Jessamyn panicked and her heart pounded hearing his voice. His voice was laced with so much pain, that she thought it was because of her ointment-stained hands.
She didn't like that he was leaning on her but more than that, she was worried that he was pressing her ointment-stained hands on his face.
It must sting badly! What is he doing?
"Your Grace…" she tried to pull her hands out but he gripped her hands as if his life depended on it. She struggled for a while before giving up.
With one side of her neck getting warm with his breath, Jessamyn exhaled slowly to control her racing heartbeat. Time trickled away and she waited for him to get up.
After a couple of minutes that seemed like an eternity for her, she sensed some movement from him, but he was not leaning away from her. She sat still, with her back straight, waiting for him to leave her.
"Heh!" He let out a snort. His sharp exhale displaced some hair at the nape of her neck, sending warm shivers over her skin. "What am I… I can't kneel…" he chuckled softly.
Jessamyn held her breath. He appeared to be mocking himself.
Did he try to kneel earlier? Why?
He rested his cheek on her shoulder, this time allowing her to carry his weight. The tip of his nose grazed on the soft skin of her neck. He giggled softly like a boy as if he had finally found his preferred place.
Jessamyn's heart clenched with his every movement and yet she maintained her stature.
He nuzzled closer to her neck; she sensed the warmth of his lips so close to her neck—the part where the scab of the knife wound she inflicted on herself still remained.
"You're so…"
Whatever he wanted to say, he didn't finish. He rubbed her hand on his cheek and kissed the palm of her hand.
Jessamyn didn't protest. If he so wanted to have his face burn with the sting of the ointment, who was she to stop him?
She stared at the open door waiting for her chance to leave even though she didn't understand his surrendering gesture.
She couldn't see his face. She sensed that he wanted something from her but she couldn't read his heart. She was not that talented. He was not asking for anything. In the uncomfortable silence, she stayed calm, waiting to be let go.
"Did he kneel…?" he asked, his voice deep and filled with yearning.
Jessamyn turned to face him instinctively; a bunch of his hair graced her lips and tickled her nose. She immediately looked to the front.
This is an intimate position, she thought, blinking her eyes. And that was an odd question.
"…to propose to you?" he added, possibly to add the needed context to his previous question.
Jessamyn's heart pounded and her breathing got heavy. She got alert for reasons she couldn't say. She couldn't even think of that sweet memory of the past as she was uneasy.
Why is he asking about that?
"Did you?" she asked him back. "To Imogen?"
She was not curious at all; she was not a fan of rubbing salt over her wounds, but she'd rather rub salt on her wounds before talking about Joar to him.
He let out a deep breath. She felt his smile and that only caused a prick of pain in her heart.
His big hand covered her shoulder. She shrank; not because of his touch, but because of the pain.
He was not rough. His hand that once fought valiantly in battle, the muscles beneath the weathered skin that held back the raw power that once exterminated its enemies with his trustworthy sword, was gentle on her. There lingered a tenderness, a gentleness reserved for moments of solace as if reminding her of the humanity that beat inside his fierce heart.
What caused the pain, she couldn't say. Was she doubtful if he was aware he was holding her? Yes. Did she care? Mostly no.
But the pain rippled fiercely, gnawing her heart.
His finger—graceful and elegant, trailed along her collarbone. "Your heart is racing…" he said pressing his hand over her heart.
She could not bear the pain anymore. The suffocating pain pulled apart her sanity. It felt like her heart was getting torn apart like the last little piece of bread being torn apart by ten hungry children.
She couldn't bear it.
Her forehead became wet with perspiration; her ears rang; her eyesight became blurry.
She remembered that pain. She used to feel this exact pain in the past—for a year after Joar died, she used to get this attack; she'd be rendered unconscious out of pain. That suffering gradually reduced over time. These days, she could barely hold on without entering into a sobbing fit whenever she thought of him. She could smile thinking of the happy moments.
But why did that pain reappear? She couldn't hold on. She slipped from his embrace and fell to her knees on the floor.
"Jessamyn!"
She heard him shout from above. She couldn't respond. The relentless drumming of her heart drowned other sensations. The torn pieces of her heart were pounded in a mortar by an invisible pestle, smothering her, and extinguishing the little joy she had left. Even breathing became laborious.
She curled into a ball hugging herself, not knowing how to stop her mind from descending to the darkness of hopeless despair.
"I won't touch you again, my dearest songbird!" She heard his voice from the mountaintop for she had already descended to purgatory. "Please, don't hurt yourself… Please… Please…"
Sob… She heard him sob, helplessly.
I am not hurting myself, she wanted to say. I do not want this pain.
She was not deliberately looking for this pain. The pain that now wrangled around her neck, suffocated her further.
I am dying, she thought as the pain intensified. That was why she ran to the darkness at the end of the tunnel.
Please, relieve me of this suffering… Someone... Please… Joar, help me...