the earlier traumatic scene. Her defenses were still down, her real emotions showing.
Her hair hung to her shoulders, brushing the single ribbons of her nightgown which was made of some thin and soft fabric; intimate. This sight, on top of the events of the evening, removed any reserve I might have had. I was kneeling by the bed, holding her shoulders and staring deep into her eyes, trying to reach what lay behind them. The locket with the broken chain lay on the bedside table. I grabbed it in my fist.
“Don’t you realize this girl doesn’t exist except in your own memory,” I said, and Angelina didn’t move. “It’s past like everything else. You were a baby—now you’re a woman. You were a little girl—now you’re a woman. You may have been this girl—but you are not any more!”
With a convulsive movement I turned and hurled the thing out of the window into the darkness.
“You’re none of those things of the past, Angelina!” I said with an intensity louder than a shout. “You are yourself … just yourself!”
I kissed her then and there was no trace of the pushing away or rejection there had been before. As I needed her, she needed me.