Authors: Melissa Delport
Rainfall (24 page)
“Please, Adam!” I pant and then he is above me, a maniacal look on his beautiful face, and in one swift movement I feel him inside of me and I let out a moan of pure, unadulterated ecstasy before he is moving and I rise up to meet him, wondering if this is what heaven feels like.
I can feel Adam’s hand running up and down my spine and I smile, without opening my eyes.
“Good morning, Mrs Parker,” he murmurs in my ear and I open my eyes to smile at him.
“I like the sound of that,” I grin and he smiles back at me. He lowers his head and kisses me and through the sheets I can feel his arousal.
“How about round two?” he asks and I kiss him hard on the mouth.
“I like the sound of that even more,” I answer, throwing my leg over his body and straddling him.
It is almost lunch time when we finally venture down the cobbled pathway, bow-legged and starry-eyed, unable to keep our hands off one another even for a short period of time. Mrs O’Reilly makes us a full Irish breakfast, her round face filled with delight, while a knowing smirk plays around Mr O’Reilly’s lips that soon has me blushing.
The rest of the weekend passes without incident, but it is not long before my secret rears its ugly head. On Sunday afternoon Mr O’Reilly has gone down to the store for supplies as instructed by Shannon and most of the guests had left shortly after lunch to make their way back home. Adam and I are sitting by a fire drinking red wine while Mrs O’Reilly regales us with stories of previous guests and weddings they have hosted. Mid-way through a particularly interesting story about a bride whose boyfriend turned up in the middle of her ceremony and challenged the groom to a fist-fight, I see the twitch out of the corner of my eye and my blood runs cold. Oblivious, Shannon is still speaking when the thunderous voice of Simon rings through the room.
“Why are we still here, Paige!” he yells, standing and throwing the rest of Adam’s wine into a nearby pot-plant. I cast an anxious glance at his ring finger, feeling an enormous sense of relief that Adam has left his simple gold band in the cottage this afternoon. It was slightly loose and he was worried he might lose it. Simon seems to have the same train of thought and he narrows his eyes, bringing his hand up to examine it. Seemingly satisfied, he rounds on me, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead.
“Well?” he asks, tapping his foot.
I glance across at Shannon whose mouth is wide open in surprise, staring up at Simon in shock.
“Simon, um, I'd like you to meet Shannon O’Reilly; she runs this establishment. Mrs O’Reilly, this is Simon Harris,” I make the introductions praying that Simon will be polite. Alas, Simon is no such thing and he ignores Shannon completely.
“Why are we still here?” he demands. “I told you to take me back to Doctor Sheldon, but of course you have absolutely no respect for my wishes. Just goes to show the kind of person that you are,” the look that he gives me makes it glaringly obvious what he thinks of me and I flush in mortification as he continues, “at least now that we all know the truth we can get rid of that revolting hanger-on!” His dismissive attitude toward Adam infuriates me and I am on my feet in a flash, but before I can say a word, Mrs O’Reilly cuts across me.
“Now you listen here sonny!” she roars and even Simon flinches, blinking at her in sudden alarm. “This is my house and
ye’ll hold a civil tongue in your mouth or ye’ll be thrown out on yer arse!” she snaps and I beam with pride. I love how much more pronounced her accent becomes when she is angry and the look on Simon’s face is priceless.
“I beg your pardon?” Simon draws himself up to his full height trying to regain the upper hand. Shannon waves her ever-present tea towel at him.
“You heard me!” she shrieks and Simon takes a step backward.
“You don’t understand,
Madam.," he begins, obviously realising that he needs to seriously change his tactic if he intends getting Shannon on his side, “this woman has been lying to all of you! She's not who you think. She's keeping me a prisoner here against my will. That man that she's parading around in front of you doesn’t even exist, he’s merely a...” he trails off as he finally catches sight of Shannon’s face.
“I know exactly what's going on here, young man,” she snaps and Simon’s confusion shows on his face. “Paige has told me all about you,” she continues, and Simon looks slightly mollified before her next words sink in, “and it appears you are just as pompous and irritating as she made out!”
“I will not be spoken to like that,” Simon insists, “I want to speak to Doctor Sheldon,” he turns to me and the smile dies on my face. “Now!” he continues and I cringe. Doctor Sheldon had given me until this evening to get Simon back to the Institute or he would call the police. Reality asserts itself and comes crashing down around me. This is the ugly truth. Adam does not exist. The revolting man standing in front of me does, and as much as I have loved playing Cinderella, this is not a fairy tale. The fairy tale has to end. Tears prick at my eyes and I slowly nod my head.
“I’ll get my phone,” I mumble, stumbling from the room, tears blurring my vision as I make my way down the mossy path wondering at just how far the earth has shifted since last night, when Adam and I walked this path together on the first night of what he believed would be the rest of our lives. I don’t hesitate; there is no time to dwell on it, I snatch my phone from where I had left it on the rumpled sheets and head straight back.
“Just so you know, I do know that what I'm doing is wrong,” I say as I walk back into the guest house, ignoring Mrs O’Reilly’s frantic hiss of “Paige!” Determined to get it off my chest for once and for all, I continue, closing the door and staring down at the cell phone that is about to be my undoing. “I know and I intend to set things right. But you could never be half the man that Adam is...”
“Paige!” I cannot ignore her this time and I lift my eyes to stare at her questioningly. She is standing behind the arm chair near the fire, pointing down at it, and, sitting there, looking confused and slightly afraid, is Adam.
“Paige?” It is Adam’s voice this time and I freeze, my blood running cold in my veins.
“Adam...” I trail off, replaying what I have just said. Mrs O’Reilly gives me a sympathetic, teary look, pursing her lips then, turning on her heel she flees into the kitchen her tea towel flapping in her wake.
“Paige, what is going on?” Adam asks and I glance down at the phone. This is it; I am out of time. No more play-pretend, no more hiding from the truth. I pinch the bridge of my nose and then, closing my eyes, I press my fingers into my eye sockets almost painfully, determined that I will not cry. I will be strong. For once. For Adam.
“Adam, we have to talk.”
“That’s not possible!” Adam is almost yelling and I take his hand, squeezing it as tightly as I can.
“It is, Adam,” I answer gently. He jerks his hand out of my grasp and gets to his feet, pacing back and forth in front of the fire.
“Adam...” I begin, but he cuts me off almost immediately,
“No, Paige! No! This is not okay! How could you not tell me about this? How long have you known?” I don’t answer him and he takes a few quick steps towards me, grabbing me by my shoulders and shaking me back and forth. “How long?” he yells and I flinch. I shut my eyes, not wanting to see the hurt and despair in his blue eyes.
“Paige!” he howls and I bite down on my lip, shaking my head.
“I’m so sorry, Adam,” I begin and he lets me go abruptly. When he speaks again he sounds only moderately calmer.
“I remember so much. How can I remember so much if it’s not my life?”
“Because you lived most of it,” I answer truthfully. “Simon must have withdrawn so far after the death of his parents that he was practically non-existent. He may have been around more often when you were children; it would explain how he spent so much time with
Lizzy.”
“Why would I not remember that?” Adam asks in obvious frustration.
“We have no concept of time in our childhood, Adam. We measure it from one happy memory to the next.”
“Or one unhappy memory to the next,” he muses and I remember that Adam’s childhood in the orphanage was hardly the stuff fairy tales are made of. I glance at the old grandfather clock in the hall; we have been talking for over an hour. Mr O’Reilly returned about half an hour ago but his wife quickly shepherded him from the room, casting an apologetic glance at us over her shoulder.
“I don’t want to go,” Adam whispers catching my eye. “Please Paige, let’s stay here. Let’s live our lives, you and me, together, forever.” He looks so earnest that for a split second I am tempted to just throw myself into his arms and agree.
“We can’t,” I shake my head. I'm starting to feel dizzy. “He won’t let us.”
“He can go to hell!” Adam yells. “What right does he have to this life? He hasn’t earned it!” This is so close to the reasons I used myself to try and justify keeping Simon buried, but I know better now.
“Adam, we have to give him his life back. We have to go back to Doctor Sheldon,” I pause, knowing that what I am about to say next will be the key to finally convincing him. A huge part of me wants to stay silent and let him convince me to stay, but deep down I know how wrong that would be.
“Doctor Sheldon is going to report me to the authorities,” I begin hesitantly and Adam’s head jerks up, “he’s going to have me arrested for kidnapping. For holding Simon against his will.”
“He wouldn’t do that,” Adam scoffs, “he’s our friend.”
“He’s a doctor, Adam. He took an oath. He has an obligation to Simon. He’ll do it,” I add, resignedly.
“
Aaargh!” he roars, running his hands through his hair, not pausing in his relentless pacing.
I get to my feet and walk straight up to him.
“Stop,” I murmur, taking his arm and pulling him towards me, ‘please, just stop.” He surveys my face, his eyes darting from my hair, to my eyes, to my nose, my mouth and back again. Eventually he closes his eyes and pulls me against him, burying his face in my hair. Finally I cannot hold the tears back any longer and I let them fall freely, knowing what he is going to say even before he says it. After a long moment he finally pulls away, tears shining in his own eyes.
“I can’t let you get into trouble, Paige. Not because of me,” he sighs in defeat. “We’ll go back. I’ll give him his life back.”
The flight back to New York is a far cry from the flight that carried us to Ireland, full of life and possibility. Adam is subdued; he has barely said a word since our discussion yesterday and last night he barely touched me in bed, flinching away when his arm accidentally brushed my back.
I cannot bring myself to say anything either; my heart is heavy and I know that if I open my mouth to speak I will not be able to stop the tears that are threatening to flow. I twist my wedding ring around and around on my finger, my mind filled with every memory I have of the two of us. I cannot believe that it has come to this; that our journey is coming to an end. Along with the despair, a cold, black hatred of Simon Harris is festering inside of me. This is his fault;
all his fault. I would rather he die than inhabit the body that I worship with my entire being.
“Paige,” Adam’s croaky whisper in my ear brings me to the present with a start. He clears his throat and his eyes look bruised they are so black underneath. I realise that neither of us managed to get a wink of sleep last night. We just lay, back to back in the enormous bed, each lost in our own inner turmoil; in too much pain to even turn to the other for comfort.
“Yes?” I ask, my own voice sounding hoarse with the lack of use over the past 24 hours.
“I just...” he trails off, gazing towards the front of the plane. “Never mind,” he shakes his head and settles back in his seat, determinedly turning his head away, as though the very sight of me is too much for him to bear. I swallow down the lump in my throat and gaze out of the window at the clouds, wanting and wishing for something that can never be.
Carl meets us at the airport a grim expression on his kind face.
“Adam. Paige,” he nods at each of us in turn and then relieves me of my suitcase, walking briskly out of the automated doors and to the car without once glancing back. I follow meekly behind Adam, feeling my anger at Simon stretching, spreading out like an elastic band to engulf Carl Sheldon, who is also in on it, who wants to kill the man I love.
I am so lost in thought that it takes a moment to register that we are not headed for the apartment. I take in the familiar scenery and a jolt of panic courses through my body as I realise that we are heading straight for the Institute.
Not now! Not so soon!
“Carl, please!” I lean forward between the two front seats, pleading. It suddenly occurs to me that there is so much left unsaid. Adam and I have wasted so much time last night on the plane; it can’t end like this. “Please, can we do this tomorrow?”
Carl doesn’t take his eyes off the road and when he speaks he sounds tired.
“Paige, what’s the point?”
“You said yourself that Adam has lived with his disorder his whole life; what's one more day?” I almost yell, in the confined space of the car. “Doesn’t the same apply to Simon?” I am desperate. I have to convince him!
“Paige,” he sighs, “you're only hurting yourself.” He shakes his head sadly but he has not said no and I cling to this tiny shred of hope.
“Lizzy!” I breathe, and he finally turns to glance at me, confusion etched on his face. “Lizzy should be there when Simon comes around,” I turn to Adam looking for support, but he is staring at his feet, his face a mask of acceptance and despair. I take a breath, “She needs to be there, Carl. She's Simon’s Paige. You know that I’m right.” That is all I can do. I have played my last card. Praying fervently that it is enough, I force myself to sit back on my seat and let Carl make up his mind.
“And if you run?” The question comes out of the blue and I blink, bewildered. I had not even considered that, but now that he mentions it I feel a spark of excitement in my chest. We could run again. This time we could go somewhere where nobody could ever find us. But no sooner has the thought occurred to me than the heaviness returns to my chest and I lift my chin, meeting Carl’s watchful eyes in the
rearview mirror.
“We won’t,” I promise and I mean it.
My heart is in my throat as we approach the next set of street lights but, to my amazement, Carl indicates to turn left and I exhale, tears brimming in my eyes. He is taking us home.
“Thank you,” I whisper, the words seeming insignificant in light of the trust and the faith that he is showing us. “Thank you, thank you,
thank you.”
At the apartment block Carl hands us our luggage.
“Tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock,” he instructs, casting a meaningful look in my direction. I nod, I will not let him down. “I’ll get hold of Lizzy,” he adds before driving off and I feel a pang of guilt and shame. I will have to face Lizzy. After all the lies I will have to look into her trusting blue eyes and own up to my deceit. She will hate me I realise. I would certainly hate her if she had kept Adam from me.
In the apartment I wearily unpack the suitcases and then I have a shower. Dressing in my comfy
pajamas I risk a glance at the bedside clock. It is almost 7 p.m. We only have 14 hours. Time, I realise, is my enemy. I wish I could stop the clock or turn it back, but what I want, what I wish doesn’t matter. My shoulders sag in defeat and I make my way back down the passage. Adam is sitting in the armchair, his shoulders stooped, his head hanging. He has not moved or said a word since we arrived. My chest tight with emotion I kneel before him, taking his hand in my own.
“Adam,” I urge, trying to get him to look at me. “Adam,” I repeat, tugging at his arm, but he is staring at the floor, his eyes hollow.
“Adam, please,” I beg, taking hold of his face and forcing him to look at me. He stares through me as if I am invisible and I bite my lip, my face crumpling. I am so close to the edge, the emotional precipice that has beaten me once before.
In 14 hours
I think to myself.
In 14 hours you can have me
. I will leave this life when he does. I have no intention of coming back without Adam.
I force myself to stand, my legs feeling weak and I head for the kitchen. I make two cups of tea, using the short time to collect myself and regain control of my emotions. Making my way back to the lounge I stub my toe on the edge of the sofa and give a yelp of pain, my eyes and nose starting to water instantly. Adam glances up, concern crossing his face and makes as though to stand, then seems to think better of it and sinks back into the armchair.
“Enough!” I shout at him, anger coursing through my veins. “Don’t act as though you don’t exist Adam, please!” He lifts his head, an ugly, sinister smile spreading across his handsome face.
“But I don’t exist, Paige,” he says calmly.
“Oh no, you don’t,” I mutter angrily, setting the cups down, not concerned that half the tea sloshes onto the wooden table. “Don’t you dare do this to me, Adam Parker,” I round the table and sit down on the opposite end of it, facing him.
“Do what, Paige?” His tone is sarcastic. “I don’t exist. You know it, I know it. In fact, I don’t even know why you brought me back here. Is this some sort of self-persecuting act of pity?” He raises his eyebrows and opens his arms, gesturing at the apartment. “This is not my house,” he laughs without humour.
“Adam!” I half-sob. “This is your house; this is our home!”
“These are not my clothes,” he continues as though I haven’t even spoken, pulling at his cotton shirt, “this is not even my body,” he adds, gesturing at himself.
“Adam, please,” I beg, and he regards me with a disgusted look on his face, “and you?” his tone is accusatory and I brace myself for what is coming next. “You are not my wife!” he hisses, standing and stalking into the kitchen as I cover my face with my hands, the pain of his words too much for me to even voice a denial.
“These!” he yells, opening the kitchen cabinet and pulling out two of the mugs that I gave him for Christmas. “These don’t belong here!”
“Adam, no!” I mewl, shaking my head. He ignores me, smashing them to the ground before reaching into the cabinet and retrieving another two. I jump off the table, tears blurring my vision and fling myself at him just as the mugs crash to the ground.
“Stop it!” I yell, clinging to him with all my strength as he tries desperately to push me away.
“Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!” I keep yelling, ignoring his enraged cries and his fingers digging painfully into my arms as he tries to extricate me.
“I am not Adam!” he roars, the sound filling the entire apartment and echoing down the passage. “I am not your husband!” he continues and I turn my head from side to side, refusing to let him go and gasping, “Please Adam,” over and over again like a mantra.
Finally his superior strength wins and he disentangles me, holding me at arm’s length and hissing into my face.
“Adam Parker doesn’t exist, Paige! My name is Simon Harris!”
Something inside of me snaps and I claw at his face, his chest, his clothes, anything I can reach. I hate, hate, hate him right now and all the anger that I feel towards Simon is unleashed on Adam like a river of hot, scalding lava. I feel my nails tearing at his skin as he tries in vain to subdue me, the anger adding a hysterical strength to my efforts. When he finally hits me, it is so hard that I spin almost a full 180 º before landing hard on the tiled floor in a crumpled, broken mess.
“Paige?” Adam’s voice has returned to normal and soft hands are pushing my hair out of my face. My cheek is aching and I lift my hand gingerly, wincing as I touch the bruised area.
“Oh God,” Adam sounds forlorn and I open my eyes to see his beautiful blue eyes gazing down at me with an eternity of regret reflected in their depths. “Paige, I am so, so sorry,” he whispers, and I sit up, feeling a sharp pain in my hand as I do so. I realise that we are both sitting on the shattered remains of the smashed mugs. Adam seems to realise this at the same time and he scoops me up into his arms, treading carefully as he makes his way through the kitchen, then deposits me gently on the sofa.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats leaving my side for a moment. I hear the crunch of him walking through the broken ceramic and the sound of the ice-box opening and then he is back with a frozen bag of peas which he presses up against my cheek.
“Can you give me a sec?” he asks, searching my face, and I nod, not trusting myself to speak, terrified that I might say something that will cause him to behave like before, to deny that he is Adam.
I am momentarily alarmed when I hear the front door open but before I can say anything, he is gone. I lie back on the couch praying that he is not leaving me. A few minutes later I hear the door again and I glance up to see Adam re-entering the apartment. He heads over to me immediately, dropping to sit cross-legged in front of me and taking my hand.
“The neighbours,” he murmurs, by way of explanation, his eyes never leaving my face, “I just wanted to give them an explanation before they called the cops.”
“What did you tell them?” I ask, curious, and he smiles for the first time since Ireland.
“I told them we were playing X-Box and that we take it very seriously,” he says solemnly and I gaze up at him in disbelief. He chuckles, ruffling my hair before he adds, “I told them the truth,” and his face becomes serious again.
I am about to ask what their reaction was when I realise that I don’t actually give a damn and I sit up, swinging my legs off the chair and slipping down onto the floor beside him.
“I really am sorry, Paige,” he says, sounding so apologetic that I smile at him.
“I know that, Adam,” I deliberately place my hand on his cheek and turn his head to face me, “don’t you think I know that?” I whisper, dropping a feather-light kiss on his lips.
I rest my forehead against his and close my eyes. I don’t want to spend my life dreaming of all the things that never were and feeling the pain of his loss. Adam’s hand cups my face tenderly, dropping kisses on my forehead, my nose,
my cheeks. He sighs, pulling me onto his lap and cradling me like a child.
“How did we end up here?” he whispers softly.
I press my face into his chest, breathing in deeply, trying to fill my senses with him, with Adam. There is no answer to his question, no answer to the myriad questions that I want to scream into the air; that I want answers for. The universe is cruel. Life is not fair. Our ability to feel and to love is our weakness; this is what it means to be human.
We sit like this for ages, clinging to each other as if this is the last night on earth; which, of course, for Adam, it is.
For both of us
I remind myself. Eventually Adam disengages me, depositing me gently on the floor beside him so that he can get to his feet. His beautiful eyes, the windows to his beautiful soul, look down at me with infinite sadness. He offers me his hand and pulls me to my feet, wrapping me in his arms and holding me tightly.
“Come,” he finally murmurs, leading me by the hand to the bedroom and I fight the urge to succumb to the darkness that lingers just beyond the realm of my subconscious, dancing in the shadows.
Not yet, Paige
. I push it away, focusing only on Adam and what little time we have left.