Michael stepped into Aunt Becky's room with a bouquet of lilies in his hand. From where he stood, he could already see how frail she looked, how feeble she seemed, as if the lightest of breezes would turn her body into dust.
She looked so weak, her beauty all but gone, her skin taut against her high cheek bones. Her once ebony hair was now a pale gray, almost like Alex's eyes. If anyone would have told him that she would one day be reduced to this, he would have never believed them. This person was a strong and beautiful woman, the one who had all but single-handedly raised two rebellious children, put up with her selfish husband and took in a niece who wanted nothing but love to comfort her loneliness.
Her chest rose and fell slowly; it seemed to be slowing by the minute. She was treated as a humble princess in her youth, and a noble queen in her older years, but even now, he couldn't see her as anything but a woman, precious to all and yet, disinteresting to him, unimportant. He couldn't accept that this skeletal figure before him was that same woman, the same strong woman who had done so many things in life that saying that she had done everything would be an understatement.
He never really cared for the woman. All he ever thought about her was that she was Alex's caretaker. He had always thought that she was an instigator. The time when she had called Katherine and told her about what Michael had done to Alex, he had said that she was lying when she actually wasn't. Becky had called their home on countless occasions and eventually, she just stopped. Michael had caused Alex so much trouble that some people just gave up on protecting her.
That's when I decided to step up and take their place, Michael grimly thought.
Becky's breathing faltered and Michael looked down at her, and saw that her eyes were finally open. Her dark eyes were pale and out of focus; he wondered if she could even see him, recognize him, or if she was just an empty shell already. If so, then perhaps it would be better if she was gone. She would be happy, and she would be able to see her relatives again. But it would break Joe's heart.
Speaking of which, where the hell is he?
Was he just going to abandon his wife because she was so weak, or was he too small of a man? Too scared to even show up for her?
He reached for the woman's hand, limp at her side and stroked it gently, wanting her to know that he was here.
Soon, she was responding to his gentle comfort, her hand closed around his and he looked down. Her eyes looked more in focus than before, as if she were studying him. Her mouth was twitching. If she tried to speak, who knew how much she would be able to say before she could speak no longer; No. Forget speaking. How long would it be until she could no longer breathe? He didn't want to know that answer, not yet, at least.
"Michael…" her voice was nothing like it once was, feeble and just a little bit more than a whisper. She reached out with her free hand, shaking all the way, to come to a rest on his cheek. He brought his hand up to his cheek, covering her weak, brittle fingers with his own. His heart was breaking, but he released her other hand and brought his finger to his lips, in a gesture that she shouldn't speak.
"Just rest." Michael tried to soothe her, still holding her hand in his own, wishing that with every second the strength wouldn't leave those fingers, that she would survive even one more second, let alone another minute. He could see the struggle in her features, the struggle to hold on. Maybe she just needed a reason, the hope that she could live to see something worthwhile…
"No, Michael. I'm dying…" She let out a wrenching cough, sending her whole body into a short convulsion. "Please, I don't have much longer." Her face was paler than before, probably from the strain of speaking, the strain of life itself.
"You can't give up. You can make it. Just rest for the night. Go back to sleep…" he pleaded her.
"Alexis," she murmured, "Where is my little Alexis?"
"She's at home, resting, just like you should be doing right now."
"Not yet... Not now..."
"Please-?!"
"Alex," she said and Michael felt his heart race at the sound of her name.
Becky noticed him jump and smiled wearily, "I know how you feel about my niece, Michael..."
Michael blushed, "Mrs. Henry-?!"
"You treat her so much better now. You love that girl. Boy, you glow brighter than the sun when you hear that child's name!" she began to laugh but her laughter ended once she began to cough.
Michael was flustered. It was embarrassing to realize that his love for Alex was obvious to someone who was dying but it wasn't even obvious to the one he felt feelings for. He hated that Alex was so blind to how he felt.
"You love my niece?"
Michael slowly nodded his head, "Yes ma'am. I love your niece very much."
"Aw. That is so sweet," she began to cough again, "Could you do me a favor, baby?"
"What is that, Mrs. Henry?"
"Would you promise me something?"
"Anything."
If that will get you to rest.
"Promise to love my niece," she said lowly, "Love her in ways no one else can. Give her the love I won't be able to provide her. Give her the love that her parents weren't given the chance to give. Give her the love that she deserves. No one in her life was able to love her enough so I want you to do that for us, for me. If she gets lost, you have to find her and bring her back home. If she cries, stay with her and wipe her tears away. Cry with her, feel her pain. Don't let my baby suffer alone. Let her be happy. Don't let her experience more sadness than she already has. Let her live to be the best. Don't hurt her. Don't let anyone hurt my baby. Protect my baby, Michael. Protect my baby."
With a look that made Michael's skin crawl, Becky held his gaze, "Don't break your promise again."
Michael's eyes flew wide open, Again? What does she mean again?
"I won't, Aunt Becky. Now, I want you to promise me something."
"And what is that, Michael?"
He leaned closer to her as if he were about to tell her a deep dark secret and said in a low whisper, "Get some rest."
Becky laughed halfheartedly as her hand fell from its place on his cheek back to her side, and he felt the hand he was still holding beginning to go limp.
"Alright then, Michael. I promise. You don't break your promise now. If you break your promise, he won't forgive you..."
He? Who's he?
He watched as he saw her eyelids slowly slide over the those hollow onyx eyes that would haunt him for the rest of his life.
'If you break your promise, I'll never forgive you...'
He remembered those words. He had heard those words from somewhere before. Another voice had said those words, one more soothing, deeper, one from another mouth. Where had he last heard those blood-curdling words?
Maybe I'm just thinking too hard... But what promise did I break? I can't remember... Something to do with Alex? Dammit. Why can't I remember?!
He buried his face in his palms, his elbows resting on his knees as he silently began to cry.
I'm ashamed of how I've been living, he thought, I don't know... Maybe it's weird for my age. But if I had been more open, like the other guys, like Leonce... If I had lived more like a gentleman in general, maybe I would've had the confidence to tell her how I felt without being ashamed.
He didn't want to have to feel the guilt, to feel the shame of having to say to her face "I love you, Alex" and having to look away because he couldn't look her in the eye. He didn't feel worthy enough. He didn't feel as if he was worth her time. He didn't feel like she would want to hear that from him. No one would want to hear those words after they had been hurt by that person on levels that words could not explain. He didn't want to embarrass her or reduce her to his level. He didn't want have to to make her feel like she didn't want to know him. He didn't want her to deny his love. He didn't want her to deny him.
"How could I love her if I can't even tell her how I feel?" he wondered aloud.
Alex stood at the foot of her bed in her room, neatly folding the clothes that she had just gotten from the dryer. They were so warm and comforting. She just wanted to fall into all of the clothes and just lay there, basking in their warmth. She smiled and shook her head as she picked up one of Michael's shirts and began to fold it.
I wonder what he's thinking about right now…
"Where did that come from?" she wondered aloud.
Sighing, she set the shirt down and picked up another shirt from the pile and began to fold it. Her eyes wandered over to the window and absentmindedly set the shirt down, walking over to the window. She opened the double transparent doors and stepped out onto the balcony. The warm, verdant greeted her with a light gust and caressed her skin.
She leaned against the ivory railing and rested her chin on her hand as she looked at the sunset. She smiled.
She loved the sunset. The mixture of the warm colors in the sky was so overwhelming and yet, it was so comforting, like a mother's embrace.
She closed her eyes for a moment and stood there in silence. Just simply enjoying the moment.
Michael knocked lightly on the bedroom door and opened it, quietly stepping inside to avoid causing a disturbance. He looked around the room and noticed the pile of half-folded clothes. Where had she gone?
He lifted his dark chocolate eyes to the balcony and found her standing there. He felt his heart race just seeing her there. She was so…beautiful. Even with her back facing him.
He took a deep breath and walked over to her, "So beautiful..."
Her eyes flew wide open in surprise and she straightened up, startled to see him. "Oh! Michael! I'm sorry," she smiled, "I was just looking at the sunset."
He smiled, "No, it's fine. Sorry to bother you."
She vigorously shook her head, "You're not bothering me at all!"
He took a deep breath as he felt the butterflies in his stomach rise to his throat.
"Can I talk to you about something?"
Her eyes softened, "Of course."
He nodded. He turned towards the sunset and rested his arms on the railing of the balcony, "Well, lately… I've been thinking..." he trailed off once he noticed a glare coming from inside the room.
His eyes narrowed and zeroed in on the object; it was a laminated photo framed with oak wood.
"That picture..." he said and he walked across the room to pick it up.
"That one?"
"Yeah," he held it up in the light to view at a more precise angle.
An image of a middle-aged, barrel-chested man was seen in the picture. His arms, though softened by the years, seemed to belong to one of a blacksmith, and judging by his wide chest and broad shoulders, he seemed to be born with natural strength. He had a comically large nose along with a familiar pair of soft, delicate gray eyes.
"That's my dad," Alex proudly remarked.
"Really?" Michael said, sounding surprise.
"Yeah, I know. There's not that much of a resemblance."
"I can see the resemblance, alright," Michael said laughing, "You have his eyes."
Alex gently touched her cheekbone and smiled gently, "Thanks."
And then, it hit him, like a harpoon to a whale's side.
He knew this man. He knew that he had met him from somewhere before. And most importantly, he knew what his promise was.
He had met him a long time ago, twelve years ago, when he was about five years old. They met at the local park where the man worked nearby at some dirty factory. Michael could remember the conversations that they had, all of them, the short ones, the long ones, and even the ones when they didn't speak at all. They just sat there in silence. But their first conversation was the one he found himself remembering.
'Hey, kid,' the man had merrily greeted the five year old boy.
Michael's head jolted up in surprise of him but he said nothing. He just stared.
'I said hey,' the man said.
Michael continued to stare.
'Are you gonna greet me back?' he asked laughing.
'Mother told me not to talk to strangers,' the boy grudgingly said.
'Your momma's right. She taught ya well,' he paused, 'I'll tell you what. If I tell you my name, you tell me yours. Deal?'
'Sure...'
'I'm Mitchell but most people call me Mitch. And your name?'
Michael pouted, 'I ain't tellin' ya.'
'But we made a deal.'
Michael stubbornly crossed his arms over his tiny chest, 'I don't like people whose names sound like mine.'
'Oh really? Then I'll call you "kid". How about that?'
Michael shot him a glare and groaned in defeat, 'Fine.'
When they first met, Michael thought that he was strange and too kind for a man his age. It made him wonder how a man to live to such an old age could remain so pure after experiencing the constant bitterness of the world. He remembered visiting him a lot at the park, same bench, same time, everyday.
They always talked about things but usually Mitch was doing all of the talking. He talked about his past life as the oldest in his family and his role as being the provider. He often talked about his wife, Audrey as well and how hard of a worker she was back at home. Who he mostly talked about was his pride and joy, his most beloved, his daughter, Alex Avery.
It made him wonder, the daughter of a person like Mitch. What would she be like? Would she be like an angel or as weird as her father?
'Check it out. Today, I'm gonna show you something cool,' Mitch began to fish in his pocket and retrieved a piece of paper which held an image, 'This is my most prized possession.'
He presented Michael the picture and Michael stared, struck with awe. She was achingly pretty, so pretty, Michael probably would have gone as far as to calling her beautiful. She was the incarnation of innocence and youth, yet looking so unutterably suave.
Her bushy hair was just an inch above her shoulders. The frizzy almond tendrils gently caressed her skin as they were swept about her round honey-toned face, framing it considerably. But her eyes, her eyes was what stood out to him the most.
Those glistening gray eyes shone out from her face with some sort of haunting sorrow that made Michael's heart swell with the uttermost compassion. His spirit had actually been moved to the point where tears began to gather in his eyes.
'That's my daughter, Alex. Ain't she cute?'
Michael absentmindedly nodded his head and he began to wonder more. What would it sound like when she laughed?
'Maybe you'll be able to meet her someday. God works in mysterious ways after all.'
That moment, Michael actually wanted to meet her. He really did but for just a moment. He wanted to hear what her voice sounded like. He wanted to see how her smile looked up close. He wanted to run his fingers through her curly hair. He wanted to taste the beauty that emanated from her face. He wanted to meet that beautiful, God-given face.
"Michael?" Alex questioned.
Michael jolted out of his reverie with a start, "Huh? Oh..." he paused, "I was just thinking about something..."
"About what?"
A promise, the promise that I had broken, the promise that I told your father that I would keep. Your father is disappointed in me and you don't even know it.
Michael forced a tiny smile, "Nothing. It's nothing, I'm fine," he assured.
Alex smiled, "Okay. Well, what were you about to ask me earlier?"
There was silence.
Michael then began to ponder for a lie, no longer wanting to ask her what he had previously wanted to. He hummed thoughtfully.
"I was about to ask if you could help me with the homework."
That I sure as hell don't have.
Alex laughed, "Sure, Michael."
She gathered her notebook and writing utensils and started her way out of the room, "Oh. And by the way, Michael," she paused at the door and glanced over her shoulder to hold Michael's gaze.
"Whatever you wanted to ask me earlier, you can just tell me whenever you're ready. You don't have to lie to me. I promise that I won't judge you."
Michael smiled faintly and nodded at her to show her that he understood.
"Okay."
Smiling, she proceeded towards Michael's room. Michael took a step forward to follow her out but then he saw the blinding glare from the photo. Grimacing, he looked back down at the picture of Mitch lying on the bed and heaved a sigh.
"I won't break my promise to you, Mitch. Not ever again, I promise."
Author's Chapter Notes:
Enjoy peoples! :)
Chapter End Notes:
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