And Yet, You're Here (Arthur Havisham)

Chapter 5

"We could run away, you know. Just pack our things and run. All the way to London."

"You think we could get away with that?"

"We could try."

I sit, at the age of 16, beside Tobias Barneby, my one true friend in our cozy little neighborhood. Having known each other since we were young, we'd spent many days where we sat now, in front of the babbling creek just a short walk away from our homes. I looked at him, drinking in his beauty. His hair was long and dark, a rebellious type, he was. His eyes, dark as night, caught glimmers of sunlight that made it seem as though I were looking at the night sky. Endless. Forever. He had a gap between his two front teach, and a crooked smile that only added to the charm and infectiousness of his laughter. I could spend eternity tracing constellations in the freckles that littered his cheeks. He looked over at me, reaching into the creek to splash a bit of water my way.

"You're staring!" He said, that crooked smile beginning to form. I laughed, wiping the water off of my face and splashing him back.

"Because it's an outrageous idea!" I responded, smiling back at him. "Could you imagine what would happen to us if your father found out!"

"He ain't gonna!" He said, looking back out to the creek. "No, no we're going to be so stealthy he'll have no clue we've gone until it's too late."

"And my sister?" I questioned.

"She won't know either." He said, simply. We sat in the quiet for a little bit, and I looked down at our hands. They were close. Almost touching. An intense desire to reach out and place my hand on his clouded the part of me begging me to shove this feeling down. I placed my hand on top of his, and he looked over at me, a look of confusion falling over him. That crooked smile remained though.

"You steady there, old boy?" Tobias said quietly. I couldn't think. Not with the way he looked at me. Not with the little smile. And certainly not with the feeling of his hand in mine.

"Yes," I responded wistfully. He took hold of my hand, squeezing it gently and staring into my eyes.

"We'll get out of here, Bishop." He said. "We will."

I thought of this moment as I sat before Arthur, my hand on his cheek, catching the stray tears that fell against my palm. I thought of the hope, and confusion, and desire, and found myself back where I once was. Frozen in this moment, I could barely muster up the sense to speak. Luckily, I didn't have to. As if taken out of a trance, Arthur's eyes darted toward the door. He took my hand in his and took it off of his cheek, quickly wiping his eyes and pulling me towards a bookshelf in the far corner.

"Arthur what are you-"

"Stay here." He said firmly. "Don't move. Don't Breathe." His voice was still trembling, fragile, but he quickly stood before the desk, the door quietly creaking open.

Amelia stood in the doorway, slowly making her way to Arthur.

"Arthur..." She said quietly. "Are you okay?"

Arthur fidgeted with his cufflinks and looked over at Amelia with a soft, sad look. "I just needed a moment." he said, glancing up at the portrait hung above the desk. Amelia sighed.

"Yes, they're all quite kind," she began. "But one can't help but feel a bit overwhelmed."

The air hung thick. I could feel the invisible wall between them. How could they be so close, yet act as though they've only just met? Amelia took a step forward, music fading from the main area, instruments beginning to be plucked in an odd assortment of tuning.