A Labour of Love: The Last Night

A Labour of Love
The Last Night

Her hand cushioned her cheek as she watched him sleep, her glistening emerald eyes studying his profile, painting a preserving mental image she willed never to forget. He looked so peaceful; content even, as he basked in his world of peaceful dreams. She wondered if he did dream where he was. She wondered if he dreamt of her.

Strands of glossy hair flicked endearingly over his closed lids and, propping herself up with one arm to sit, she gently brushed them back over the pale skin of his brow. Her hand lingered, weaving amidst the soft feel of his hair, and it was then the tears began to slip.

Externally, it was implacably quiet. Only her soft breaths sounded in the still air around. Within her mind, however, she spoke unending words of devotion. Words he would never hear. Her head was tilted towards him, dark hair cascading across her cheek and lightly caressing his chest.

She was calm, the mirror of tranquillity, though her emotionless tears seemed misplaced on her still, porcelain features. Slowly, her head lowered; green irises veiled by thick, dark lashes as her eyes closed. Her lips pressed softly to his, a final kiss; the penultimate testimony of her love.

Inside, her pulse raced wild and hot in her veins. The anticipation made her feverish, and yet she remained innocent of any wrongful action. It was he who had sinned; him.

She had seen them that night; a tangled mesh of skin, inebriated and senseless with a callous act of lust. It had burnt the last embers of her soul, watching her love with another. The glass protection of her fragile world was shattered, and the bleakness of her reality literally devoured at the vulnerable core remaining. She had become nothing.

Later, he had swept her unresponsive form into his arms with a flourish of apologetic affection and meaningless words.

I love you.

She had stared his sincerity in the face, and she had forgiven him.

Her head pulled back, eyes opening, sad and sorrowful. No guilt, no regret, but a hapless wish that things had been somehow different. Her hand trailed down his cheek, dipping with his neck and curving to his sticky chest, where it stopped.

Her forgiveness had had a price, conditions which had to be met. How could she trust him otherwise? Her fingers bathed in his crimson repentance, the seal of his faithful promise. He would never leave her, and she would be eternally at his side. No love was perfect, but theirs would be forever; immortalised in tales of love and romance. History smears the truth; not everything is as it seems.

She was already dead to the world; a poison of deceit to slow her heart and tempt her love to his death slowly faded from her blood. He had come; he had died, and now it was her turn; no pretending this time.

Together forever ...