Page 31 of A Sorrow of Truths
“Are you alright up there a while longer?”
“Yes.”
I nod and cut across the pathways, ignoring her question. “Wait here. I’ll be back soon.”
She frowns, but stays firm up there, as I head back into the stabling, her hands continually soothing the mare’s neck and shoulder.
Ten minutes later, and I emerge back into the dimming light, leading Tuscan, to find her perfectly still with the sun just about set behind her. The dull, incandescent hue mixes with her hair and skin tone, messing with my logic, as I climb into the saddle and walk up beside her. She looks new to me. Vibrant against the flattening light. New and yet old, as if engrained in parts of me I can’t forget.
I smile at the vision on my own land without thought, interested in the myriad of possibilities it gives me to contemplate. Life. Hope. Happiness even. A diverting concept. It’s disconcerting, though, making me feel like I’m on the back foot for once with her. I am in reality. I don’t know what this is any more than she does. My apartment, and both Malachi’s home and townhouse were easier than this. Simpler. No emotion to counter rational behaviour. I could be firm there. The necessary evil she needed to keep the distance delineated was more agreeable to my sense of approach. But now we’re here, and I’m about to take her for a ride so I can what? Somehow ease my own conscience before the inevitable? Pretend we’re living a life I haven’t got?
I walk forwards and down towards the river, ducking under branches to keep us side by side. I like that about us. I’ve enjoyed it since the beginning when she levelled her stare on me and made me break rules. She never bowed entirely, never let me master her. She’s stronger than that, more adept at seducing me into her thoughts rather than me leading all the time. So beautiful, too. Even now, without the garments of splendour or lack thereof.
I chuckle at the thought, then frown at the image of that small, frail body that I found. So pale. So fragile and brittle, as I pulled her up to me and administered the drugs to counter the effects of what she’d taken. If I can thank Malachi for anything in this fucking scenario, it’s that he did call me and tell me about the red pill she’d taken.
My gaze goes to the woman I’ve brought back to life, and I let the sensation of fear seep through me some more. I didn’t at first. I processed, managed, and found a way to bring her back safely with a sound mind in place. Analytical. Logical. Diagnostic, regardless of not sleeping and concern. But now, and for the last few days without her if I’m honest with myself, I’ve found a sense of desperation curdling my guts. It’s a need I don’t know. Have never known.
“When did you start liking horses?” she asks.
“I’ve never not liked them. My family has a stud in Georgia. It’s still there now. My cousin, Ann, runs it.” She smiles brightly, as if that one truth was enough to change everything between us. It probably was, and yet the honesty came so easily when she asked. “You ready?”
She looks bemused, but at least tightens her grip on the reins. “For what?”
“To ride harder.”
I’ve kicked on before she gets a chance to counter any thought on the matter, and both Tuscan and Filigree take off at full speed along the river’s edge. A sharp scream sounds out at first, curses and shouts being thrown my way, but it’s eventually replaced by laughter - real laughter. Beautiful and whimsical laughter.
I find myself smiling at the sound of it, both amused and aroused because of the lilt she makes, as the hooves thunder along under us. And then she swerves and turns, somehow managing to inch more speed out of Filigree until she’s cutting across the front of me and leading us through open fields.
Tall grass brushes the muscled flanks of the horses, dulling the sound of the hooves until my heart is the only thing I can hear racing alongside hers. It’s another memory I don’t want to process, but can’t abandon, as the wind whips passed us and darkness begins to creep across the ground. Darkness and heartbeats. We’re better like that. Truer than this false reality we’re now in. Even I’m struggling to process rationale now. It’s becoming a blur of rights and wrongs, thoughts and scenarios. She’s not here anymore, hasn’t been for so long.
And what does it matter other than the truths I want?
I could let go. Perhaps should.
Kicking on again, I gain traction on her and nod my head over towards the main tracks back towards the house. She swerves with me, her smile so bright it damn near illuminates the ground we’re racing on and makes the lacking sun seem irrelevant. Maybe we should stay out here in the dark and let the ground swallow us up into hedonism rather than head back into the light where truths will be told and life will cease again.
I begin slowing at the thought, steadily bringing Tuscan back to a light jog to ease the time we have out as long as I can. Damn truths. I sigh at them and watch as she slows with me, still captivated by her ability to be inside me somehow.
“Wow,” she says, breathlessly.
“Wow? Not the most eloquent thing I’ve heard you say.”
“I don’t have anything else for that. I mean, it’s …” She pats the mare’s neck again and pants a little, comfortably sitting on top of the skirmish that is a hectic four year old trying to calm down. “Wonderful then. I didn’t realise. Thrilling.”
“You’ve never called me thrilling.”
She smirks and turns her head away from me. “Are you jealous, Gray?”
“Extremely.”
“Of a horse?”
“You’re riding it, not me.”
She laughs weakly, but it’s nothing like the laughter that came ten minutes ago. It’s become laced with disenchantment, weariness even. The mare almost stills under her, the heaving muscles becoming lax and relaxed, as they slow further to a walk and then stop. The look of the pair of them subsiding makes me remember that about her, too. I can feel it still in my arms. Her skin on mine. The breathlessness. The way her body gives in when it’s had enough, just moulds to me and clings on irrespective of the more I kept asking her to take.
She pats the mare’s shoulder, calming her down further. “I don’t know what’s real or not anymore, Gray,” she murmurs, looking out over the fields. “I thought I did, but …” She swings her leg over the mare and dismounts, biding her time as she searches for words. “I don’t. I don’t know you anymore. Or this place. Or you on a horse. And yet I don’t even know if I know me without you. I don’t think that was supposed to happen.”