When The Sun Sets

9: Another Man

Part One | Chapter Nine: Another Man

Bellefonte, Pennsylvania

June 1919

Later that night, we depart in the hallway after dinner. Another tense dinner, with no conversation of eye contact between us. It's a good thing the food was good and I was hungry or I would have kicked his shin under the table until it bruised.

I send him off by shooting him a look and he answers by ignoring the look, focusing on entering and locking the door of his room. I stand by as a guard by his door for a moment to be there if he decides to have a change of heart and decide to sleep in my room, but after a minute of silence, I enter my own room and close the door behind me.

I stare at the empty space beside me on the bed, hand outstretched against it. I imagine his body, his warmth, his breath on my neck as I fall asleep.

***

The silence lasts only a few minutes as the door beside mine suddenly creaks open and I hear pacing outside my door. Raising my head, I catch the knock just in time. The knocks are more like thuds, like rocks falling onto the ground. They're fast and loud, no doubt disturbing the rest of the house. Every knock makes me jolt and I feel the pound against my heart like loud music does.

It could be Grace. The knocks sound very frantic so whoever is on the other side must be frightened. Maybe it's Grace who's had a nightmare, looking for comfort.

Padding over to the door, I slowly open it to reveal Harry. The sight is startling. His shirt is drenched with sweat, curls sticking to his forehead, chest heaving as his wild eyes take in my room, stepping into it without asking me. I stand to the side, stunned, letting him pace around like a predator searching for his prey.

"I heard something," he mutters, pale-faced, shakily running a hand through his hair. He finally turns to look at me. "Was there someone here?"

"No," I say, alarmed, heartbeat in my ears. I step forward, holding a hand out. "Harry. It's just me."

"Christ," he whispers, staggering to a stop. He slowly lowers himself to the edge of my mattress, running a hand tiredly over his face. "Annaliese. Who was here? Are you hurt? What are you doing awake?" He suddenly stands up again, reaching for my wrist. A moment passes and then he releases me, sitting back down.

Terrified by his appearance and aware of the weight of his hand lingering on my wrist, I wrap my arms around myself. "It's just me. I was about to fall asleep."

"You were about to fall asleep," he murmurs to himself, rubbing his eyes. "Fuck's sake. I thought you got hurt. I heard some shouting so I thought... fuck's sake."

Unsure why his anger is directed at me, I sit besides him and tentatively place a hand on his shoulder, feeling the sweat under my fingertip. He violently becomes aware of my hand on him because he shifts backwards and shoves my wrist away. The untamed eyes look at me darkly.

Hesitantly, I move back from him. "Sorry."

"Didn't I tell you not to touch me?" he snaps, standing up. "Fuck's sake, Annaliese. How many times have I told you? Do you deliberately choose not to listen to me? Do you want me to be angry at you constantly? I don't fucking understand you."

He's never spoken to me like that. I open my mouth to yell at him back and demand what his problem is, but when I take a step forward, he moves back, eyes filled with something different. It's not anger anymore. Fear.

I pull my hand into my lap. "Sorry. Do you...want some water?"

"No, I don't want any water."

He stands up and begins to pace.