TO LIE WITH MIDNIGHT ROSES

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XAVIER

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She looks hesitant to take my hand but she does. You would think she would know how to get over a windowsill. 

She had tried once before. I hold back my smirk as I remember her trying to run away. It's not that I didn't want her to be able to go home. It just isn't safe for her to do that yet but I don't want to pry her about that night, not now, not yet. 

The memory was still a fresh wound and she was now struggling with the memories of her childhood trauma as well. The things she told me held vivid memories in my mind; she was hurting still.

I would wait. I would ask her later.

She steps over the window and I help her down, careful not to touch her too much. I stop myself before my hand reaches for her waist, grabbing hold of her by the elbow instead. She thanks me as she stands on the landing below, her knees lock as she looks down off the edge of the mountain. 

The ledge we stand on is about ten feet long and four feet wide. A small overhang just outside the window, the tall spruces and pines from the lower level reach us with the tips of the trees stopping just a few feet above us. She shivers as we stand and I hadn't realized I was staring at her. Her skin is pebbled with goosebumps.

Looking away I turn my gaze towards the sky. I can see the stars through the swaying branches and I think back to my father momentarily, we loved star-gazing together. He would always tell me things about astrology and the planets.

 I wish I remembered more. I notice something though, pointing out a constellation that brings me back to the night I met her.

"Look," I say, kneeling down," Orion's belt."

Sitting now on the overhang, I place the book I had in my arm down as I point towards the sky. Her gaze follows as she looks up. She sits now too, folding her arms across her chest as she draws small circles into the sides of her arms. I feel bad for a moment bringing her out here, I forget sometimes humans get cold. 

I don't really remember what that feels like anymore.

"It's beautiful," She says, shivering as her teeth begin to chatter, "I've always been fascinated with the stars."

"My father used to tell me all about them..." I find myself saying, looking away from her. I daze off into the tree-lined hills before us and I find my mouth moving again, words spewing off my tongue, "My father used to say he saw stars in my mother's eyes. That eyes are the windows to our souls."

I turn to look at her and she is looking at me as if she had just seen a ghost. I stiffen, wondering why I had shared that with her, why I kept on speaking after the first thing I said. I've never told anybody that before, I never had anyone worth telling that to. I clear my throat, grabbing the book from beside me and flipping it open to distract myself from what the hell just happened. I skim through a few pages of Julius Caesar and I'm not even sure why I grabbed this book. I had countless others.

"Shakespeare..." She muses, "He seems to be a favourite of yours."

"There classics," I lick the tip of my thumb and use it to flip the page, "But something about most of them are so... tragic."

"Yes but sometimes the greatest stories are, don't you think?" I notice her lips quiver when I look at her and she has her knees curled to her chest as her body shivers. I place the book down, and without thinking I pull off my sweater and hand it to her.

 She refuses at first, saying she was fine. She's a terrible liar. 

I insist on her wearing it and she still says no, saying I should keep it in case I get cold. I chuckle, shaking my head and she groans in frustration.