Two Loves

Chapter 25

CYMBELINE

"Haywood? Haywood, psh!"

My eyes open again. Oh God. Did I fall asleep on my desk? Really?
Bingley snaps his fingers in front of my face, bowed over the table.

"Are you feeling alright?" he asks hushed.

I rub my eyes and huff sarcastically. Since I fell asleep at work -

"Sure" I mumble and sit up again, still feeling drowsy. It was just for a second, I swear. "'m fine."

"If you were, you wouldn't fall asleep in the middle of the day" he diagnoses, with the certainty of a school teacher.

"Hey, if you already knew the answer, why did you even ask?" I snap back. Where is the coffee? Coffee is the only poison to whose intoxication I willingly fall prey to.

When I don't even attempt to answer, Bingley throws a paper-ball at me. The office is lighted by the midday sun and smells of fresh paper, and my desk is filled with scribbled papers and typewriter scripts. The yarn factory, right.

I rub my eyes again, smudging ink over my cheek without noticing, and shake my head. "I won't bother you."

Just like it is said. Never explain, never complain.

The truth is that I hardly slept the whole night. And how could I, when I know that Isaac is still lying sick at Atticus' house, motionless and unconscious? If I could, I'd sit by his bedside the whole day - but that spot is occupied by someone else, I remember with gritted teeth.

Though, Atticus held word and sent a - detailed and extensive - note in very scraggy handwriting this morning to tell me that nothing has changed, but with multiple assurances that all may be well nevertheless. I don't know who he is trying to convince - me or himself.

Remorse is also one of those things that make my headache worse. The poor guy seems to be almost afraid of me.
Atticus - the man doesn't fail to surprise me. Good, I still don't think that he is the brightest candle on the chandelier, but candlelight can still be enough in a dark room, right?
Before I can stop it, my mind replays the moment I entered the room and saw him tending Isaacs wet brow, and the look in his eyes when he turned around to see me. Those eyes - so soft and afraid and tender, like to deep pools going directly down into his heart. It is frightening to look into another person's face like into a mirror.

Perhaps I really underestimated Atticus. Which is, well, pleasant - what is not pleasant is having to acknowledge that I -

"What is wrong?" Bingley interrupts me again. "Please, Haywood, I need you fully awake."

I shake those unpleasant thoughts off and give him my undivided attention. "Really, Bings? An emergency?"

He uncomfortably rolls his shoulders and looks around to check if someone is watching us. "Well - no - you know -" he mutters insecurelly

My God, Bingley, it's a crush, not a bomb.

I lean back with a smug smile. "My, Bingley, what could be the cause of your discomfo - Miss Cecily!"

By the calling of the name, Bingley almost jumps out of his chair. "Not so loud!"

"No, I mean -" I try to explain, but Cecily, who stands behind Bingley, my manuscripts in her arms, appeared so soundless that he didn't notice her. She raises a finger to her lips. Bingley, unaware, sighs deeply.

"I need your help, Haywood" he wimpers into his note-book.

"Anything you need, old sport" I answer, trying to hide a grin. Cecily pricks up her ears attentively.