming from the kindest voice, I thought, and I closed my eyes.
“Yes,” I answered.
I felt her warm, wet tears moving down my arm.
I shuddered, forcing my own tears down. More than hating myself for killing another man, for killing that much more of myself, I never wanted to hurt Thais, or frighten her, or make her see me…as the person I was. But I wouldn’t lie to her. She deserved to know the man I was, even if it meant losing her.
“I’m sorry, Thais…I…” I couldn’t finish; the sound of her weeping tore me up inside and stole the words from my mouth.
I cupped her face in my hands, (and I looked into his eyes brimmed with moisture. I felt him trembling. Candlelight gave soft color to his features, made his harsh eyes more intense; the hair that grew on his face, darker.)
“I’m so sorry…please don’t cry…” I said; I couldn’t hold the tears back anymore.
“Oh, Atticus,” she said with emotion, shaking her head within my trembling hands. “Atticus…you don’t understand, do you?” She reached up and cupped my face as I was doing to hers. “I’m not crying for that man…I’m crying for you. My heart is breaking for you.”
I let out a choking shudder.
THAIS
