Chapter 16 #2
The exhaustion that has been creeping up on me slowly for the past hour is now hitting my whole body at once. I gesture to the space on the chaise next to Henry. “Do you mind if I take a seat next to you?”
“Not at all,” he says, arranging the pillows to the other side, giving me more room to sit.
He runs a hand across his face, the tiredness reflecting in the bags under his eyes. I know he, too, is as exhausted as I am. Time is moving extremely slowly. It feels like weeks have gone by since we left Venice, but it’s only been a few hours.
“That was harder than I thought it was going to be,” Henry says, peering over his shoulder at me.
I nod. “I’m utterly exhausted—physically and mentally. I don’t know how we can keep doing this until we reach Canterbury.”
He shakes his head. “I severely underestimated how hard pretending to be someone else was going to be.”
“I think we both did. But we only need to keep this up for a few more days. Once we’ve docked at Dover, we can forgo these disguises and go back to being ourselves.”
Henry nods, smiling at me. “Now that we know what we’re in for, we can get through the next three more days easier.” He places a hand on top of mine. “We’ll get through this together.”
I squeeze his hand back in agreement, knowing we can and will get through this. We sit in silence for a few moments, unwinding from the long and grueling day we’ve had.
“I’m exhausted,” I say through a heavy sigh.
“As am I.” Henry sighs. “We should get some rest for tomorrow.”
I glance toward the bedroom, then back to us on the settee. Scratching the back of my neck, I hesitate, unsure how to approach a question that feels rather personal and unbecoming. But seeing as we’re sharing one room, it’s a crucial topic to bring up.
“Should I use the washroom first, or would you like to go first?”
“Um…” Henry stammers, caught off guard. He flushes, looking at the washroom. “Most cases, I always let the ladies go first, but I want to give you as much privacy as possible. Would you mind if I go first? That way you can…change and such…without me seeing you in your…you know.”
I bite back a smile, nodding as I find this awkward side endearing. “I understand what you’re trying to say, and that’s alright with me. I’ll just wait here while you get ready for bed. Please, take your time.”
A heavy silence lingers in the air as Henry stands to retrieve his pajamas and toothbrush, carefully tugging them into the crook of his arm, and awkwardly makes his way to the washroom.
Thankfully, from the train’s constant chugging noise, I’m not able to hear any sounds coming from the washroom and reach for my copy of Sense and Sensibility to occupy myself as I wait.
Less than ten minutes later, Henry exits the washroom wearing long blue, striped cotton pants and a white knit athletic shirt that clings to his surprisingly toned torso, dark chest hair peeking at the neckline.
His hair is wet, the water darkening his brown hair to nearly black.
His arms are bare, a tan line visible on his forearm where his shirt sleeves usually rest.
My mouth gapes slightly at the sight of him. I’ve never seen him—or any man—like this. Quickly, I drop my gaze, ashamed by how openly I gawked at him.
“It’s all yours now,” he says as he steps into the living room, avoiding my eyes.
Keeping my eyes on the floor, I rise from the settee and head to the bedroom. Stopping in the doorway, I turn back.
“Have a good night,” I murmur, meeting his gaze.
He opens his mouth to say something, then changes his mind, shaking his head. “Goodnight, Clara.” He smiles softly.
Closing the double doors behind me, I’m now alone for the first time since we left the hotel in Venice.
Conscious of his presence on the other side of the door, I can’t deter my gaze from it.
Blood rushes in my ears as I realize how close he is.
Being this near a man while dressed in my nightgown makes me feel exposed and vulnerable.
Yet knowing he isn’t far brings me some form of comfort.
If anything were to happen, he’s close enough for me to use the artifacts.
I remind myself why we are forced to travel back home in the first place, and I push aside my discomfort and replace it with gratitude that Henry is willing to go through all of this for me.
To tire myself out, I read through my journal and note any new theories about the artifacts—their reactive powers, and possible reasons why the creators of them haven’t contacted us in several millennia.
Did something happen that forced them to cut ties with humans? Are humans able to reach out to them at all? Or can that only be done by an Olympian?
I could certainly use their help to clean up this mess. If only we knew how to gain an audience with a deity.
Exhausted from my endless list of questions, I finally turn off the lamp on the nightstand and force out any thoughts of Olympian deities, ancient artifacts, and Henry as I let the darkness encompass me.
I envision I’m back at Wilcrest House, lying on the grassy field with the sun on my face, the Eudaemon mess behind me—a concluded footnote in my life’s story.
A dream that can only be possible if the universe—and the deities—are on my side.