Hi! As for today, we kicked Czechs' asses in ice hockey WC. Keep your fingers crossed during the match with Russia! GO SLOVAKIA!
I'm really sorry for the delay; me and EF had encountered some technical dificulties. I'm lazy, so no further explanation to the chapter. I just have to shamelessly announce that I'm getting more into writing with each chapter. I hope it's visible. Oh, yeah, by the way, the story is finally set into some actual location:
Northampton, UK. You can google
Delapré, there are really nice photos of abbey, lake and park, and there are even riding stables near... perfect place.
This chapter deals with life's bipolarities and contrasts, also follows the image of pain from 'Fragile'. I hope you'll see it.
Chapter Six:
First day of sun
Dead.The sharp fangs of this word clenched around Willow, around her body, around her very soul and she felt a lump forming in her throat.
(What happened to her? TELL ME!
She's dead. I'm sorry.)"I'm sorry." Willow whispered hoarsely, the memory flowing from her mouth. The long-forgotten thorn stuck in her insides let her know of its presence. Again. It didn't hurt though, it numbed her. It was a natural defensive reaction she had adopted long ago.
She died. She paid her debt to nature. She is not breathing anymore, her heart stopped, her warm cheek is now ice cold. She would never see the stars again.
And so did he. He would never have a family of his own. He would never be an uncle to Tara's children. He would never see the stars again.
Everything dies. She turned away from Tara and her gaze fell on the photo. He was so beautiful, young, full of life. Happy. So real, so alive.
(Some of the stars we're looking at don't even exist anymore. In the time that it takes for their light to reach us, they've died.)At least they were happy now, weren't they?
Willow brought her hand up and ran her fingertips over the cold glass of the framed photograph. Cold, sardonically accenting the fact Donny was dead. She felt Tara's eyes on her, watching her, pleading and bitter. Her gaze still pinned on the crimson cheeks and toothy grin of the boy, she asked quietly. "How?"
When we're looking at the stars, we're looking into the past.There was a heavy silence for a while, and then Tara replied blankly, as if from afar. "Murdered."
Willow felt herself stiffen, her hand fell down from the
(ice-cold, as death itself) frame. Her entire being screamed in disapproval, cursing mankind, damning the violence. She bit hard on her bottom lip trying to contain herself, to ground herself with the awareness of physical pain, and the ferric taste of blood calmed her down a bit. How was that even possible? Little Donny... who could raise a hand to him? Who could hurt a child?
"Bastard!" Willow hissed through clenched teeth. She finally turned to face Tara, her gaze instantly delving into her
(ocean blue, raging thunderstorm) eyes filled with myriad of emotions and Willow released the breath she hadn't realised she was holding, letting go her anger.
She wasn't the one who should be feeling like this. She wanted to know who had stolen the light from Tara's brother, burying his future with a careless wave of a hand, she wanted to know it all, but she didn't want to make Tara relive it. Again.
So Willow walked over to her, stopping merely feet away and breathed deeply in, filling the numb emptiness with Tara's scent, the scent of celestial clarity, before smiling warmly and uttering. "Did you like your breakfast?"
She was still amazed how Tara's uneasiness made her own disappear in an attempt to comfort her. Just a minutes ago she had fled from Tara's room, to hide her embarrassment, to hide her longing and now she was almost confidently looking Tara in the eyes and smiling, seeing the demons therein being shrouded by something new, something sparkling.
And then Tara smiled back at her, a silent thank-you, the shadows of regret and anger disappearing entirely from her eyes, as her smile irradiated them. "Uhm. How did you know honey is my favourite?" she asked, a playful spark in her eyes.
"You smell like it." Willow mumbled in a response while averting her gaze, as sensing Tara regaining her composure made her feel shy again. "So I just supposed you would like it. You know, it's logical, isn't it?"
Tara giggled, a bit embarrassed, then shot her a very serious look. "And how exactly did you find out I drink coffee,
Doctor Rosenberg?"
Willow blushed, her mind suddenly flooded with fantasies of Tara and coffee, and her mouth, and her lips, and her teeth, and her tongue -
bitter, vigorous, passionate. Just like coffee. "Um. I-I. It was certainly a very complicated research. I'm not sure I can share the... research methods." Willow replied, sounding equally serious, amazed by her ability to form words in such a state.
She looked at the photo again, at the cold face of Tara's past, aware of her piercing eyes watching her. Willow couldn't help but feel compassion for them, to all those happy faces, fading away in time, in pain, in loss. She looked at the face of Mrs. Maclay and wondered how it was for her, to lose a child, a child carried in her womb for months, a child bought with her pain, screams and motherly love. She couldn't even imagine the pain Elizabeth must have gone through then. And she didn't
want to have an idea, for she was afraid it would be far worse than her imagination.
Willow didn't want to be in the heavy grasp of the house anymore, the coldness, silence and emptiness reminding her of death. It was all around her, chewing her up, stabbing her with painful memories. She desperately needed to feel life, to feel alive. "Can we go out? For a walk? I think I need... something green."
Alive. A bit of oxygen? Warm sun? Flowers and trees? Kisses and gay-love? "Sure. There's a park near our house." Tara paused, apparently considering something. "Have you got a swimsuit?"
Willow's surprise overtook her other thoughts as she blurted out. "A swimsuit? I do but... You mean
outdoor swimming?" Tara nodded and Willow's eyes widened. "In
England? I know that it's August but... how many degrees Celsius would it be? Maybe 22? I mean, now, in the morning? And-and the water? Brrrrr." she grinned.
Tara nodded and dropped her gaze. "Yes, sorry, I forgot… So no swimming." She immediately brought her eyes back at Willow and smiled shyly, as if to apologise.
And then something in Willow's mind clicked as it automatically created and solved the equation. No swimming?
I don't get to see Tara in the swimsuit! She immediately changed her mind. Nothing would feel more alive than Tara's almost naked body, the water-drops left reflecting the light and glistening. And cold water wasn't that bad, after all. Willow imagined how she'd shiver and chatter her teeth, and then the moment she'd emerge from the cold water, her skin would gratefully accept even the caress of cool English air, making it feel much warmer than it actually was. Nobody ever hardened themselves with warm water.
"Um, actually, I think... swimming would be... cool." Willow smiled and bit her tongue, looking at Tara with hopeful eyes.
"Perfect!" Tara beamed and Willow felt her knees weakening under the weight of Tara's breathtakingly beautiful eyes. The storm in them was gone, leaving even a bluer sky than before.
***
As they left the house, Willow inhaled the damp air deeply, the smell of the morning dew still lingering in it. Tara was smiling, happily setting her face against the sunlight, revelling in the sensation.
“You know, it's been raining a lot lately. This is the first time the sun has shone in, like,
weeks!” she laughed and Willow was mesmerised by both the sight and the sound.
You have no idea, Tara. It was perfectly fitting. This was the first time the sun had shone so strong, so bright, on Willow, the rays penetrating her skin, her body, reaching her very soul. The sun seamed to shine so close to her that she could feel the heat emanating from it, yet she was oblivious to that.
It’s better to burn out than to fade away. The happiness in Tara’s voice and eyes made her feel a bit high and careless, and she started to hum softly some unknown melody, hoping that this moment would last forever.
And as she saw Tara looking at her, she smiled widely, reached out with her hand and gently stroked Tara’s forearm. The touch lasted only a moment, yet Willow felt the contact sending chills running down her spine. Tara was a bit surprised, but her expression reflected nothing but the same beaming joy as before. When Willow noticed that, she felt as if the whole world was spinning. Here, in the sunlight, with Tara and being able to touch her, she felt beautiful and alive. She smugly pinned her gaze in front, leaving Tara wondering why she had touched her. And then she let out a laugh.
“What’s so funny?” the blonde girl asked curiously as they were nearing the crossroads.
“You English! You drive on the left side of the road!” and with that Willow burst out in another series of giggles.
“Indeed. We do. And that’s funny because…?” Tara teased.
“Because I think it is. Period.” Willow pouted playfully, crossing her arms.
"Silly." Tara chuckled, but then suddenly became serious. “Will, you should be aware of it.. You know, while crossing the road?”
Willow’s insides clenched and she felt proud of being worthy of Tara’s concern. The tone of her voice was so sensitive and so caring, just like the sunlight. “Of course I will be.” Willow replied gently, before grinning again. “You better not leave me alone.”
“I won’t.” Tara shot her a sincere smile.
“Promise?” Willow asked, looking at Tara, who stopped abruptly.
“Willow!” Tara grasped her hand and pulled her back, and only then did Willow realise that she had nearly stepped into the path of a car. “Oops.” She shrugged and chuckled.
“So funny.” Tara deadpanned.
Willow slowly become aware of Tara’s slender hand still holding her own, and she squeezed it lightly, while dropping her head. “I’m sorry Tara, I didn’t… thanks.”
“It’s OK.” Tara’s expression softened as she returned the gesture and let go of Willow’s hand. “I just… I don’t want you to get h-hurt.” She sighed.
Willow immediately decided she was going to be more responsible, if only for
(my sun, my earth, my everything, my) Tara. She smiled in response and waited for the road to be clear before crossing. “See? I did it!” she exclaimed enthusiastically as she reached the other side and winked at the blonde girl.
On the left side of the newly visible landscape a small red cottage, partially hidden in trees, came into view and Willow heard Tara explaining:
“It’s the Gatekeeper’s cottage. Delapré used to be a monastery, I think.” She paused, then continued. “We don’t have to go by the main road though, there are.. too many people and
cars,” she gave Willow a meaningful look, “so we could maybe go to the Abbey through the park, but it’s up to you.”
“Lead the way.”
As they both emerged from the shadows of the high trees, the sun again nuzzled their cheeks with its rays and Tara sighed happily.
What other noises could she make? What would her lips taste like?Willow felt like running. And jumping, and laughing, and wallowing in the grass and
kissing Tara’s neck. The meadow was just gorgeous; the grass danced with the cadence of the gentle breeze, swinging it with its breath, the breath of nature. A few oak trees, standing alone and casting shadows onto the warming ground, were preventing the sun from bringing everything under its reign. The light couldn’t exist without darkness; how could one tell the difference, then?
The cool damp morning air seemed to grow even more alive as it hit Willow’s eager lungs.
Donny would never breathe this air again.She shook her head, as if she could get the thoughts of Tara’s brother away from it with that simple movement. And then she looked at Tara, her face bathed in sunlight, her hair glowing and streaming behind her, the picture of life and beauty. Life couldn’t exist without death; how could one tell the difference then?
Her heart started to pound faster, as if to underline the fact that it was still beating
(for Tara), as she finally accepted the fact. Death makes an artist. Donny will be remembered. Donny will be immortal.
Willow wanted Tara to hold her, to teach her passion, to make her feel alive, to break her shell. And then she could happily die, for she would have known what love is. Love was her chance for immortality, for being an ever-blooming flower, never forgotten, never withering. Would Tara ever wither? She was so alive, so bright, so young… Young couldn’t exist without old; how could one tell the difference then?
The cool English air wouldn’t feel like a warm breeze on her skin if not for the coldness of the water she’d emerge from. The first day of sun after the long weeks of rain seemed much more passionate and bright, than the equally sunny day after the weeks of sunlight. The first day of sun, mending Willow, reminding her, grounding her and bringing her to a realisation bright as the sun itself - everything adverse is for good. She felt it all slide away from her shoulders. Fear, insecurity, doubts.
“Tara?” she whispered, overwhelmed by her breakthrough.
The blonde looked at her, her eyes whispering and waiting,
(her lips inviting and pleading.)“This is the best day of my life.” Willow breathed out.
So far. She was sure that in the days she would spend with this wonderful girl, there’d be plenty that would be even better. She couldn’t imagine it though.
“Really?” Tara asked, surprise written on her face.
“Yes. It’s the first day of sun.” Willow smiled, saving the deep meaning for herself.
“I’m glad you like it here.” Tara said, bowing her head.
“Dear temporary sis’, I would like it
anywhere with you.” Willow said seriously, then sneaked her hand into Tara’s and swayed them playfully.
“Me too.” Tara replied sheepishly, but smiling nevertheless.
And Willow beamed at her, sticking her tongue out a bit, the joy from the perfect moment once again overcoming her own shyness. Tara laughed melodically, her voice like a gentle ringing of lilies and Willow stroked her hand with her thumb, wishing she could imprint this one moment into her memory forever, the moment of carelessness and joy, the moment of undefiled innocence, the moment of sunlight, the moment of Tara. The moment of perfection.
Perfection born from pain and numbness.
The sun hovered over them, blessing them with its rays, the same rays that grazed upon the head of a man on the other side of the country. His piercingly cold blue eyes closed from the sudden brightness, his pupils narrowing from the excessive light. It was the first day of sun.
To be continued with Chapter Seven: Swanheart