The Sun and Moon and Stars

Chapter XIV

"Come ta join me?" Julian asked, taking deep breaths. He smiled, but his eyes didn't connect with what he was saying.

Frances stared, her lips tight and her teeth cutting through her tongue.

"What're you doin' here then?" His slippery voice slurred the words together.

"Wha—what am I doing down here?" Frances scoffed. "The better question is: What are you doing drinking in the middle of the night? Your children are sleeping only a few feet away!"

He didn't respond.

She shook her head slowly. "Have you no sense of propriety?"

He blinked quickly and lowered his gaze down to her nightgown. He raised his brows and pursed his lips. She pulled her housecoat around her chest.

She stepped around the kitchen table and pulled the bottle of whiskey from his grasp. Her hands shook and the drink sloshed around inside the glass. For a moment she dismissed it as fright; Julian's eyes had never seemed so unfocused. But then she felt her cheeks burning and her jaw locked tight.

She was angry. Her entire body was on fire and her brain pressed against her skull. She couldn't remember the last time she had been this upset. She took a deep breath.

"Give that back." Julian lunged for the bottle but Frances pulled it away. His face darkened and he stepped right up to her. He looked down at her, his jaw shadowed with unshaved scruff and his hair mussed up as if he had just woken up. Frances' anger subsided, and discomfort took its place.

"I think—" Her voice squeaked and she cleared her throat. "I think you've had enough for tonight."

She turned into the parlor before her feet froze to the floorboards under his icy gaze. "Or week, month, year..." she added under her breath.

His footsteps stumbled after her. And a crash promptly rang out.

She turned around to find him scrambling back to his unsteady feet.

"I'm fine 'n my legs," he said, using a side table to pull himself up. "My legs're'nt drunk."

He stumbled forward again. "You've got ta give me that." He slurred, nearly throwing himself at Frances.

She braced herself, but he hit the center table, cursing.

She clutched the bottle to her chest. Was she doing the right thing? "I don't think so, Julian."

"I—I—I need that." His hands shook, as if someone had opened a window mid-winter.

Frances tightened her fingers around the bottle's neck. She shook her head and leaned back.

His eyes grew wide with fright and for a second, Frances thought he'd wrestle it away from her.

"Please," he said through gritted teeth as she stepped closer to her. "Give. It. Back"

Frances winced and took a step back. She could nearly feel the anger emanating from him. What had she been thinking? Confronting a drunk man?

He closed his eyes and lifted his hands towards her. "Fra—Fran—, listen to me."

She didn't move a muscle.

"I need that. Or it comes back."

She paused. "What does?"

He glanced up at her and, for a split second, she could almost see his mind tinkering away behind his eyes.

"Nightmares."