I have waited a thousand years for you.

Beneath the surface: Power and the cravings of power

Margaret lay sprawled on the bed, her notebook perched precariously on the edge, pen in hand as it glided across the pages in a flurry of motion. Her feet swayed absentmindedly to a rhythm only she could hear, a movement that stirred something deep within Jasper.

"Hey," he whispered, his voice thick with unspoken emotion. "How are you feeling?"

Margaret's eyes remained fixed on her notebook, refusing to meet his gaze. "Fine. The Advil seems to be helping," she replied, her tone distant, as though the words were merely an afterthought.

Jasper moved closer, sitting gently beside her on the bed. "I wasn't talking about that."

Margaret knew precisely what he meant, but the thought of delving into it was unbearable. To speak of it would be to acknowledge the weight of what had happened, and she wasn't certain she was ready to face that reality.

"I know," she answered, her voice devoid of emotion, a flat, simple response. Desperate to avoid the conversation, she quickly redirected. "I'm almost done with the editing," she said, her eyes brightening ever so slightly as she focused on the colorful corrections scattered across the page.

Jasper's expression hardened with resolve. "I will put an end to this, I promise."

Margaret squeezed his hand, the weariness finally seeping into her bones as she exhaled a long, tired sigh. "I know, Jasper," she whispered, her voice trailing off as memories unspooled in her mind, scenes she could not escape. "I know."

They sat in a heavy silence, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on them. Margaret's sling felt like a brand, a constant reminder of the memories she desperately wished to erase. The pain was not just in her arm but buried deep in her soul, festering with each passing second.

She lifted her hand, trembling slightly, and placed it on Jasper's shoulder, using it to steady herself as she leaned in closer. Her head found refuge against him, his soft hair brushing against her cheek in a way that was both comforting and bittersweet.

"Stay with me tonight?" she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, laced with a quiet plea for solace in the darkness that surrounded them.

Jasper felt a rush of warmth at her words, a quiet relief that she was letting him in, even if just a little. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer, feeling the slight tremor in her body.

"Of course," he whispered into her hair, his breath mingling with the scent of cinnamon and vanilla from her shampoo. He could feel the tension in her muscles slowly starting to ease as she nestled closer, her guard lowering ever so slightly.

For a moment, they just breathed together, a synchronized rise and fall of their chests, finding a rhythm that felt almost natural despite the storm that had been brewing between them. Jasper's hand found its way to her back, tracing light, soothing circles that seemed to calm both of them.

Margaret sighed, a soft sound that carried the weight of everything she'd been holding back. Her fingers, still holding the pen, loosened as she let it drop, forgotten at the edge of the bed. She tilted her face up towards him, her eyes finally meeting his.

There was a vulnerability in her gaze, a crack in the armor she'd been wearing since the incident. Jasper could see the fear, the sorrow, but also a spark of something that hadn't been there before—the bond, perhaps,  barely the edge of it. It was fragile, tentative, like a bud just beginning to bloom in the first warmth of spring.

"I'm scared," she admitted, her voice trembling with the weight of the confession. "I don't know how to do this... how to move on."

Jasper's heart ached for her. He cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped despite her efforts to hold it back.