Page 19 of B is for Beast of Dean

Heath

Aweek had passed since the day Alice found me in the ravine, and each day had brought her back to my cottage. What had begun as necessity had evolved into something far more precious. Companionship. Conversation. Moments of quiet intimacy that I treasured like jewels.

I was stronger now, able to move around the cottage without assistance, though I still tired easily and the wound in my side pulled with certain movements. Alice no longer needed to tend to me with such careful attention, yet she continued to come. Each morning I would listen for her footsteps on the forestpath, and each evening I would count the hours until I might see her again.

Today she had brought fresh bread from the farm's kitchen and wildflowers she had picked along the way. The cottage felt different with her small touches. The flowers sat in a clay cup on my table and the book of poems lay beside my bed with a place marker. Small signs that I was not alone. They sustained me as much as the sweet scent of her that lingered after she left.

"The bandage needs changing," she said, setting down her canvas bag. "How has the pain been?"

"Much better," I replied, settling onto the edge of my bed. "You've taken excellent care of me."

Alice's cheeks colored prettily at the compliment. Over the past week, I had grown addicted to those small signs of her pleasure. The way she smiled when I thanked her, the soft huff she made when something amused her, the unconscious way she touched my arm when making a point.

She gathered clean cloth and water. When she knelt beside the bed to examine my side, I caught that familiar scent of soap and something uniquely Alice that always made my chest tighten with longing.

"It's healing beautifully," she said, carefully peeling away the old bandage. "No sign of infection, and the edges are knitting together well."

Her fingers brushed the skin around the wound as she cleaned it, a touch meant to be clinical but which sent warmth shooting through me anyway. I had grown so accustomed to her care that I had forgotten how intimate it was. Her pale, delicate hands touching my body.

"There," she said, beginning to wrap the fresh bandage around my torso. "That should—"

Her words cut off as she leaned closer to secure the binding, one hand braced against my chest for balance. The position brought her face inches from mine. Her gaze swept over my face before our eyes met and held. Alice's lips parted slightly, and I watched in fascination as her pupils expanded, darkening her eyes until only a thin ring of brown remained visible.

Her scent ripened. The smell of arousal, unmistakable and intoxicating. My body responded immediately, heat pooling low in my belly as my breathing grew unsteady.

"Alice," I whispered, her name barely a breath between us.

She swayed slightly, her hand still pressed against my chest where my heart pounded. For a momentI thought she might close the distance between us. Instead, she seemed to come back to herself, blinking rapidly. But she did not pull away. Her gaze fastened on my lips.

"I should finish the bandage," she said, but her voice was unsteady.

"Alice," I said again, unable to stop myself. "I need to tell you something."

Her dark eyes searched my face, wariness creeping into her expression. "What is it?"

I reached up slowly and cupped her cheek in my palm. She leaned into the touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment before opening again to meet mine.

"I love you," I said simply. "I know I have no right to feel such things. I know what I am and what I can never be. But I cannot keep silent. I love you, Alice. Desperately."

The words hung in the air between us, irreversible now that they had been spoken. Alice's face went very still, very pale, and I felt the first stirrings of dread in my chest.

"Heath," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I... I can't..."

She pulled away from me, lurching to her feet.

"I can't," she said again, shaking her head. "I-I have to go."

"Alice, wait—"

But she was already moving, gathering her things in a rush. She could not look at me, her gaze darting everywhere but my face as she shoved the unused bandages back into her bag.

"I'm sorry," she said, the words tumbling over each other. "I shouldn't have... this was a mistake. I should never have come here."

She reached the door and paused, her hand on the latch. For a moment I dared to hope she might turn back, might give me a chance to explain. To take back the words that had clearly terrified her.

Instead, she spoke without turning around, her voice thick with emotion. "I can't see you again, Heath. I'm sorry, but I can't."

Then she was gone, the door closing behind her with a soft click that sounded like the end of everything.

I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the closed door, the silence of the cottage pressing in around me. The bandage hung loose around my torso, forgotten in the wake of Alice's flight.

I had ruined everything. In my desperation to speak the truth, I had driven away the one person who saw me as more than a monster.

The cottage felt emptier than it ever had, emptier even than in the long years before Alice. Because now I knew what I had lost. I had told her I loved her, and she had run. What clearer answer could there be?