Water In My Lungs

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Estelle was in the library the next morning, rummaging through the mess left from Bedivere a few days before. She began to pick up the books, hauling their limp backs from the floor to the shelves. They pushed flat against the wall behind them and she let her fingers drag across the black and gold titles on their spines lovingly.

Her mind wandered back to the afternoon full of yelling and flowing tears, the way he looked as if he really believed every word. The feeling that her memory was betraying her grew stronger as she thought more and more of the dream about Bedivere. His sweetness and his sincerity, the caring eyes and the gratefulness for something as trivial as a flower.

"What if he's not crazy?" she wondered aloud. She turned away from the shelf and towards the window. The curtains fluttered helplessly in front of her as she brushed them to the side, the lake stretched out ahead and to the right of where she stood. With a lethargic interest, she watched the wind push white edges of water across the surface. She waited for fingers to start sprouting from those edges, fingers and hands reaching for her to pull her in and hold her under.

From behind her, she heard a noise. A slight noise that no one would have noticed except for the slight prick of her skin and the sudden chill in the air. Her fingers gripped the sheer white curtains tighter as she convinced herself that she was alone. Connor is right down the hall, no one's here. Don't freak out.

Another noise from downstairs. Was that a footstep? Estelle asked herself.She shook her head and turned towards the door to find no one standing there. No looming figure watched her from the hallway. She let out a breath and picked up pieces of paper, her heart stinging at the sight of the old man's doodles and notes. She thought of Dempsey. Did we lock the door?

She was sure they did. Connor had checked, three times. Estelle grinned slyly at the faint memory of Connor getting up after having already been asleep to check again. She suddenly felt better, safer, for Connor's overzealous protective streak. We'll be fine.

Her foot brushed over a spiral notebook with wrinkled papers. She leaned to pick it up with interest, having dozens of the type of notebook in her own room with the same wrinkles from pages and pages of ink. She stayed at the bottom of the crouch, her knees bent and feet poised. She flipped the notebook open and realized it contained poems; mostly romantic and others about the lake, with admiration instead of the fear for it that she felt now. The notebook fell closed and Estelle stood up, laying it on the desk to read later. A darkness grabbed her vision and she looked up. Her blood went cold and her hands instantly shook.

"Bedivere," she croaked.

"Arabella." His voice was full and fearless. His eyes looked betrayed.

"Please," Estelle began, not knowing what else to say, her emotion taking away her previously found security. He waited for her to finish her sentence and she searched frantically for a noise. "Please leave me alone."

"Do I scare you, Arabella?" he asked frankly, not taking a step closer though it looked like his body begged to. She nodded and he looked down. "Do you understand?"

"I understand," she half-lied. His eyes flicked up, their silvery back drop widening at her. He breathed deeply into his chest, his shoulders rising menacingly.

"I don't believe you. You wouldn't be scared if you did," now he took a step forward, just over the threshold of the room. "You would love me like you once did," he said and Estelle spoke up.

"I don't know you!"

Bedivere stopped at the outburst and turned his head up slightly. He looked offended but lacked the hurt in his expression that normally followed.