The Stars Fight Against Us

Chapter 6

IT HAPPENED ALL AT ONCE after that. The kiss became more than a simple brush of lips, and I couldn't help but to return it.

It's not as if I didn't want this, but I didn't exactly want it, either.

Alexander's hand moves from my chest to rest at the small of my back, making me pull away for a moment to gasp at the unexpected touch. He opens his eyes at the absence. "This is... this is okay, right?"

I can only nod, a practically involuntary movement.

I don't even know when his mouth met mine again, and the next few moments became a blur in my mind.

All I know is that somehow, we ended up on the bed, the blankets pushed to the foot. My fingers tangled in Hamilton's hair. I instinctively arch my back as he runs his hands down the exposed skin of it.

His kisses become more passionate, and my mouth opened beneath his. My quick response seems to take Alexander by surprise, as his hands cease their determined exploration down my spine. It's only a moment before it goes back to its prior state.

He trails his kisses down my neck, and I allow it; welcome it, almost. The feeling is all but too familiar to me.

The room is silent save for the soft rustling of the sheets beneath us and the blood rushing in my ears. It only fuels my anxiety that someone could hear something, anything, but I manage to push the worry away.

I feel Alexander slip his hand a little lower than my back, and I gasp loudly. "Alex- no, stop," I say, my eyes wide. "Don't- don't... do that... please." My breaths are heavy and rapid, my discomfort clearly showing across my face, as his face flushes and he pulls himself away from me. I wince as his hand brushes lightly over my half-healed wound.

"John, I—"

"Just- stop. I... I don't—" I don't want to do something we'll both regret.

"It's fine, I understand."

You don't. You won't ever understand.

I settle for shaking my head.

What have I done?

THE NEXT FEW DAYS all begin to smear together, and I barely remember anything constant besides Alexander.

Alexander and his eloquence with everything he says; Alexander and the way his eyes always seem to be watching everything; Alexander and how his hand brushes against mine wherever he finds a way to; Alexander, Alexander, Alexander.

I don't love him. How could I? We've barely known each other two months, we've kissed twice—though I suppose that in itself requires some sort of commitment—, and obviously if I did make the mistake of falling in love with him, it would be fatal. For both of us.

I don't want to think about Hamilton, though I find myself not being able to keep my mind on anything else.

On top of that, an overwhelming sense of guilt is weighing over me, getting ready to push me over the edge at any moment. I feel guilty for kissing Hamilton, I feel guilty for allowing it to happen, I feel guilty for... enjoying it.

If anything, I can't deny that.

THERE'S A STRANGE TENSION in the air in the days following the battle. Men are still being treated for their injuries, and I begin to count myself among the lucky that I hadn't received any worse wounds.

Alexander continues to check on it every so often, his concern growing as I find my thirst for combat re-emerging.

Not for glory, not for fame, only for the sheer rush of adrenaline.

That, and, quite truthfully, the ever-present possibility of not returning.

"You're sure it's fine?" Hamilton asks worriedly for about the fifth time, pulling me out of my head. We're returning to our tent after a long day of composing correspondence.

"Yes, I've told you about a hundred times, I am fine." He stands in front of me, but I can't bring myself to look at him directly.

I'm afraid I'll see what I already know lies so plainly in his eyes.

Instead, I force my gaze to look just above his head, focusing on the treetops, only then realizing that he'd backpedaling.

"Alexander, you're going to—" He trips over his own feet. "—fall. Graceful."

"Oh, shut up." Hamilton rolls his eyes and I extend my hand, pulling him up.

He bounces upwards and we are suddenly face-to-face, his breath warming my throat.

"Have you not yet picked up that I have been blatantly flirting with you?"

I make the terrible mistake of looking into his eyes. They're wide, staring up at me like two sapphires as they reflect the dusk sunlight.

For one blissful moment, I forget he's dangerous.

My heart skips a few beats as he leans closer to me, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were inspecting my face. We're outside, I want to say. We'll be seen.

"I know exactly what I'm doing, John Laurens."

Hamilton inhales sharply. "Your cravat is crooked," He fumbles with the fabric, his fingers lightly brushing the skin of my neck. "There." he says, his hand resting momentarily on my chest. The lingering touch is so swift I believe I imagine it at first.

Although, I know I didn't imagine how his lips grazed gently against my ear as he leaned closer.

And I know I didn't imagine the two words that I never thought I'd hear again from him, whispered like a breeze.

"I'm sorry."