The Dark Side of the Moon

Chapter 23-Romance or Loathing

I was surprisingly successful at persuading Catcher to agree that the wedding should be held in spring. And during the cold and dark winter months that followed the announcement of our betrothal I had held high hopes that I could devise a plan in which I could escape this nightmare that had become of me.

One in which I suffered in silence. I played my part quite well. Appearances are everything, Maria Merryweather. Those strange words echoed through my mind. Someone surely must've spoken them to me before but I could not recall when I've had such a conversation as that and with whom. But the words were there. And they came as a welcome encouragement rather than the warning I believed they were meant to be.

Appearances are everything. I'd chant to myself when I felt my strength faltering. Finding myself fighting the urge to reach for the dagger at Catcher's belt when he wove his fingers through my hair and pressed me against him as he kissed me. The visions would come to me. Horrible visions. Of me doing away with this dark and twisted man.

But I knew I could never do such a thing. Murder. It was ludicrous of me to even have such thoughts. I was one who felt saddened by merely harming the smallest of insects. I had accidently stepped on a caterpillar once and I had cried over the life I felt I had brutally snuffed out.

No. I shan't even try. I scolded myself as I snapped out of my wretched vision, finding my hand having slid down Catcher's flat, hard stomach and inching toward the hilt of his dagger as we kissed. My Heavens, Maria! What ever are you doing? My heart was pounding heavily and my stomach was up in my throat. I froze for the slightest of seconds. Quickly correcting my advance only to mask it as an urgent need for him-I ran my fingers just beneath the waistband of Catcher's trousers and felt him shudder at the sensation.

He caught my wrist gently in his hand and broke away from our kiss. He looked down at me, his head tilted to the side, a slow smirk crept over one corner of his mouth. I looked up into his deep blue eyes-the darkest of blues I had ever seen-like the waters of a lake just before twilight. For a moment I felt frightened. Had he noticed what I was meant to do? That my hand had hesitated at his dagger for the slightest of moments? Or was he upset that I had been so forward, nearly slipping a hand into his trousers?

We were in the drawing room of the castle. Alone. It wasn't often that we found ourselves alone but when we did, we often found ourselves in this precarious situation. Catcher and I had been visiting one another, as we tried to, at least one day each week. It was April and we had been discussing the final details of our wedding with his mother, Emmeline and a few of the staff. But they had soon excused themselves. Leaving Catcher and I to privacy. Such a thing would never have been permitted at the manor and I had a half a mind to wonder if that was why Catcher preferred that I meet him here at the castle rather than coming to see me at the manor.

The doors to the drawing room had clicked shut. The sound seemed to echo in the quiet of the extensive room. I focused on the tea set sat atop a low-lying table between the burgundy velvet settees. I felt the shift of intensity in the room. I could feel Catcher's eyes on me. Watching me. Studying me.

Appearances are everything. I straightened up and plastered a smile onto my lips. Taking extra care to be sure the smile met my eyes. I stood as he crossed the room to me. And I readied myself for what I knew he wanted of me. He embraced me. Fingers twining through my hair, lips mashed against mine. He tasted of peppermint tea and smelt pleasantly of soap and slight perspiration-masculine in that way that boys do.

And that's when the vision had come. Momentarily clouding my subconscious and I had stopped myself from grabbing at Catcher's dagger and doing something awful in which I would surely regret for all eternity. I stood stunned by what I had almost done.