the perfect denial [thomas]

[THADDEA ARYN MELANTHA]

such a beautiful lie to believe in

Thomas’ arms were tight around her, yet somehow soft and careless. She could feel the light whoosh of his breath against the back of her neck. Every so often he would shift and murmur in his sleep. Warmth radiated from every inch of him, tingled where their skin brushed. And silently, curled up in his arms, Thaddea began to sob. The tears rolled down her cheeks, running streaks down her skin. They pooled, dripping off her chin. But after so many years, after her time with Zachary, she wasn’t afraid of being heard. She’d mastered silence, she’d mastered hiding. She reached up, her hands in her hair, gripping her scalp. She curled in on herself. She had to move. She knew she did. But she couldn’t force herself out of Tom’s warm arms. She sniffed, the tears still flowing freely. She needed this moment, a second to grieve what she would once more be losing. She laid there, silently shaking, for perhaps an hour or more. There wasn’t a hint of light outside the window. The clock on the bedside table read 2:00 AM. She stared at the blinking numbers, shedding a pale green light over a swatch of Thomas’ bed, and she knew it was time to move.

She silently disentangled herself from Thomas’ arms. She moved with care, slipping from his grasp. She had the urge to reach out, to brush his cheek, to say something – anything to make this okay. But she had nothing. Her tears were drying. She had used her moment of grief. The new her, the her she had carefully constructed – the hardened vision of perfection that had protected her – needed to be resurrected. She took a singular moment longer, to watch him, before she turned away. She gathered her clothing, closing his door behind her. Once in her own room, she swept through. She’d never personalized it much. She kept to herself, had very few family pictures or trinkets to speak of. She lugged out her bag and began clearing the room. First went the labels on drawers and boxes. She peeled them off carefully. Then went her toiletries – her clothes, books, everything. Her bag was small, carried only what was absolutely necessary. The last thing she took was a photo of her and Thomas at the Dale’s Halloween party. She couldn’t risk leaving it behind, she couldn’t risk being found. She took a glance around the room. It was barren, uninhabited, no trace she had ever existed.

She moved silently through the house, peeling off her labels. If Zachary saw them, he’d know she had been there. She removed everything, every trace of herself. The clock read 3:00 AM when she removed the last trace of her presence. The apartment seemed bare, disorganized to her eyes. She frowned, but couldn’t allow herself to cry. She hadn’t risked turning on a light, or taking a shower. She couldn’t face Thomas, she couldn’t look him in the eye. And he’d never understand. He couldn’t. No one could. She reached for the doorknob, but stopped. She couldn’t force her fingers to wrap around that little silver knob. She couldn’t make herself move. She knew, with a certainty, she couldn’t leave Thomas like this. She couldn’t leave him the way she had left Alisander, her parents, everyone in past lives. She knelt by her bag, carefully extracting a small manila folder from a side pocket. She had kept it hidden, never let anyone catch sight of it. But for some reason, she had always kept it. Perhaps a part of her had known she would need it, someday.

She moved to the counter, placing it squarely in the middle of the cool tile. Her fingers hovered over the smooth paper. She couldn’t open it. Instead she snatched a piece of paper. She folded it in half, writing Thomas’ name on the outside. On the inside, she simply wrote “Burn”. She lingered there a moment longer, her fingers hovering over the photo – her proof, her truth. She closed her eyes. She didn’t need to open the folder to read the contents. She had memorized the scrawled words months ago. Titles flashed before her eyes. “Beloved Housewife Drowns in Tragic Accident”. She saw her own photograph, she was grinning. There was another with her family, her brother and sister and parents. And a third – one of her and Zachary’s engagement photos. More captions swam before her eyes. “Police Continue the Search for the Body of Phillipa Rothschild, 26”. A body they would never find. And now, one Thomas would never again skim his fingers over. Her fingers curled into a fist, yanking away from the folder. She’d leave it for his eyes, leave the articles – the obituary, the photos and memories that somehow weren’t hers anymore. She turned, and vanished out the door.

[THOMAS LULA ROTH]

and you left me so in love here

Tom woke up cold.

His dreams had been empty, the effect of being more tired than he had been in a while. The perfect kind of tired, an exhaustion that came with a warm body in his arms. He'd fallen asleep filled with contentment, and woken up alone. Sliding up into a sitting position, he rolled his shoulders as he looked around the dark. Thaddea must have gone to the bathroom, or went to eat. A few minutes passed. She didn't return. The man stood up and slid his boxers on before checking to see that the upstairs bathroom was empty. His feet tread lightly against the stairs as he headed down, not wanting to disturb her, wherever she'd gotten to. The kitchen turned up empty as well, however, and he flicked on the light over the stove with the intention of making coffee. Something caught his eye as he went over to the cabinet full of cups. No label. He eyed it suspiciously before he opened it and took down a mug. Placing it down on the counter, he was surprised to feel something underneath it and looked down.

What are these? He picked up the newspaper clippings, the photos, headlines in black print. Words like housewife, body, tragedy met his eyes and it wasn't until he saw one of the pictures that it clicked. Phillipa Rothschild. He read the articles urgently, coffee now forgotten as his eyes scanned the print. It was becoming increasingly more difficult to keep his hands steady as he read. A woman named Phillipa had been declared dead after a search, but it wasn't Phillipa, it was Thaddea Melantha. His Thaddea, Professor of History at the Academy. Explanations that he didn't want to piece together began to form in his head, but he knew one thing for certain: she'd left the house.

Tom hurriedly dressed, almost tripping over his bed in his rush as buttoned on a shirt, threw his jacket on top of it. Rain begin to tap lightly against the house, a solemn click click click that became the only sound save for his heartbeat in his ears. He took his car, going to any place he could think that she'd be. Nothing was open this early, though, and there was no airport, no place he could think of her heading to unless...

He made an illegal U-turn in the empty street, heading toward the bus station. He didn't want it to be true, he didn't want to think. All he wanted was to shut out the thoughts in his head, calm the panic in his head. His hands shook on the wheel as he pulled into the lot and stepped out, zipping up his jacket up further in the rain.

He saw her immediately. He could spot her anywhere. And she had a bag, a bag he knew would be filled with her clothes and possessions and that's when he knew his heart broke. Tom walked up to her, but kept a distance away. His face looked impassive save for the concern in his knitted eyebrows. If he could remain like stone, maybe he'd be all right. But he couldn't do that. "Thaddea," he said, but his mind whispered Philipa Rothschild at him cruelly. "Don't go." It was all he knew to say. Don't go. Don't leave me. His eyes pleaded with hers, asking her to return to him, to unpack her bags and tell him what was going on. Explain those pictures, the things she had left for him. Rain pelted his body and his breath came out in wisps of smoke. He'd never been this cold.

[THADDEA ARYN MELANTHA]

such a beautiful lie to believe in

He hadn’t always been her living hell. She remembered distinctly that feeling in her stomach, the clenching, the uncontrollable smile. She remembered when he had lifted her high in his arms, whirled her around, laughed until they cried. She remembered when he’d show up, unexpected, with flowers or candy or a surprise picnic dinner. There had been hours, weeks, months of the sorts of things other women only dreamed of. And she had loved him. She had loved him desperately, blindly, full of dreams of their future and images of gurgling babies. She’d been able to turn a blind eye when the warning signs popped up – had explained them away again and again. And now she was paying the price for it. She was standing at a bus station, before light had even hit the very edges of the sky. She had one bag, her favorite trench coat tight around her shoulders. She kept her head down, her hair a curtain around her face. She couldn’t risk being seen. She couldn’t risk the questions. Even worse, she couldn’t risk being traced back to Thomas. In a sense, she’d left her life in his hands. She’d left all her evidence, every clipping, ever word needed to throw away her years on the run. But she knew, she knew he wouldn’t destroy her.

Because she hadn’t been able to just walk away from him. She still remembered his arms around her waist, the soft brush of his lips – the way she had shivered when he held her. She treasured those memories, that night, dancing in the Dale manor. She had felt safe with him – safer than she’d been in over five years. But she’d ruined her haven, her perfect safety. She’d let herself get too close. She’d seen the questions coming, the snooping, the eventual discovery. She’d envisioned the betrayal in his eyes, the anger. Her eyes widened and subconsciously, her hand went to her back. She imagined tracing her finger up the scar, the rigid raised jagged puckered skin – the last time she had let a man take his anger out on her. And she couldn’t allow it again. The last time, she’d been in the hospital for over a week, been bed ridden for days. The next time, well she wouldn’t be lucky. Her memories, images of Zachary and Thomas were blurring together, becoming a similar fear, the same possibility.

“Thaddea, don’t go.”

The voice was soft, achingly familiar. Thaddea started, clutching her bag to her chest. She turned, unwillingly, to see Thomas. She shook her head. It was impossible. She had planned perfectly, impeccably. He wasn’t supposed to be awake. He wasn’t supposed to realize she was gone until she was untraceable, until she had vanished from his life forever. She took a step backwards, her lip trembling despite her best efforts. She continued shaking her head. “You don’t understand,” Her voice was a breath. She looked anxiously, searching for a bus, something she could leap on, drive away. She couldn’t stand the look in his eyes, she couldn’t walk away and watch him stand there staring after her. “I can’t stay here. He’ll find me.” Her voice broke, merging into hysterics. The rain was pelting, running down her face. There was a frantic look in her eyes. She needed to run. Before her found her. Before he made her pay for her disobedience. She had to flee. He’d find her. He was coming. She could feel it. He was coming, getting closer and closer with each minute that went by.

[THOMAS LULA ROTH]

and you left me so in love here

If Tom hated anything, it would be the rain. He didn't think anything could contest. The droplets permeated his jacket, his skin slick and cold. He wanted to go home. He wanted to go home with Thaddea, because it was her home too now. So why did she have a bag? Why did she look at him like he was the enemy? Like she need to run from him and all he could wonder is if it was something he had done. That's why he kept messing up, right? His thoughts began to turn into dogs, biting him, chewing on the good feelings he had not hours before. This is how it had to end, wasn't it? It wasn't a problem with anyone else, some outside power, the problem lay in him. He shouldn't have been there, should he? He needed to let go and accept that this was how it had to be. There wouldn't be happiness at the end for him, there never had been. She'd put her foot down, marked it as an end, and this was the point he accepted it with a bowed head.

Not if I can help it. In the onslaught of his terrified thoughts, he realized this much -- he wouldn't let her go. Not until he knew what had happened. He couldn't blame himself and leave it at that. Thaddea had become too important for that kind of thing, as attached as a limb. Losing her would mean losing an arm, a leg, i vital -- and how was he supposed to deal with that? So even as she answered him, looked like a deer in the headlights, he understood he couldn't let her get on the bus. And he withheld the desire to hug her, to leave the rain and bring her back into him, feel her skin against his. Now it felt impossible not to have her again. With the feeling of her mouth still over his, her imprint over his very existence, how could she expect to leave him like this? Yet he felt no anger. No rage. Just a strange calm, a melancholy that wrapped him up even as he shivered in the rain.

He breathed. Breath formed in clouds. And he heard the words that left her lips in a strangled sort of sound. "No, I don't understand," he said, and he moved closed. His hand wrapped around hers, squeezing it. "But I want to know. I want you to tell me who he is, so then I can tell you that he won't ever find you." Now he knew she was running, and slowly it came into view, piecing together in his mind. His frazzled mind, running wild with thoughts and agonizing over the rain. "Come home and talk to me," Tom said, tugging on her hand. Home. Where she belonged, with him and their strange little life that he'd grown so fond of. The fear in her voice was killing him, slowly chipping away at the strong demeanor that he'd always had, the veneer of strength. Soon he would have nothing, and he didn't want her hand to leave his.

[THADDEA ARYN MELANTHA]

such a beautiful lie to believe in

The rain was pouring, heavier than she had truly realized. It had seeped through her trench coat, slid between the cracks. She could feel her clothing sticking to her skin. She shivered as a droplet rolled down her neck and across her back. She knew, in the back of her mind, her current pitiful appearance was inexcusably unprofessional. But she couldn’t bring herself to move, to chastise herself, to do anything productive. She simply stood, staring at Thomas, like he was some sort of apparition. If she moved her head, allowed her gaze to dart away for even a moment, he would vanish. It would be like he had never existed.

Who was she kidding? There would never be a life, any sort of imaginable future, where Thomas had never existed. He would plague her memories, rising when she least expected him. She’d never be able to flee, and a part of her wouldn’t want to. She watched him, and her resolve wavered. She imagined going to him, letting him lead her home. But even as the thought passed her mind, she knew it wasn’t possible. He knew too much. He’d grown too close. To do such a thing would be to resign herself, to give up. She raised her hand, an apology, a goodbye, a final tiny wave. And somewhere, at some point she couldn’t recall, tears had begun to flow. They mixed with the rain, running invisibly down her cheeks. And as she lowered her hand, returned it to a pocket damp and squelching with water, she heard the distant rumble of bus wheels. There was the unmistakable squeal as the brakes pulled, the high pitched wheezing. With a whoosh, the doors swung open. Her other hand tightened around her bag and with a movement that spoke of finality – she turned her gaze from Thomas.

In the same instant that she moved to take a step, to climb the stairs onto the bus and take a sodden seat, she felt cold wet fingers encircle her hand. She froze, turning her gaze slowly. Thomas’ hand was wrapped around hers, tight, warm despite the rain. It wasn’t tentative, wasn’t questioning. It was firm, sure of itself. She looked up, slowly, to him. And gently, as if she might brake if he moved too quickly, he pulled her to him. She could feel it, her slow steps as she moved away from the bus. Somewhere, she could hear the doors of the bus closing, the wheeze as the brakes released and it drove away through the rain. But she was numb. She had given up. She would let him make the decisions, let someone else be responsible for once. Her other hand was tight around her suitcase. But the hand in Thomas’ slowly returned the grip. Now that the decision was made, she needed to cling to him. She needed him to take care of her, to fix her, but she couldn’t say a word. She just let him lead – wherever it was that he might wish to take her. She couldn’t manage to protest, to flee any longer. She was broken, but perhaps finally broken enough that he could put her back together the right way.

[THOMAS LULA ROTH]

and you left me so in love here

Tom couldn't take it as he let go, as she lifted her hand in a wave, as she cried. He heard the bus roll up, the creak as it stopped. But he didn't look. His eyes focused on her, filled with impossible emotions. Filled with longing and regret and sadness and he knew he couldn't let her go. Even as she turned, even as she clutched her bag to her, he couldn't see her leave. You can't force her to stay. The thought filled him with desperation. No, he agreed in his mind along the same train of though, but I can stop her from going. And just hope that she would stay with him, and hope that there could be something more. He felt it, in his heart and in the way she looked at him. Thaddea had to feel it too.

As the door open and she moved to make that single step, he knew it would be his last chance to take her back. So he grabbed her hand again, the rain coating his own, chilling his skin. Yet her fingers felt so warm in his. Tom held his breath until the bus drove away. Until she squeezed his hand. Until he could take her in his arms and hug her soaked body against his. But just for a moment. He took the bag from her fingers, walked over to the car and making sure that she came with him. She's not going to run. He placed the bag in his drunk and started the car, drove home. Everything quiet save for the tapping of the rain against the sleek vehicle that would deliver them home. Because this was her home, right? With him. He pulled into the drive and took her bag, heading into the house and ignoring the papers on the kitchen counter for now. Instead, he said, "Come up with me?" He hoped she would follow as he ascended the stairs and place the bag in his room. A sign that it could be her room too, if she wanted it to be. He wanted it to be.

After placing her things on the bag he spoke quietly. He shed her of her jacket, leaned over to the side so he could throw it on top of the hamper. "Arms up." His voice left in a gentle request, his fingers pulling at the hem of her shirt before lifting it over her head. As he leaned over again, something caught his eyes. "Thad..." he said, his voice still quiet. The man moved around her, brushed her hair away so that he could better look at the scar stretching across the expanse of her back. His fingers lightly traced it, and he swallowed hard. He hadn't noticed it before, not in the midst of the passion and heat and want. "How...?" he asked her, wanting to hug her but not in the clothes he wore now, heavy with storm. His heart beat heavy in his chest and he knew that whatever she said, he wasn't going to like it.

[THADDEA ARYN MELANTHA]

such a beautiful lie to believe in

She followed Thomas, numb, obedient. She felt her bag gently removed from her craped clutching fingers. Where it went, she couldn’t say. She allowed herself to be led, seated and buckled in the car. She simply watched Thomas, her face blank. Somewhere, deep inside of her, her mind was struggling to process what was happening – and failing. She found she wanted nothing more than to crawl across the space between them. She could drape her legs over his lap, curl up against his chest. She didn’t care about their sodden clothing, particularly hers that now clung to every inch of her skin. All she wanted was him, to rewind, or somehow erase, the literal storm they had found themselves thrown into. She half-wondered, as they climbed the stairs, whether he would throw her out. Had he brought her home, only to turn her out, or perhaps – worse – turn her in? She paused at the stairs. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw the pile of papers she had left. When she had last seen them, they had been in a perfect pile, straightened, not a hair out of place. Now they were haphazard, spread over the counter. And she knew he had read them, or skimmed enough to get the general idea. She turned her face away from the papers as he spoke.

Her face twisted into one of disbelief, relief and gratitude. She nodded her head, her lips wobbling into an unsteady questioning smile. She followed him, her only solo movement was to reach out her hand and grasp his free hand as they climbed the stairs. She wanted to see where they were, what he wanted from her – and if it was the same thing she so desperately wanted. His hand was warm, beginning to dry from their ride in the car. And it engulfed hers entirely. She expected him to turn at the top of the stairs, to her recently-abandoned room. But rather he continued on, with only slight hesitance, towards his own doorway. Her bag, her things, laid out on his bed. She looked around, swallowing. “I’m going to need more labels.” Her voice was weak, cracked, unsteady. But it was a pathetic attempt at a joke – and her acceptance. If he wanted her there, she would stay. And the image of herself, curled in his bed, his arms around her, flooded her with a kind of warmth.

The next moment he was reaching for her, gently pulling at the sleeves of her jacket. And she let him. She raised her arms obediently, her eyes never leaving his. She was recovering herself, piece by little piece. She wanted him to see, wanted him to see that she saw him, recognized him, wanted him. She felt her shirt peel from her skin, then come free with a squelching sound. She stood bare before him – not in a sexual manner. She watched him circle her, suddenly stiffening. When she heard his voice, she knew with horror what his eyes were cast upon. She turned quickly, hugging her arms around herself reflexively. She couldn’t cover it, couldn’t hide it from him. But her fingers brushed the jagged raised puckered skin, a familiarity coursing through her. She moved towards him, slowly at first. Her arms still wrapped around herself, concealing her body from him. Slowly, with shaking fingers, she unbuttoned and peeled his shirt away from his skin. She let it drop before stepping closer and simply leaning against him. She wanted him to hold her, to forgive her imperfections, to forgive the scar that marred her body. She cleared her throat, speaking against his chest. “My husband…” She couldn’t finish the sentence. Somewhere in her bag were photos, hospital records. But she couldn’t move away from him.

[THOMAS LULA ROTH]

and you left me so in love here

The joke did not go unnoticed, though only a subtle lift in Tom's shoulder gave any clue that he had heard what she said. He would keep that in mind, that she needed labels. Because she's staying. He repeated over and over as he unzipped his bag, as he helped her with her shirt. And she let him. For once, it felt like they had no boundaries. And he could touch her and look at her and not feel the need to look away and wonder if it was okay to feel what he felt for her. The freedom could only be squashed by the mark he saw on her back as he shed her of the shirt. The man did not see the ugliness of it, only the pain. It stopped him for a moment, until she lifted her hands to his shirt. He smiled, a little thing perched on his mouth like a bird on a wire, as she unbuttoned his shirt. It slid down his arms heavy and wet. As Thaddea brushed against him, her skin against his, he wrapped one arm around her waist, the other held her against his chest. And they fit together so right, it made him wonder why they had waited so long. But the smile and warmth faded with two words that left her lips and made his heart hurt more than he thought it could.

Husband.

The word bounced around the inside of Tom's skull, almost distracted him from the anger rushing through every ounce of him. Tacked on to the word my, it hurt. She belonged to another man. She had someone else, waiting for her, wanting for her...and he was Tom, her roommate. Her friend. Then, realization arrived with a clearing of his features. It started to click together, slowly, surely, and certainly. The articles. The scar. Phillipa Rothschild. The surreal feelings came back to him, stronger than before. Emotions he couldn't place. It occurred to him, standing there with her small body wrapped up in him, that he held a woman he barely knew. He held a woman with a past. But they all had one, didn't they? Thaddea...she had a lot more to hers. To him, she would always be Thaddea. Not Phillipa with a husband who gave her a scar like this. The notion had filled him with anger, and he felt it even now as he pulled back a little and looked into her eyes.

He pressed his lips against her forehead, her nose, and then her mouth, gentle and light. Resting his forehead against hers, he told her, "I prefer Thaddea to Phillipa," The words were hushed, barely a sound, but they sounded loud even to him. He wanted her to know that because Thaddea was the woman he met and fell in love with and Phillipa was a memory of a woman he had never known. It brought him into what he wanted to say next. "And he can't hurt Thaddea. Because I'm here, and I love you." He didn't care about her husband, that they were still technically married if the articles were to be correct. Didn't care if he was stronger, bigger, tougher. He'd hurt her and that was the most important thing to Tom. He'd hurt her, and no one should ever do that to the woman he loved. And then, he thought something that hurt just like the words my husband, but even more. "Do you...still love him?" His expression didn't change, he didn't let the vulnerability show because he would be strong. She was going back to him, wasn't she? It twisted in his gut. He was going back to this man named Zachary. But she came back. Still, there was a lot to be said for the thought.

[THADDEA ARYN MELANTHA]

such a beautiful lie to believe in

She felt his arm around her waist. Of course she had felt it there before. Images of their one night of passion flashed in her mind – his hands on her stomach, on her hips, moving her, holding her in place. But this was different. He was gentle, handled her like porcelain. Even the way he drew her near was on a breath, as if she would shatter and he’d be left to sweep her into a broom pan. The other hand held her to his chest. She tensed for a moment. Would he lay his hand flat on her back, feel the rigid rise of her skin? Would it repulse him? But he didn’t move. He didn’t jerk away. She fit her head under his chin, nestled against his chest. It was a perfect match. One hand was flat against his bare chest, her long pale fingers stark against his tanner skin. The other reached up and around his neck, holding onto him. She closed her eyes, the thump of his heart heavy in her ears. Slowly she was rebuilding. She wanted to hide Phillipa away again – banish the frightened housewife back to the farthest corners of her mind. For Thaddea, this Thaddea, had a certain hatred for Phillipa.

She tilted her head up as she felt him shift. With how close they were, she had to crane her neck back to look in his eyes. She searched him. There was flickering anger, confusion, conflict, sorrow and a multitude of other shifting emotions Thaddea couldn’t read. She reached one hand up, her skin leaving his chest. He still hadn’t spoken. But Thaddea used that moment to brush her fingers against his cheek. There was light stubble, bristled under her fingertips. He hadn’t shaved. But of course he hadn’t. He’d been too busy chasing through the rain after her. In the next moment, her hand still on his cheek, he was leaning forward. She felt the press of his smooth skin against her forehead, the tip of her nose, her lips. She sunk into him, molded against him. He drew back, and she wanted more – not his body exactly, but this – this feeling of his arms around her and the security it brought. Her forehead rested against his and she sighed, a low sound in the back of her throat. She allowed her eyes to flutter closed, lulled into a moment of rest.

She let his words wash over her, a slight smile on her lips. In truth, she preferred Thaddea – this new self she had so precariously built. Her hand lowered from his cheek back to his chest. She stroked her thumb across him, listening to his quiet humming words. Her eyes were still closed. But a single word, a shift of his mouth, caused them to flutter open. She stared at him. Love. It sounded different on his lips, so different than it had on Zachary’s. It sounded raw, honest, pleading and true. Her eyes began to water and she smiled. Her first true smile. She shifted, wrapping both her arms around his neck. She buried her face in his skin, inhaling his scent. When she spoke, her breath was on his collarbone, her murmured words only loud enough for him. “I love you, Thomas. I love you and I-,” She paused, just a moment. “I trust you.” She nestled her face further into his skin, drinking it in. His words still beat in her, like a giddy rhythm. He loved her. Even his next question, so full of trepidation and fear, made her smile. She had flown over a crest of a hill, to find not a mountain awaiting her but quiet rest. She pressed her lips to his neck gently. “Phillipa loved him, once upon a time. But I am not her.” And that was the best way she could think to put it. She was Thaddea, his Thaddea.

[THOMAS LULA ROTH]

and you left me so in love here

In a moment so perfect, with a woman so perfect, it was almost as if he had never been hurt before. Never had a broken heart or a wayward life. Thaddea's fingers on his skin anchored him, like he would never float away. Like he would never have to hurt again. It sickened him to think that someone would ever lay a hand on someone with this much good in her soul. Because he didn't see just the damage and the pain she must have had, he saw someone pure and beautiful. In a way, it was scary. It gave him so much more to lose. He wouldn't give it up for anything, though, wouldn't trade in what he had now for the life he had previously led of solitude and discontent. Then again, he had never known he needed this woman in his life until he met her, until she came into his life like a whirlwind.

The feeling of her fingers on his cheek sparked up and down his spine, like an electric contact. And he knew he had never felt anything for anyone like he felt everything for Thaddea. A tumult of emotions that did not have words to describe them, not in any known language. All these things, the desire to protect her, hold her, just be near her, while at the same time wanting more than that was the most powerful he ever felt. And yet, he couldn't stop his fear. It was only natural, in discovering the tidbits of her past that he had, in tying together pieces that he hadn't ever gotten a clue about before.

So when she smiled, the sight causing a pleasant ache in his chest, he couldn't help but smile back even before she said anything. As a matter of fact, he grinned, the expression as bright as it ever could be. And then she pressed her face against him, her fingers light at his neck. Tom kept his hands right where they were, but gripped her just a little tighter. When she spoke, his heart seemed to flutter in his chest. "You..." he started, not even knowing where to go with that one. "You've just made me happier than I've ever been." His breath escaped him in a little chuckle, not knowing exactly what he was feeling, though that seemed to be a usual thing with Thaddea. It was something good, that's all he knew.

Hands trailing down to her sides, he told her, "I know that this may be a bit of a bad time, and I haven't done this in a while, but..." He pressed his lips to her hair for a moment before lifting them once again to ask, "Will you go on a date with me?" God, he felt like he was in grade school. It really had been a long time, however, since he hadn't had a legitimate date in quite some time. He wasn't about to think of what he would really call those nights out, but they weren't what he wanted with Thaddea. He wanted something real with her, he wanted to take her out and treat her and show her that she deserved all that. She deserved the best she could get.

[THADDEA ARYN MELANTHA]

such a beautiful lie to believe in

She wasn’t afraid. For the first time in months, in years, she didn’t feel the need to shrink away. Her face dropped, seemingly wiped free of all emotion. It was a shock, a sudden exodus. Her grip tightened suddenly around Thomas. She could feel his arms strong around her, his lips on her hair. Her eyes were wide open, staring and yet seeing nothing. A sense of warmth settled in the pit of her stomach. She felt suddenly empty, yet not in that horrible sinking way. It was as if all the tension, years of terror and high-strung stiffness, had flooded out of her. Yet her body wasn’t entirely sure what to replace these feelings with. She stiffened briefly, then sagged. She rested her head against Thomas’ chest. She didn’t know how to react, what to say, what would come next. So she let the beat of Thomas’ heart hold her steady, the feeling of his fingers against her back. Somehow, this all felt unreal, and a prickle of guilt came into her. This had all gone so fast. In the space of a few short months, he’d dissolved everything she had been.

A sort of fear settled in her. Had she acted rashly? She’d claimed to love him. Yet she didn’t know if it was possible to love someone in such a short time. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply. She knew, with a certainly, she did love him. But what she didn’t know was whether she could differentiate between love and dependence. She pursed her lips slightly. She was too tired, too weak to move away. She was reluctant to confront these fears. Perhaps she could hide in Thomas’ arms, pretend she had a whole new life perfectly settled upon her. She tilted her head up, feeling his lips on her hair, his quiet joyful words. She looked up at him, smiling despite her insecurities. A doubt rose in her, reminding her that by Canadian law, she was still legally bound to Zachary. But adultery at been committed before. And was it even really adultery when she was legally dead? Had her marriage ended with her supposed life? She couldn’t know for sure. But she didn’t care. She couldn’t care. She nuzzled Thomas’ neck, laughing lightly. A sort of giddy joy was overtaking her. Her hormones were on over-ride, uncontrollable. In any moment she might collapse, sleep and wake up a normal human being. But in this moment all she could do was laugh.

She grinned against his neck, looking up with an arched brow and a mockingly stern expression. “Pick me up Friday at eight. If you’re late, don’t even bother knocking.” It was strange, the idea of dating him. She’d never actually really dated, not by choice. Her marriage to Zachary, it had been arranged. She’d dated him because it was expected. She’d married him because she loved him. And she’d left him because she’d feared him. Yet she’d never dated, never experienced this sense of uncertainty. She took a step backwards. The moment, this time they had shared, it was winding down. And if she prolonged it, clung to it, she would ruin it. Instead she smiled, reached up to wring the water out of her hair. It dripped onto the floor. The carpet beneath them both was sodden, squished between their toes. She canted her head at him, pursing her lips. “Will you help me get a birth certificate?”

[THOMAS LULA ROTH]

and you left me so in love here

Thaddea's husband did nothing but anger him. He didn't fear the man, had no reason to, but understood why Thaddea would. It only made him want to protect her even more. Though he had been cheated on and that was what ended his engagement, he didn't believe that was what happened her. Thaddea left him, had to run from him. And though it may have been a cruel thought to have, especially because of his own past, he thought Zachary to be deserving of it. What he'd done to his wife had been worse than adultery. It may have been his bias speaking, but he held it at the utmost truth in that moment and didn't see how his mind would ever change. Even if he came back, found her, he would tell the man to fuck right off. Or have him arrested, either way he would never allow him near the woman he loved.

The grin never left his face as she raised her eyebrow. He really did feel like a young kid, asking out his crush on a date. And she had been a crush for a while, perhaps not as innocent as a young crush might have been, but it had much more love in affection in it. He smoothed his hand over her back. "Are your sure your parents will be cool with it?" He asked in a tight, stereotypical teenage voice. He could almost imagine them as two students at the Academy instead of professors, him still the bad boy he'd been back then, skipping class to smoke on the cliffs with his friends. And Thaddea would be however she had been back then, something that made him want to ask. He wanted to know everything, wanted to find out as much as he could and yet never stop learning about her. A date would be the perfect opportunity.

When she drew back, he dropped his hands, looked at her with a smile that crinkled his eyes and made him look so happy. And he was, happier than he'd been. He could face anything, whether it be his sister or his ex or Thaddea's husband. In fact, he was invincible. He laughed when she wrung out her hair, not minding in the least as the water dripped down onto the carpet. It probably had a lot to do with the expression on her lips. "Oh yeah, definitely." His eyes were bright, a puppy-like enthusiasm in them. He went to retrieve a shirt and pulled it on. Then something occurred to him. "Have any idea on how to go about that?" If not, he could definitely help out. He didn't know what they would have to do to get legal papers. She's still married. He decided that he didn't necessarily care about that. She was only married in the nominal sense, after all. Thaddea had told him herself that she was not in love.

[THADDEA ARYN MELANTHA]

such a beautiful lie to believe in

She wanted to laugh. It was a strange, sudden, desire. She felt like spreading her arms wide, twirling in a circle as she had so many times in Greece as a little girl. She could fall back, onto the bed, pretend it was warm waving grass. Perhaps it was a touch of insanity. Or perhaps the rain and the cold had gotten to her and now she’d become trapped in feverish delusions. Whatever the reasons, she almost swore she could hear the beat of the ocean. It was rhythmic, soothing. She had moved away from Thomas, only in order to look back at him. Yet she had broken that moment, that embrace. But she didn’t regret it. She knew with certainty there would be another. She smiled softly, her eyes a thousand miles away. Her fingers lifted, tracing invisible lines across Thomas’ cheeks. The skin around his chin, on his cheeks, was rough with a hint of stubble. “Who says my parents even have to know?”

The words were teasing, but there was a hint of sadness behind them. In all likelihood, her parents would never know. They would never meet Thomas. Because she couldn’t explain, she couldn’t go home. But right now she couldn’t think of that, of everything she had lost. Instead she withdrew her hand. Everything about her felt suddenly tired, but in an almost pleasant sense. She laid back on Thomas’ bed. The sheets were unmade, rumpled and destroyed. She realized, with a light smile, that it was they – precious hours ago – who had destroyed his perfectly made bed. She stared at the ceiling. She could feel her wet tangled hair against the bare skin of her back. She was a mess, hadn’t even showered that morning. Though from the looks of it, neither had Thomas. She closed her eyes, savoring the moment of peace. In truth, she hadn’t the slightest idea of how to go about getting herself legal papers. She’d always been too-afraid to inquire. There was always the concern of raising red flags, of seeing the walls and questions descend around her. She shrugged. She couldn’t remember ever having felt so carefree.

“We’ll figure it out.” She closed her eyes. If this was right, if this moment was lasting and true, she would have months – years even. She could dally, linger here with Thomas as Thaddea and yet not legally anyone. And perhaps someday she’d get those papers. She’d have a fancy swirled seal , a new name and new identity. And maybe she’d walk down the aisle again, a new white dress of her own choosing – a husband of her own choosing. But she didn’t consider it seriously. In that moment, she didn’t care. The scent of Thomas’ sheets, the lingering memory of his touch, had wrapped around her. It cocooned her, holding her untouchably away, separate from anything that could matter. She smiled to herself, imagining all the cleaning she would do.