Bedful of Moonlight - Raven Held (best love novels of all time txt) 📗

… awake, and talking to one another in the waking state?’
~ Plato (Greek philosopher, 428 BC – 348 BC)


I felt briefly anxious that he might not be there tonight. But he was.
Tonight, I paid attention to the details, just so I could retrieve it all as one collective experience once I was gone from Wroughton. You see, I realised that my stay here was temporary; it would probably be over in a few months, maybe.
And I was fine with that. Impermanence prevented roots from growing too deep.
He had on a snug navy blue t-shirt and dark grey sweatpants tonight, and in his hands was a steaming mug. He was staring patiently out at the red sky, as though waiting for something to happen – waiting for me?
“Why does the sky turn red at night when it’s about to rain?” I asked. I tried to keep my voice low so that I wouldn’t scare him.
He had placed another mug of tea beside him. I took it in my hands wordlessly, as though by some unspoken understanding that it was for me. I imagined him making a second cup of tea, walking out to the porch with the two mugs and laying one next to him. There was a quiet expectancy in what he did, and I found I liked the idea of that.
“I didn’t know if you liked cocoa – I personally hate it – so I got you Earl Grey,” he said, smiling as I settled down beside him.
“Earl Grey’s my favourite.” And it was.
“Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky at morning, sailors take warning,” he said, and turned to me. “Dry air that stirs dust particles in the air makes the sky look red. When it’s about to rain, it means the high-pressure system with dry air has moved past and we’re about to experience a low-pressure system that carries moisture.”
“Interesting.”
He made a noise of assent.
“I’d like to go around Wroughton tonight,” I said.
“Even though it might very well rain on us?”
“Why not?”
If I had to be honest, I wanted to do that not because it sounded like a fun thing to do, but because I was afraid our conversation might worm into the things I felt uncomfortable to talk about.
He shrugged and took a last gulp of tea. “Are we walking or do you want to take the bikes?”
I stood up. “Let’s walk.”
It was a good thing the gates were well-oiled. Outside, the lane was a dark ochre track that narrowed as it sped down along the line of trees on either side of it.
“There’s something beautiful about all this loneliness, knowing you’re the only one out here in this slumbering world,” Caleb said.
“You only say that because you have company now.”
He shook his head, smiling almost indulgently, as though I was a child who hadn’t quite grasped what he was saying.
We had started walking, both of us having randomly decided to turn left once we were out of the gates.
“I had a dream about you,” he said mildly.
I was vaguely aware of myself walking faster, my stride matching the pounding in my chest.
He was able to keep apace easily. “You were alone in the Old Belle, reading Hemingway. And then Oliver comes in and you said, Don’t lock me in again, please.”
There was then silence. I waited for more.
Glancing at me sideways, he said, “That was it.”
I did not know if I felt more disappointed or surprised.
“The thing is,” he began, “I always saw you as someone trapped. I don’t mean to make you out to be some kind of damsel in distress, and I’m probably not the best person to give any sort of assessment of you, seeing as how we’ve only just known each other for three days. But –”
“This literally feels like judgement day.” I shrugged. “Night.”
He grinned and slung an arm casually around me, but he did not pull me in closer and I did not move in too. “I just think you get so caught up in your own head that –”
“I have a feeling something corny is coming my way.”
“Will you let me finish?” he demanded, and I smiled slightly. “You don’t seem crazy – at least, I’m pretty sure you’re not crazy – but I think you’re bordering on being a PTSD case.”
“What makes you think I went through a trauma?”
He stared at me like it was obvious. “Blake?”
Without meaning to, I gasped like he had punched me in the gut.
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to upset you,” he said, dropping his arm.
“It’s fine.” But the image of the tears sliding down Blake’s face in my nightmare was already taking centre stage in my mind.
“I was just trying –”
“Why do you keep going on about how I have a problem?” It sounded like I had just snapped at him, but I did not feel the need to apologise.
“Okay, you don’t. Jeez, no need to bite my head off.”
We walked for a while in silence, hoping that would refresh the mood. We were out of the lane where the identical houses sat, and there were only shuttered shops around us.
“Sometimes, the harder you try to fight it – to change things – the easier it becomes for you to step over to the other side.”
It was so unlike his normal way of talking that I stopped walking. It was growing chillier; the winds were coming in stronger.
“I know.” The words were almost taken away by the incoming winds. A rushing filled my ears.
Caleb turned back and stared at me for a while. “Come on, we should start looking for shelter. A storm’s coming.”
It was. The sky was boiling over with red clouds, fierce shades of rage. Trees littered all over were swaying, dark shadows dancing to the howling of winds.
“It doesn’t change a thing, whatever you do.” I looked at him. “When people decide to leave, that’s just it. Nothing you do can ever bring them back to you.”
“Kristen, come on,” Caleb said, walking back to me. He tugged on my arm. The first drop of rain landed on my arm, soaking through my sweater. “Let’s get to somewhere dry first.”
“There’s no point in doing that, Blake.” It could be the pressure of the cold winds all around that was forcing an upwelling within me, a bubbling of all the excess hurt I was able to fight down ever since I came to Wroughton. “You’re not coming back. Mom’s not, either, no matter how much I want to believe otherwise.”
“Kristen,” he said, his finger below my right eye, collecting the moisture that had leaked out. Thunder rolled over our heads. “The storm is coming.”
And then it did. It arrived with a roar that flooded the world, and flashing lights lit up the angry red sky. Soon, we were drenched through, rivulets of raindrops snaking down us, carving their own tracks in our skin.
I rather enjoyed being battered by the storm, standing in the middle of all the natural chaos. Somehow, it helped to make more sense of the natural order of things.
“My mother was never for settling down and staying put. I guess it bored her, the routine of married life and having a kid.” Water entered my mouth, and I drank it up.
He stood there, his hand still on my arm, watching me, listening, waiting.
“I guess it was only natural that she got sick of us and left,” I said. Warm tears teetered over the ridge and spilled over, joining the rainwater in their race down my face.
“You know that’s not true,” he said.
“And you would?”
He pursed his lips.
“Dad never really got into the details, but I could see the signs. Mom never seemed quite satisfied, even if she did seem happy.”
I was starting to get used to the cold, and the rain falling under the orange glow of the streetlights.
“Your mom leaving wasn’t your fault, Kristen,” he said, almost fiercely, as though it was important I got that into my head. He had laid both his hands on my shoulders.
“Maybe it wasn’t, but your death was, Blake. It was, and you know it.”
He did not say anything for a while. And when he finally did, his voice was low. “I don’t.”
I shifted closer and he inched forward slightly. I could feel the fluttering of his breath, rough and uneven, as we leaned closer. The heat he exhaled burned through the cold air between us, burned through my skin, and I felt a part – and then every inch – of me stir, as though rousing in response to what now stood before me.
“I’ve missed you so much, Blake,” I heard myself say. It didn’t sound like me; I never whispered in a voice so desperate and hoarse.
But it was. It was me. I knew from the fact that he froze almost immediately after I said it. I froze too.
Our breaths hung between us, tenuous as a thread, as we both waited. Rain poured between us, a watery chasm too vast to cross.
I did not dare to open my eyes.
But when I felt the frigid space widen between us, I had no choice but to look at the mess I had created. In a way, I almost felt relieved. Maybe he did too.
Caleb had his eyes closed and his head bent, as though apologising for what happened, as though rebuking himself – although for what I did not know.
“Caleb,” I ventured. My voice was so soft I wondered if he heard me.
When you lost a moment, you lost a piece of yourself you never knew you possessed. At that moment, something was lost, along with something I never knew that sat within me.
I shivered.
“Come on, Kristen. Let’s get you someplace warmer.”
This time, I let him. He slipped one arm around me and I leaned closer to him, our cold bodies touching. I did not flinch.
He led me into a gazebo of sorts. It was dark all around, and through the flashes of lightning, I could vaguely make out an open space behind the gazebo, littered with headstones. The cemetery, then, was where we were. Were we trespassing?
The gazebo was a plain one, unadorned, with only a small tube of fluorescent light overhead and a wooden bench running along its four sides. The ground was of dusty grey cement, and the pillars were made of wood.
Caleb sat me down on the bench, peered down at me for a while – I stared back, all the while aware of the water running down my back – and then stared out at the rain.
The sky was as red as before, and flashes of light in the distance were still followed by echoed growling. Water crept up the steps to the gazebo.
“Let’s just wait this one out here,” he said, half of his face in the shadows. “Wroughton’s the lowest-lying area of this island. Once, we got so flooded we had to wade around in water up to our knees for two days.”
“Do you think this rain might lead to a repeat of that?” I was still shivering and I felt a sneeze coming.
He shrugged and turned to look at me. “It might. If this thunderstorm doesn’t up let, we might even be stranded here till morning.”
I let the sneeze out. “My first night outing with you.” I tried to shoot him a smile, but a sneeze got in the way again.
He came over and sat next to me. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t dare to put his