Part Two
Part Three
Henry opened his eyes slowly from his fitful sleep. He had been having dreams that left him unsettled, but he had forgotten what they were about.
He felt a hand, something cool pressing down on his forehead. He lifted his hand slowly to feel the other person’s hand, hearing their soft cooing “Shuh”, and the coolness blotting his forehead on the sides. He turned towards the source of the voice, and could make out her outline vaguely. Emma was with him. He smiled tiredly, and touched her hand that was on his forehead with both his, feeling instantly better.
He had a fever, and it was being as stubborn as he was a patent. He knew he had caught it from Emma, but didn’t care. He had helped her through her sickness, and made her feel better, so he didn’t care as long as she was happy. When she was happy, he was happy. If she was to be happy, he would be happy. That’s all that mattered.
He closed his eyes sighing happily, and content. She was there, and he was feeling better. A little anyway.
It had been two days since she had left his home for hers, and he immediately took to the guest room to be sick himself. He had gone against his own advice, and tried to do some work, but he was tired and so fell asleep periodically, waking only to eat and use the restroom. What she was doing back at his house, he had no idea, but he would find soon enough. He could wait.
“I’ve died then.” He said breathing deeply opening his eyes and looking at her blurred figure, “For I see an angel of mercy at my bedside.”
“If you didn’t already look it, Henry Tate,” Emma said with a hint of annoyance, “I’d kill you myself for becoming sicker than you led me to believe when I left.”
“Ah,” Henry said letting go of her arm and letting his head fall deeper into his pillows, “An angel of a merciful death I see.”
“Henry…” she said twitching her hand that was on the side of his face with a wet cloth.
Her voice had a hint of worry in it. She didn’t need to be, he was just sick. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes again. He was so tired. He felt Emma’s hand leave his face, and felt alone all of a sudden. He opened his eyes worried she might be leaving and reached for her arm where he had felt it before.
“No.” he said pleadingly, “Don’t leave me…”
It wasn’t that he was afraid; he just didn’t want to be alone at the moment. He wanted the feel of her near him: It made him feel like he could do anything.
“I’m not leaving you.” Her voice said softly. He felt her move the cloth away from the arm he clung too, and then felt her move her hand into his. “I’m right here till you go back to sleep.”
He heard her shift her weight. How she was sitting, he did not know, but he knew she was lower than the bed at the moment, her head near his. He closed his eyes and relaxed, breathing out. He was so tired, so physically exhausted. But Emma, she made him feel like he could conquer the world just by holding his hand.
ஜ♥ღ♥ஜ♥ஜ♥ღ♥ღ♥ஜ♥ღ♥ஜ
As she heard the even, labored breathing of Henry, Emma felt her face pull back into one of sadness, perhaps sympathy? She sighed as she closed her eyes, placing her hands in her lap as she sat next to the bed on a large pillow she had found on an exploration of the house. She felt the sadness she knew when she was around Henry, that he made her feel. It wasn’t like it was a “bad” sadness, but one she wanted to make better by being there for him.
The stupid man had gone and caught her cold. She didn’t like the fact she gave it to him, but he didn’t seem to care. Why wasn’t he harping on that? She scrunched up her face and brushed the unpleasant thought out of her head. She looked back at Henry, and smiled a little.
He looked wildly different than the man she had come to know. His hair was messy, his face unshaven and unwashed. She smiled brighter at the feel of the bristles when she had touched his face just now, something she didn’t necessarily like on a man, but on Henry it pleased her for some reason. Without his glasses, he looked less scholarly, stupid man looked like a nerd… she liked that about him too… something else she didn’t really like about other men that suited him well.
She then thought about him wearing a goatee. She smiled warmly at the thought, and as she imagined him with one, she felt more attracted to him.
The sudden feeling scared her. She slowly got up. She looked down at Henry alarmed, as if the sleeping person could harm her. She felt her heart pounding in her chest, just looking at him made her happy.
She shook her head and left the room rather quickly. This man was dangerous in his own way, she was prone to doing stupid things around him, something she thought she wasn’t prone to do, something she thought she had curbed.
She went out to the steps and saw the pictures he had selected to leave of himself and Rachel in the collage picture frames. Some had Kenna as a new born too. She smiled at those. The little brat was growing on her a little. He loved her a lot. But those pictures of him with Rachel… he looked as happy as he did when he looked at her.
She sighed and sat on the steps. He knew he loved her as much as he had once loved Rachel… He’d always said as much to her, and she knew now he had no reason to lie to her… She sighed deeply again and looked off towards the downstairs wall that separated the stairs going into the den and lower rooms, from the kitchen, and from there, the living room, and blocked it from the main drawing room’s view.
He lived in another world, she thought when she looked at the “Drawing Room” from the little bit of steps that she could see the place from. It was just a room with chairs to sit in as far as she was concerned…. Why would he call it that? She bit her bottom lip as she caught herself about to explain why she would call it that if Henry did. She would never, ever utter that word again… At least not to a man who could hurt her still.
She sighed and placed her eyes into her hands, and thought she was about to cry.
“Ms. Emma?” she heard Luisa’s voice say, “Are you all right?”
Emma looked up and saw Luisa on the bottom of the steps with fresh, folded laundry. Towels by the looks of it. Emma just looked at the confused woman for a moment, loving the smell of Henry that they gave off. It was just one of the smells he carried…
Emma shook her head, got up as fast as she could and went quickly, if not running, to her room, the Master Bedroom, locking the door behind her.
She flung herself onto the bed and sobbed into the pillows, not caring. She was not about to say that word along with Henry’s name in the same sentence. Men and that word to her were like vinegar and oil. They never mixed.
She felt a brush of something on her head, and looked up seeing Charlotte there. She was purring, and laying down next to Emma’s head as if she were protecting her as well as offering comfort. Just like LB would have done had he been in the house too.
Emma stroked the cat’s fur, the cat cupping her head into Emma’s hand. She felt a little better. It was like having Henry there, but not: to just be there.
Annoying man.
She smiled at the cat sadly and put her face halfway back into the pillow.
“What am I to do Charlotte? What am I to do?”
