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He holds up his hands like he's approaching a wild animal, and I get the urge to snap my teeth at him in an effort to scare him away.
Sometimes I do feel that my humanity is hanging by a thread after everything that I've been through.
"The last thing I would ever think of you is that you're someone's charity case," he says softly, still holding his hands up. "And we need to clear something up right now if we're going to continue this relationship."
I open my mouth to object vehemently to his characterization of us, seeing as how we barely know each other, but I'm stopped when he places his finger lightly on my lips to quiet me.
"What we need to clear up is the idea that any of those lovely ladies are charity cases. Out of everyone in this place, they are the only ones who treat me like I'm more than a lowly blacksmith or a piece of meat. They are my friends, and it is beneath you to think of them in such a way."
A rush of shame breaks over me as I see the disappointment in his eyes. I'm not sure why I care, but for some reason I'm having a difficult time with the look that he's giving me.
Not trusting myself to speak, I nod in what I hope looks like a humble way.
He visibly brightens.
"Now that we have that over with, would you accompany me for a walk?" he asks me, making my head spin with his change in subject.
"Um, right now?" I ask dumbly.
"No better time," he tells me.
"I was just on my way home," I respond.
"Then I'll walk you there," he says, smiling widely at the fact that he's countered my grand excuse.
As I stare at him, it feels like something moves between us, almost as if I should reach out and try to grab the air surrounding our bodies-like perhaps my hand would come back holding something tangible, something comforting and delicate.
I rip my eyes away from his. Feeling resigned that he's not going to go away, and knowing that the idiot inside of me doesn't want him to go away, I gingerly link my arm through his.
As we walk, he points out random things. Things that I've never bothered to notice, like the color of a tin roof in the falling light, or the interesting shape of a cloud passing by in the sky.
I find myself examining Gabriel, trying to figure out what's different about him. He meanders through town, saying hello to people as we pass by. There's no tension in his step. He seems at peace with himself, and the world around him. It's kind of a beautiful thing to behold.
My soul, in contrast, is constantly raging, desperate to find its identity among the ruin of its past. Walking next to him, listening to him tell funny stories about the townspeople, I feel settled, grounded in the present for once.
I've never been attracted to someone like Gabriel before. He lacks the intensity that I've always looked for in the past.
But maybe it makes sense that I'm attracted to something different. After all, I'm not the same girl that I used to be.
I miss her though. I miss my old self. I miss the easy way she laughed, the easy way she loved. I wonder if Gabriel would have liked her better than the quiet, empty shell I had become.
"So, what do you think about tomorrow?" I hear Gabriel say, and I realize that I missed the whole last part of what he was telling me.
I smile sheepishly at him. "Sorry, what were you saying?" I ask.
"I was telling you I have something I want to show you tomorrow," he says, looking amused somehow at the fact that I wasn't paying attention to him.
I'm flustered standing there in front of the Smiths' walkway. It's been forever since a man asked me to do something, let alone a man who I was possibly interested in. And it would be good to get out of the house, just for a little while…
"Ok," I tell him shyly.
He flashes me a bright smile that feels so reassuring that it instantly settles my rolling stomach.
As I watch him stroll away, whistling some song that I've never heard, the strangest feeling of loss washes over me as he crosses the street and disappears from sight. I stand there for several minutes more, wondering what it is that makes him so different.
Gabriel Williams
I wake up in the middle of the night, sick to my stomach with grief from the nightmares that I never escape. I lean over the chamber pot in my room, tears swimming in my eyes. "Why?" I moan, full of self-pity, full of the pain and grief that I am forced to relive over and over again.
