Seventeen years, ten months, two weeks, three days...
Each moment is agony.
Every second of every day, George Beaumont is reminded of his young wife's untimely death. With every glimpse of that painting up on that mantle, with every glimpse of his...
So this is the sequel to Away From Me. Since that's in the initial stages of being edited the hell out of it, I've put this up. Away From Me used to be published as a whole until I took most of the chapters down. You don't necessarily have to read that to understand this, I guess, as most of its plot will be explained here anyway. If you didn't read Away From Me when it was published as a whole but you are planning to, DON'T READ THE SUMMARY because SPOILERS! If you have already, then oh well. Just enjoy this story. Thanks ;)
S U M M A R Y
Sixteen years, ten months, two weeks, three days...
George Beaumont has been painfully aware of each and every second since his wife's untimely death. Dependent on laudanum for sleep and two children to wake up, he has worn away with the delusion that he had caused the Duchess Emily's death. Or is it just that? A delusion?
In another part of the grand castle, two children chase each other like they have for years, vying for their heart to fall into the other's hands. Arianne Liddell, who has an illness that could potentially ruin her life chose to spend it with her best friend, Raymond, but can they still be any good together when they start to break apart?
All their hearts are put to the ultimate test when new evidence showed that Lady Emily did not die of natural causes. Anne and Ray jump start an investigation that can lead to nothing but grief while George denies everything he never wanted to hear. He alone was responsible, but is that the truth?
Secrets have a horrible way of revealing themselves...
W A R N I N G
Some parts are very dark. If you are depressed or easily affected by dark and heavy material, please do not go on. This tells the story of Anne and Raymond, who are going to get used to leaning on each other. Also, very trigger-y.
I do not, in any way, condone or promote harming oneself in any manner. This story aims for the opposite of that by showing that there is a light at the end of the tunnel for those who suffer suicidal tendencies.
P R E V I E W
"Tell me I'm worthless," Anne whispers, voice hoarse from crying. She slides off one of Raymond's gloves and entwines her cold, shaking fingers with his. His knuckles are still bruised from breaking Henry's jaw. She kisses the angry purple marks, imagining that if she tries enough, they will disappear. She hates the fact that they are there because he tried to protect her. He should have let her bleed like the rest of them did.
She lets him hold her, breathing in his scent. It had not been an easy night, that much is obvious. The wind is frightfully loud, but she remains calm. The storm in her heart is far worse. Just the sound of Raymond's breathing is not enough to calm her, as it usually is. It is almost as if it were a language only she could understand, whispering words of comfort, but they do not help.
"But you are not," he murmurs, cutting through the silence. His lips are pressed against the crown of her head. "You are the most valuable thing that I know of. That bastard Henry was too self-absorbed to see that. You are the most precious thing in the world. Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise." His voice is hushed, too. As if he were afraid that the night winds would not drown it, but she does not know what he fears so much.
"Then lie to me. I do not care. You are only making it worse by saying that." He leaves a small butterfly kiss on her shoulder, and she takes solace in it. Allows it to warm her as much as possible, but the warmth is gone the moment his lips leave her skin.
"Why do you keep doing this to yourself, Anne?" Raymond asks in a small, broken voice. It makes her heart ache, but she knows that if she wants him to be happy, she would have to break both their hearts first. "Why do you insist on destroying yourself like this?"
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