“I’ve shot a sick and desperate man today,” d’Artagnan
stated, gutted about his action when his sense of duty had to suppress his
human decency.
“Who wanted to kill the Queen,” Athos tried to lessen his feeling of guilt.
“Why do I feel like I’m fighting for the wrong side?”
His friend’s words and his stern and honest look left
Athos speechless. He couldn’t answer the question for if he had, he would have
had to agree with the young musketeer. They’d been fighting for the wrong side
too often, yet loyalty and oath they had sworn to the King bound them both with
what felt like chains around their feet sometimes.
Suddenly, something broke in Athos, understanding and
resignation dawning on his face.
“Most of the men you’re chasing aren’t
dangerous but desperate...”
He sighed and thought only for a few seconds before rising to his feet and
running out of the garrison.
“Where are you going?” d’Artagnan called after him but received no answer and
turned back to his wine and brooding.
Athos was running, as fast as the sword attached to
his belt allowed him, running through the late afternoon streets of Paris full
of people, its distinctive sounds and scents. Yet he didn’t notice any of them,
his mind filled with something that only a few days ago seemed too dangerous to
him. The sun was covering his back with a golden hue as he dived into the
refugee camp, having only one destination. The rock sitting on his chest was
getting heavier with each step closer to the end of his journey, a step closer
to her…
Finally, he ran up the wooden stairs leading to her
sparsely furnished room. His hands flew up to his forehead, in a sudden
confused and desperate gesture before he stopped at the doorway covered only by
long stripes of black fabric, gently moving in the breeze. Trying to catch his
breath, his brain was on fire, his eyes blinking in an attempt to steady
himself.
“I want to understand you, Athos… I want
to know who you are. I can’t do that if you’re not willing to try to know me…”
His eyes were burning; his throat was constricting;
the air seemed suddenly very thick, and he felt uncomfortably hot and trapped in
all the leather of his black musketeer attire. Athos put his gloved hands
together to his mouth, nervously playing with his fingers as if praying for a
miracle. In his hurry, he hadn’t thought about what he would tell her, how he would tell her, he just had to
see her otherwise he would have let his heart break from unbearable longing…
It had been a very long time since he had felt this
way, although there was a new element to it. This time, he wasn’t chasing a
memory, a wild and toxic memory about a passionate, mad love stained by
betrayal and total lack of trust. This time, he was chasing love in its purest
and most honest form, where trust was essential if there was to be any future
for its existence.
How could he had been such a hypocrite to have felt
betrayed by the lack of honesty from his ex-wife and yet not being honest to
the woman he loved now? How could he expect her to love and trust him without
knowing anything about him and refusing to learn more about her? She wasn’t
willing to be his love toy, not knowing it was the last thing he would ever
want her to be. His feelings ran much deeper than even he had admitted to
himself until the moment when he watched her walking away into the night, upset
and lost, walking away from him and his fear…
Something made him turn his head a little, and his peripheral
vision spotted a movement behind him. He turned around and for a moment forgot
to breathe.
Sylvie…
She was walking carefully in his direction, absent-mindedly
clutching a large clay bottle and a towel, her eyes fascinated by the sight of
him at her doorstep. Words had deserted her too, for her heartbeat accelerated
as she found it difficult to believe that he was truly there, that he had come
to her without any official reason after they parted their ways the last time.
Athos felt the hammering of his heart in his throat as
he made the first steps towards her. His look was pinned on hers, his breathing
becoming more shallow with each intake, the vulnerability, sheer despair, need and
love in his glistening eyes almost knocking the air out of her lungs. Still,
along with the yearning, there was also a question in her deep pools resembling
the darkest night. The musketeer’s own deep blue eyes were as expressive as
ever, speaking for him when words were nowhere to be found.
Dear God… How? How shall I tell you that
I do want to know you too? I want to
know you to the tips of your fingers, to the last thought you have before you
fall asleep, to the most intense passion with which you are determined to
change the world for the better, to the sweetest memory you hold dear, to the most
painful day you would rather erase from your mind forever…
I want so much, for both of us, and yet I’m terrified to face the abyss of
falling too deeply in love again, with the ever-present danger of being burned
to ashes all over… But I’m already lying to myself, for I am already in love with you so deeply, that if
it ran any deeper I would drown in my own desperate need of you…
Can’t you feel it? Can’t you feel how much I’ve missed you every time we see
each other again? The look in my eyes, the sound of my heart beating so loud it
deafens me, the way my body instinctively leans to yours… I miss the way your
eyes draw me into your soul, how your smile warms me all over, how your fingers
ever so gently and sensually run through the strands of my hair, how your voice
caresses and calms me, how your thoughts provoke and encourage me, insistently
drawing out the best of me, how your mouth slowly opens to mine and allows me
to connect with you in a way that makes me want to surrender my everything to
you…
They both took another step toward each other, the
distance between them almost non-existent now. Pulled like magnets, the
collision was inevitable. Just as the tension and longing on both sides became
heart-wrenching, with lightning speed, Athos’s hand cupped Sylvie’s cheek and
his mouth crushed on hers with the urgency of a water, food and sleep-deprived
man, begging for all nourishment at once. And yet, his kiss, despite being
thorough, was gentle and sweet, more reassuring than explorative. It told
Sylvie that it wasn’t the mere physical pleasure he was craving. His kiss spoke
of the three words floating across his mind like butterflies, flying around
without a set trajectory.
I love you… I love you…I… love… you…
And just as he had remembered and cherished it,
Sylvie’s hand went into his unruly waves of hair, dipping her fingers in it and
gently and deliciously slowly gliding down to his chest, stopping over his
heart. They finally and very slowly broke the kiss but didn’t pull back. Their
foreheads and noses were softly touching, their eyes taking in the miracle of
their nearness. Although they had been way more physical before, this had in
many ways the quality of the first kiss for them, fuelled by that powerful
emotion that even poets struggled to describe eloquently enough. A small
incredulous smile lit up Sylvie’s face, making her lovely features softer and
appear like a wondrous child. Athos finally dared to breathe again, releasing a
few sighs, mostly of relief, before his lips curled into a gentle smile too.
His body refused to part with her by even an inch, so his forehead still rested
on hers, and his arms held her securely in place against his chest.
“Athos…” she breathed, her hand climbing up again and
tenderly tracing his stubbly cheek.
“Forgive me… please…” he begged quietly, having finally found his words. “I
feel so much for you that it scares me…” he admitted with shame. “I do want to know you and I want to tell you everything… I want you to know
everything about me… I just need a little…time…”
The effort took all the energy out of him. Sylvie
smiled again, tracing his lips with her tender fingers.
“I’m not going anywhere…” she said quietly, warming a place deep inside him he
didn’t even know existed.
Her eyes blinked a few times before his lips couldn’t bear the tiny distance
between them anymore and descended upon hers again – this time hungrier, more
passionate, pouring all his body and soul into it. Sylvie’s hands travelled
into his hair again, pulling him even closer, although it was barely possible, for
their bodies might have as well melted into one.
Just hold me, Athos, don’t ever let me
go…
Finally, they broke the kiss to get some air, and
Athos held her tight, his head resting in the crook of her neck, feeling the
silkiness of her long, curly hair on his cheek. With every new breath he took,
he knew nothing would ever be the same. Sylvie had woken something in him which
lay dormant for too long, drawing something buried deep inside him, and he was
unwilling and helpless to push it back into the dark corner again. Only once in
his life had he thought his heart would burst from the overwhelming emotions
locked in it. He had never thought the feeling could ever be repeated, let
alone get any more intense.
And yet here he was, standing on the precipice of a
new dawn of his existence, in the arms of a woman who had managed to cut his
old wounds open – not to destroy him, but to heal him and bring him back to
life...
※※※※※
He who has felt the deepest grief is best able to experience supreme happiness.
- Alexandre Dumas -
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