Until Forever (1st draft)

Part the Twenty-Fourth

Geneva Maxwell regarded herself as a complete failure. She saw no reason to be alive. Tragedy had repeatedly torn her heart into so many ragged little pieces that she could never put it back together again. And she could no longer find the willpower to even consider trying to mend. It was like reusing tape. The stickiness was gone and the pieces just wouldn't hold together anymore.

After her mother's death, Geneva had hated herself for having lost her willpower. She had hated being so weak. But the self-loathing only fueled her hopelessness, igniting an all-consuming conflagration that she couldn't extinguish. The life-sucking shock of the tragedy had numbed her at first, sheltering her brain in a cocoon of simple reflexive actions, until the pain began to seep in through the cracks in her psyche. The pain became overwhelming, inescapable, and impossible to endure. It was a poison working its way through her system, and it would prove fatal if left unchecked. As illogical as it seemed, she was furious at her mother for dying and leaving her alone, but deep down she was even more angry at herself for not doing something to save the woman. But who was she kidding; how could she have ever saved her mother when she wasn't even strong enough to save herself?

Now, for the second time in her life, Geneva had concluded there was no reason to exist. For the second time she had lost all willpower. For the second time she had hated being so weak, for running away from the tormenting pain, for seeking out a final ending that would prevent her from ever being exposed to such suffering again. And for the second time she had failed in her attempt to end her life. She was a complete failure.

Something strong and unyielding raised her from the murky depths of the swamp. Warm, life-giving lips pressed against her own cold mouth, providing a fresh supply of precious air to her lungs. She coughed and sputtered, looked up into silvery eyes, then drifted back into a semi-conscious dream state. She remained lost in that daze for what seemed like an eternity, whether it was due to her body recovering from its near-death experience, or her subconscious refusal to fully come back to life.

She remembered waking momentarily to see the open sky above her, then a calloused hand softly caressed her cheek and she slipped back into her mental dormancy. She remembered waking again as strong arms set her gently into the plush comfort of scented bedding amid flickering candlelight, but once more her mind stubbornly rejected consciousness.

Then she fell into a deep sleep that punished her with terrifying nightmares. She dreamed of indiscriminate death and lost love and unfulfilled destiny. She dreamed her heart was made of brittle crystal, stained dark by the thick soot of the grave, now cracked and fragile from the force of her own two fists which beat like hammers against her chest. Unable to endure any more of her self-imposed banishment to this mental purgatory, she fled back to the conscious world.

Geneva opened her eyes. A noise across the room caught her attention and she turned to see Nellaf tending to something on a small table. As if sensing her gaze, he turned around and gave her a smile.

"You're awake," he said. "Try sitting up." He lifted a tray from the table and brought it to her as she reluctantly sat up and dragged a few pillows behind her back to support herself.

"This broth will help clear any water left in your lungs," he told her as he held out the tray, revealing a steaming bowl that smelled tart. "It will also cleanse your blood. Swamp water can infect your organs."

She let out a long sigh and turned away from his offering. Her vanishing willpower left her with no desire to eat. He grunted his disapproval.

"You have two options. Drink the broth as I have suggested. Or I will hold you down and pour it down your throat." She shot him a fiery look in response.

"Why didn't you just let me die?" she asked, turning back away.

"You are still mourning the loss of somebody that you cherished. And now you have suffered another loss. How much grief can one soul possibly survive?" He paused. "I sympathize with your pain. But would it not grieve your heart more to lose yet another?"

"I don't understand," she whispered without looking at him.

He took her chin and turned her so that they were face to face. "Me," he said emphatically. "Does our relationship mean nothing to you? Do I mean nothing to you? You would end it all without a second thought?"

"It's...it's not...like that," she stammered, unable to explain her discordant thoughts.

"This pain you feel," he continued. "This burdening sorrow that invites death to your door...that urges suicidal tendencies..."

Her eyes blurred with tears that escaped down her cheeks.

"You would put that on me? You would cause me to suffer like that? Because that is how I would feel if I had pulled your lifeless body from the water."

"I'm...sorry," she sobbed. Her body heaved as she wept. She was ashamed now. Ashamed that she could be so selfish. How could she so easily forget this young man who had captured her heart? He was her lifeline amid the storms of despair that threatened to capsize her sanity.

He set the tray aside on the bed and embraced her. He held her tightly, silently, as she cried. She wept for her mother, she wept for Steekbunk Lowbone, she wept for her disdain for herself, until finally the tears just stopped. Her heart still ached beyond description, but she could cry no more. Nellaf leaned back from her, his hands holding her shoulders for a moment longer. Then he retrieved the tray and set it in her lap.

"Now drink," he said to her. "The broth will not ease your pain. Nor will it heal your shattered heart. But it will nurture you, make you strong enough to get out of bed. You'll be able to stand, and then to walk, and after that you will realize that you're able to move forward." Nellaf gave her a wide smile, silvery eyes sparkling. She couldn't smile back, but it wasn't because she refused.

"We will move forward together," he reassured her. He leaned forward and kissed her gently on the lips, leaving traces of the unmistakable honey taste that provided her precarious disposition with a calming focal point.