But he had what he needed. He had love!
Look at me and love me. I would have been a good wife if only you’d let me.
Hand in hand, they awkwardly strut out of his dark Victorian home. Stopping in the garden, she looks away overwhelmed by the ocean of sorrow and shock, and removes their entanglement of fingers. His usual apathetic look is replaced by one of shame.
With pleading eyes, “Maddy, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know that they were going to-”
“It’s okay Fabian.” She returns his gaze to him. “It’s not your fault I-”
“Your jacket, you left your jacket.”
He is clearly nervous and struck with a level of urgency. She stares at him, eyebrows raised, eyes glazed over.
“Just send it to my aunt’s place later. I want to go now.”
But it’s cold. Madeleine feels it. Bumps adorn her arms, and he can hear slight shivers that she fails to hide. He remembers her lined black fur coat that she left on the coat hanger near the too-heavy door.
The streetlights are dim and the silhouettes of the two awkward teenagers were distinct. Not out of place they looked, but their shared silence created a foreboding atmosphere that was hard for anyone to ignore.
He broke the silence again, “Are you going to tell your parents?
She stopped walking, staring at the sidewalk. The look he has is pleading, but Madeleine remains conflicted.
“I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”
“I wouldn’t ever want to hurt you.” She says looking up, finally. Her brown eyes were glassy, she was tired. “I don’t really want to talk anymore if you don’t mind.”
He nods.
