@beforethescorpion ~ the thing we plotted 30 years ago today
Vanessa. Her name was something bitter, sweet, something that somehow became apart of his every day speech. Slipping into constant sentence. Each having their own weight, their own driving force. Like he no longer had any control of what he spoke of anymore. Since her arrival the whole household had been upset. No, not upset. Somewhat shaken, like he, himself was shaken. The letters his uncle had written him spoke of her as if she was unearthly, a creature unknown to men. And so it seemed to him when she stepped through that door all only a fortnight ago. It had been so short and yet so long.
She was, as a woman, a creature unknown to a man such as himself. He kept to family business strictly, not allowing himself any sort of distractions. After His uncle’s untimely death he was set up as head of the house. It had been as such since the day he turned 13. His uncle was always distant from the lot of them, always ready to leave. And so he had when he had gotten ill and he had met Vanessa. Their cousin. His parents, god rest their souls, had never mentioned outside family before. They had never mentioned anyone. Here was the world they lived in, this vast estate with very little company but him, his sister, and their parents until their death brought his uncle to care for them. Rebekah was hard to understand and distant, as if she were unhappy in her station here. Talking as if she belonged out in the world with men. Women, an unfathomable mystery. When his uncle was alive they found themselves at a loss when it came to the girl.
He had thought that he would be in a position that left him removed from the house more often than not. Which made Vanessa’s presence there more welcomed, did it not? His little sister needed someone to look up to, to quiet her mind with the ideals of what a lady is supposed to be. And yet Vanessa had not been what he had anticipated. He had found himself more at home of late, telling himself that being the man of the house required him to make her feel more at ease. To make her feel at home.
His gestures though are not altogether unanswered. But simply acknowledged with a cool gratitude that was nearly enough to drive him mad. He had had the house brightened on her account, the garden more tended to, she did not go with any needs or even in the most simple word of wants either. And yet he found himself more and more distanced from her. Or perhaps he was imaging it all. She was here, not pushing him away or rejecting his obvious affections. Still she leaves him somewhat shaken.
Now he moves to knock on her bedroom door. Supper has long since been over. The servants and his sister retired to their rooms. And he stands there, inappropriately he’s sure, with a gift for her. His mind is far too clouded to think of principal though. And he awaits her opening the door, imaging a warm smile, a bashful invite. He imagines her resting back against them and his hand lost in her hair, spending the night together in a perfect and calm quiet conversation. He imagines a great deal since her arrival. He had always deemed himself a sensible man. And yet here he is, almost foolishly, as if he were but a boy. Unearthly creatures though and how they invoke the most unpredictable things. He would not wish it to be any other way. When the door opens he hardly gives her a moment of reaction. He presses with one foot forward like his right to enter the bedroom. He is man of the house, his uncle left the deed to his name, had he not? “Just a moment, please?” Regardless of whatever assertion of power though he finds himself with the tail end of a plea in his tone.
