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For a moment that felt like eternity, neither of us spoke. For eternity, we did not blink; we did not move; we did not think.
But eternity was too short, and Atticus got up.
Seconds later, the front door slammed against the wood frame and he was gone.
49
THAIS
I stared at the back of the door for fifteen minutes without moving. Perhaps I never blinked. Am I dead? Is this what death feels like? The world no longer spinning on its axis, no sound, no breeze, no movement, the complete and utter feeling of emptiness, blackness in the farthest reaches of my soul?
No—I was very much alive, I was sure of it, because I was also sure that in death there was no pain; there was no more sorrow or anguish or suffering. And in this moment, I felt every bit of what true pain felt like. Losing one’s soulmate, the fading heartbeat and ebbing pulse of true love, the one I was meant to go through life and into death with…that was true and unbridled pain in its purest form. And I could not bear it!
I fell to the floor and cried into my hands.
What have I done?
An hour passed into darkness—no Atticus. I remained on the floor.
Two hours passed into darkness—nothing. I picked myself up and went into the bedroom we shared, curled up on my side against the mattress we shared. I had cried so much I had no tears left. I had thought of Atticus so much that the image of his face left a scar in my memory. Was he coming back? Or was he gone forever?
Three hours passed into darkness.
Four hours. The moonlight was fading; a humid breeze blew in through the open window, but I took no comfort from it.
“Please come back…” I said softly as I lay staring at the starless sky.
I could not sleep, could not even close my eyes.
Then, nearly five hours later, I felt the heat from Atticus’ body atop mine.
“Atticus?” I whispered.
“Shh.” He dipped his head and touched his lips to mine.
My arms went around him; my tears returned; I cried against his mouth. “I’m sorry,” I said onto his lips. “I’m so sorry…”
“Shh,” he said once more and kissed me once more, and then lifted my dress over my head. “I don’t deserve you, but you mean everything to me”—he kissed me again: my lips, my throat, my breasts, and then back to my lips—“I would do anything for you, absolutely anything, and nothing you could ever do or say to me will ever change that.”
My heart ached…oh how my heart ached!
“Thais, I would stain the rivers red with the blood of a thousand men for you—I would do anything for you,” he repeated, and then kissed me hungrily.
I wound my fingers within his hair so tightly, afraid to let him go.
“But right now,” he whispered onto my mouth, “I’m going make love to you the way your first time should have been.”
I felt him press between my legs, and a hunger grew in my belly, and in my heart. He circled my left nipple with his tongue, then the right, tugged them gently with his teeth.
“Oh, Atticus, I—”
“Shh, love.”
“I can’t bear it, I…” I could not finish; his kiss stole the words from my lips.
“Atticus,” I said, and two tears tracked down my cheeks, “promise me you’ll never leave me again—promise me.”
He kissed away one tear, and then the other.
