Pacing in my lovely room, I didn’t reacquaint myself with the furniture or balcony. I merely kept moving, allowing my brain to sort through this mess so I could stop thinking about it.
Slowly, my anger subsided and remorse settled instead.
Damn...
I’d pushed Elder too far, too fast.
I’d embraced confrontation instead of diplomacy.
What I should’ve done was hugged him and thanked him profusely for being so generous.
What the hell was I thinking?
For someone to take me on was a massive responsibility. I came with baggage and not just the slavery-suitcases that were full to the brim, but also the empty parcels just begging to be filled with new experiences.
It was those reasons that made me a hard to care for lover.
I’d been denied so many enjoyments and luxuries, it had made me greedy. I wanted to grab each life morsel and indulge in every activity. I wanted to eat delicious food instead of leftovers in a dog bowl. I wanted to kiss every sunrise after being locked inside for years. And I wanted to be loved and to love after only knowing hate.
There was nothing wrong with that. In fact, if I had to guess my mother would say that was healthy. Only, Elder was in the unfortunate place of being the one I’d chosen and not able to give me what I needed.
I was frustrated and annoyed at him.
He was frustrated and annoyed with me.
We’d skipped happy courtship, sprinted through contented marriage, and headed straight for a bitter divorce.
I came to a stop in the middle of the room.
I didn’t want to think about this anymore.
I can’t see a way forward.
On the one hand, I could return to my old life, finish my degree, seek out friends I never cared about, and leave. On the other, I could play by his rules for a time and see if there was some way to, perhaps not break them, but bend them just enough so we could both be happy.
It wasn’t late, but exhaustion fell over me. My feet guided me toward the bed, my hands tugging at my clothing in preparation of warm sheets and hopefully healing dreams.
As I climbed into bed, I wished I could apologise.
To whisper that I hadn’t meant to be such a problem.
I only wished he could see how much I cared for him. How much I wanted to curl into his lap and watch TV, to wipe away ice-cream from his bottom lip after sharing a dessert, to wrap a towel around his waist after indulging in a shared shower.
There was so much I hadn’t experienced, and Elder didn’t want to do any of it with me.
Elder had said he knew his limitations and expected me to learn mine.
Well, I already knew.
Love.
Love was my limitation and flaw combined.
I needed to love as much as I needed to be loved.
It wasn’t a whimsical thing—it went deeper than that.
If I was to put myself on the couch, if I (heaven forbid) ever asked my mother for advice on romance, she’d probably say that need was a by-product of what’d happened to me.
For so long, I’d hated humans.
Despised men.
Cursed life in general to such a point I craved death.
But now, I was obsessed with living.
Of living to the maximum of my capacity.
Of giving my heart wholeheartedly.
Of falling in love chaotically.
Of soaking up every wonderful moment of togetherness that I could.
That was my flaw.
And it meant I would struggle every second of every day to stop my flaw from playing havoc on Elder’s.
But I knew something he didn’t.
Beneath his fixating mind and horror at causing more pain, he carried the same flaw I did. In the beginning, I hadn’t seen it. Now I understood because his aches and bruises were the same as mine, and just like mine, they couldn’t be tended to with bandages and pills.
He craved love, same as me.
He gasped for connection, same as me.
He needed physical touch so much it stole his humanity and turned him into someone he couldn’t control.
That was the true problem between us.
Not OCD.
Not abuse.
Love.
And the one issue we might not overcome.
*
Two things: I didn’t sleep well, and Elder didn’t visit—despite my door remaining unlocked all night.
After living a few days on terra firma, the sensation of rolling water wasn’t as comforting as it once had been. The slight queasiness of sea-sickness kept me company, even in sleep, prodding me awake to stare at the door, begging it to open.
All night, fantasies had tormented me: of Elder creeping in, me opening my eyes, all hooded and hazy, to see him standing over me with such a depthless adoring look, I instantly became wet. I’d open the covers, beckon him to join me, and sigh in relief as he cuddled me into his body.
The rest of that fantasy had become so X-rated that bubbles and dustings of untended to desire kept me hyper-sensitive for the rest of the night.
With my mind full of him, I showered and dressed in a simple black shift to begin my day.
I didn’t know where Elder was and I tried not to seek him out. I made a promise to let him be and focused on everything else to keep my loneliness at bay.
I breakfasted on my own, thanks to visiting the kitchen and being gifted two warm freshly-baked croissants, smoked ham, and cheddar cheese with a bottle of squeezed apple juice. I took my stash to the top deck and had a picnic—sitting cross-legged on one of the canvas-wrapped lifeboats.
By the time I’d finished, I was dopey from the sunshine and turning pink.
Deciding I needed some sun protection and to walk off my breakfast, I explored the decks I’d never been to.
There was no one to tell me no and no Elder to warn me otherwise. Entering the lift, I went to the bottom and worked my way up.
For hours, I investigated engine bays, staff quarters, engineering offices, store rooms, and spare bedrooms. Somehow, I managed to focus on how wondrous the Phantom was and not torture myself about its elusive owner.
I became entranced with a small but well-stocked library. I allowed fascination over crates with enough food for an army to keep me occupied. But then I explored the centre deck and my resolve not to think about Elder fell apart.
This place...
I trailed down the same wide corridors and thick carpeting as all the other levels, yet for some reason, this one had an air of abandoned desolation.
Everything was pristine: the painted walls smudge free, the skirting boards unblemished. It seemed as if everything had been decorated and then forgotten about—locked up and left with its original purpose no longer required.
Goosebumps sprang over my arms as I passed bedroom after bedroom, slowly growing more and more chilled.
A large suite with Japanese screens and a dressing table adorned with cherry blossom artwork reminded me all too well of Elder’s mother and the cherry blossom blouse she wore while screaming that she wished her son was dead.
This room couldn’t be for her...could it?
Hugging myself, I carried on.
Next was another suite—complete with cracked leather wingback and masculine décor—aimed for an elderly man but completely unlived in.
This place couldn’t be for his uncle...could it?
Trepidation tiptoed down my spine.
I’m not meant to see this.
I didn’t know how I knew, but this area was private.
Painfully private.