As One

Chapter 2

Hello darlings! If you're reading this, thankyou so much for keeping on with my story! I hope you continue to enjoy it!

About Abigail, I've received a couple of confusions concerning her, and I think I've cleared most of them up in this chapter but just to clarify... Abigail is an African American, but a free one. In the 1700s, the majority of black people in America were slaves/servants :( but Abigail has been lucky enough to have been born into a rich family (however, her parents did pass away a couple of years ago from when this story picks up from). Unfortunately though, as one can see, this doesn't stop the white society from treating her very differently because of her skin. Abigail was traveling from America to go and stay with a family member in a more wealthier part of Africa to get away from everything that was happening (The racism, Clinton eg.)

Please comment or pm me anything that doesn't make sense about the story line! I will be grateful!

Anyways, enjoy! Xx

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The sound of birds screeching, and the feeling of sand in Abigail's dry mouth was what slowly brought her around. A gentle wave tickled her face, and rolled back to join the ocean.

The memory of the monstrous waves jerked her fully awake. The sun glared down at her, and she squinted at the sea out before her, calm and beautiful. There wasn't even a white tip on the waves that were slowly drifting to the shore, and the greeny colour of the water contrasted perfectly with the clear, blue sky.

She shuddered.

Abigail sat stiffly up, licking her swollen lips, and the desire for a drink of water untouched by salt arose. The next flow of water that rolled up the beach, she used to wash some of the sand off her aching face and out of her mouth. The smell of the salt water made her stomach twist with memories of the night.

Abigail's gaze wondered to the side, and her breath caught when she spotted Clinton laying on his face. For a moment she couldn't move, and fears filled her. She forced herself to get up, and winced at the stiff muscles in her legs and arms. Running over to the still man, she fell to the ground near him, and gritted her teeth as she pulled him over. Blood covered his face, staining his white, collared shirt. She gasped, and recoiled. Then, ever so carefully, cupped some water in her palm, and tipped it onto his face. Enough blood washed away for her to see a coin sized wound near his hairline. She gingerly touched around it, but pulled back when the action caused blood to trickle.
When Clinton didn't move, dread swelled in the pit of Abigail's stomach. She took his hand in hers, and attempted to feel for his pulse. Nothing could be felt, except for the deathly cold temperature of his skin.

"Oh God, no..."

Her breathing quickened, and tears flooded her eyes. She leaned down, and placed her ear over his chest, hoping, praying, she would hear his heartbeat. Sobs left her when she heard nothing. She lifted her head, flicked her hair angrily away and tried again, but the movement of her cries made it difficult.

As she cradled her beloved's head in her arms, and closing her eyes, Abigail only thought of the night she had broken off their engagement. His face, had fallen, along with her heart, at his pleas for her to explain.

"Oh Clinton... I'm so sorry." She let him to the ground, and crossed her arms on his chest, sobbing and crying.

This was all her fault. Why had she chosen to move away? Would he still be alive if she had just stayed in America? Abigail's chest heaved with her cries.