33 - Modern Day Shakespeare
Cordelia
Weeks fly by in a whirlwind of emotions. At first, every day was harder than the last. Hours were spent in floods of tears and dizzying clouds of confusion and rage. I’d experienced every emotion under the sun. I hated myself. I’d wanted to end it all. I’d even hated Logan.
One day when my conscience fully consumed all logic, I screamed at him until my throat was numb and my voice depleted to nothing.
And he just took it. Then let me use him as a punch bag to vent my anger and frustration.
The guilt still lingered in the hollow of my chest. Guilt for abandoning him at the hospital.
For forcing him to go through the initial onslaught of emotions alone. And for making myself do it too.
One thing I learnt was how much we needed each other.
We needed each other for comfort to get through the difficult times.
We needed each other to blame when nothing else worked.
We needed each other for sessions of rough rampant sex when all we hungered for was pain.
And we needed each other to get through this alive.
Despite the fact he’d turned into an overbearing nightmare, making me show him proof of my water consumption most days.
Anyone would think he’s got a weird ass kink the way he examines my urine like a mad scientist. He brought me a diary, which at first, I thought was a nice gesture.
Then he ruined it by telling me it was to keep a record of what I’d eaten, which I then had to screenshot and send to him each night.
Normally Logan just does things and expects me to accept them, but he did explain himself this time.
And after telling me how much seeing my deterioration was ripping his heart in two, I agreed to try.
Often, I’d get responses like ‘not good enough, vixen' or if I’d had a particularly bad day, 'don't make me come over there.’ The latter did help me strive to do better. I won’t lie though…on occasion I wanted to be bad just so he’d make good on his threats.
Today it’s my nineteenth birthday. And he’s taking me out.
I have no idea where, but he said to make sure to bring my camera.
So, this morning I’d prepped everything, cleaned the lenses, charged a few batteries, and made sure there was enough space on the cards.
Not that I was expecting to get many usable shots in the dull, overpopulated city of London.
Logan’s tried to convince me, on numerous occasions, that there’s plenty of opportunities to capture beauty within this city.
I don’t believe him. He said he’d prove it to me one day. I’m guessing maybe that day is today.
The first signs of twilight scatter through the bi-fold windows leading to the Juliet balcony off the front of the house.
It’s a beautiful autumn morning, despite the world being shrouded in semi-darkness.
When Logan told me I needed to be ready for 5am I nearly fainted on the spot.
I haven’t woken up at that time since papa and I went travelling when I was a child.
He used to persuade me with talk of all the glorious sunrises we could capture. Which we always did.
Over the past couple of weeks my body went through more physical changes.
Clearly, I’m a late bloomer, that’s what the midwife and nurses at my hospital appointments say, anyway.
I wouldn’t say I’ve ballooned; my baby bump is neat and tidy.
Also, not my words. At nearly 22 weeks I’m yet to feel any movement.
And the desperation is starting to niggle away at me.
Even if staff have assured us it can be completely normal for a first-time pregnancy.
My hand cups my mouth in a yawn, whilst I’m thumbing through the garments in my wardrobe.
I settle on a cute knee length Prada skirt, pulled in at the waist by a skinny leather belt.
Paired with an off the shoulder cranberry knit top and my favourite ankle boots by Chanel.
Once dressed I spin like a fool, loving the way the skirt flares out with the motion, feeling as carefree as a child playing in the autumn leaves.
A voice outside breaks through my light-hearted reverie. With a grin already plastered across my face I race to the balcony edge, where my handsome boyfriend is bathed in mellow light.
“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the East, and Juliet is the sun.”
A giggle escapes me. I prop my elbow on the metal banister of our balcony, chin resting in my hand, blinking to confirm I’m not imagining things. He really is waving frantically at me from atop a double decker bus.
“I’m pretty sure Romeo didn’t get transported around in a London bus, Cox,” I shout down to him, adding a slight tilt of my head, which makes me look innocent.
“Modern day Shakespeare, Vixen,” he calls up, crossing his arms behind his head and arching his back. The smug grin on his face shows he’s aware of all the bare arm bicep flexing he’s doing right now. “Now, come down birthday girl. I’ve got lots to show you today.”
I cross my arms over my chest and lean forward, letting the rung of the banister push my boobs up and out. Logan blinks, blue eyes positively glowing. “Have you now?” I reply, pretending to examine my nails with fascination.
“I have,” he says simply. “Although I’m not going to lie, I’m happy to stay here too. The view is exquisite.”
Logan cocks a brow, lips curving upwards, as his gaze sears my skin. The cheeky shit. Cheek’s flushing, I stumble back a few steps until I’m out of his line of sight.
“Don’t make me come up there,” his voice trails behind me before fading to nothing as I duck further into my bedroom.
Dashing around at pace, I scrape my hair into a scrunchie and rake my fingers through it a few times. My camera gets slung over my neck, a quick spritz of perfume and I’m out the door.
He's waiting for me by the time I've run downstairs and immediately draws me into the warmth of his arms.
“Happy birthday, beautiful.” His soft whisper tickles my ear, and my pulse spikes.
The comforting scent of leather and spice forms a cocoon around us, making me want to just melt into him.
But before I can get comfortable, he pulls back, eyes shining, lips pulled into a happy smile.
I can’t help but pout at the loss of him, which makes him chuckle.
“Plenty of time for that later,” he says with a wink.
We bundle onto the big red bus. I didn’t even know they could be hired for personal use, but I guess with enough cash, anything goes.
Logan guides me up the steps to the roof, keeping his hand on the small of my back just in case.
I swear, since the bump started developing, he treats me like I’m made of glass, that will shatter if a gust of particularly harsh wind blows over.
Maybe it’s because now he can physically see that I’m growing a human inside me, it makes it more real.
Our driver pulls to a stop atop a bridge overlooking a straight road below. A monstrosity of a thing made of steel and metal. When I turn to Logan with a questionable look, his grin gets bigger as his shoulders rise and fall.
“Get ready for the most beautiful view in London.”
“You’re joking right?” I ask, glancing dubiously in each direction. I’ve certainly seen better than this rundown old bridge.
“Aye,” he thumbs his phone, before pocketing it. “In exactly two minutes.”
There’s always something majestic about the sun rising from the horizon, when the first rays of light hit the land, illuminating the sky and creating life within the depth of the shadows.
So, when the darkness begins to fade and the light creeps through, painting the skyline in a plethora of pinks and oranges, I gasp.
The breath stolen from my lungs whilst I behold the beauty of London from the ugliest bridge I’ve ever stepped foot on.
“Mon dieu!” I breathe dreamily, framing the moment through my lens. “Logan, it’s beau—.”
My lips snap shut and our eyes meet. His shit-eating grin triggers goosebumps over my skin which has nothing to do with the cool air.
“Go on. You can say it. I’m right,” he teases, eyes bright and mischievous. “The fencing hasn’t always been up. The view used to be just as good from down on the bridge. But people kept, well, jumping off.” He dips his chin, eyes flitting to the floor. “It’s called suicide bridge.”
“You brought me to suicide bridge? Such a romantic,” I roll my eyes sarcastically. “How do you know about it?”
Logan’s blue orbs jump to mine. He parts his lips, but nothing comes out. Unsure where to hold focus, his pupils dance around before finding the floor again.
“Y-you…haven’t?” I stutter, unable to form the words to finish the question.
His silence speaks more than his words ever could. Watching the raw emotion surface on his face hurts in ways I can’t explain. This man, who hides his feelings behind a mask. Who conceals his fear and pain by making jokes and sarcastic jabs all the time. Isn’t so indestructible after all.
I don’t probe with questions. Instead, I slowly reach out to him, fingers brushing the days old worth of stubble dusting his chin. Splaying my fingers against his cheek, I lift his head up, forcing him to look into my eyes.
“Never. Again,” I whisper, but the message is crystal clear. There’s a fierce protectiveness behind my words. Maternal instinct tells me it’s not only our baby I must keep safe. His heart needs guarding too.
I rise to the tips of my toes so our lips can meet in a soft tender kiss. And when Logan pulls back, his usual devil-may-care smile breaks through his frown, even if an inkling of grief still lingers in his eyes.