A Sorrow of Truths

by Charlotte E Hart

  The weight leaves me instantly, both my hands released. “Are you escaping, Mrs Tanner?” I glance passed him, looking through the wire at the light dust behind him from another horse that’s disappearing. “You can get up if you like.”

  “Fuck off,” snaps out of me.

  “As eloquent as ever,” he drawls, his eyes watching me carefully, as he blows out some smoke..

  The horse paws the ground under him, as I pull myself upright, and a flurry of more dust kicks up because of it. “Can I ask where you’re escaping to?”

  “Anywhere. Away from there. It’s …” I don’t know what it is. My head turns back slowly to look at it, a sneer settling as I remember all those words and those women and whatever it was that kicked off. “It’s not for me.”

  “Possibly not. But it is where my meds are. You needed them.” He chuckles as the horse moves around impatiently again, not bothered in the slightest about the massive animal he’s sitting on. “You look better.” Better than what?

  My brow furrows, an insecurity sweeping over me under his scrutiny. I don’t know why. I should be furious about him locking me up in that place, and still very furious about the way he treated me. Maybe it’s these clothes and this area, this wire between us even.

  “I didn’t realise I was ever not better,” mumbles from my lips, as I eye the Ridley person getting closer. “Tell him to leave me alone.”

  “I already have done.”

  “I don’t want to be here.”

  “But you said you wanted your truths.” My brow deepens into a scowl, as I look back at him, my mind trying to work out what that means. “Here is one of them.” The horse goes upwards and snorts, more impatience rearing up in my face. I scuttle backwards in fear regardless of the fence, still unable to process sense in this scenario. “Walk the line with me,” he says, calmly.

  I start moving cautiously, part drawn closer to him and part needing the fence for stability against him. I don’t know what any of this is, or why he’s on the other side of this barrier. It’s like a compound. Maybe that’s his house. I gaze at it, as I listen to the sound of the horse’s feet scampering around heavily. It’s spooked about something. The irony is not lost on me at the moment. All this is more surreal than Malachi’s castle, making me feel like I’m one step closer to needing a straight-jacket that I’m pretty sure this place has several of.

  “How do you feel?” he asks, quietly.

  “Am I mad?”

  “I don’t know. Are you?”

  I look at the ground, the sky, the sun beginning to set behind him on the horizon. Everything seems normal. No Malachi says, or rabbit holes. No fogged vision or blurred outlines. “No.”

  “Good.”

  “Then why am I here? And why are you there? And who are those other women?”

  A sigh comes from him, long and laboured, and then he smokes for a few minutes again rather than answer the question. “Gray?”

  “There are rules to taking the pills. You didn’t follow them.” The horse scuttles sideways, air huffing out of its nose. “This is all my land, my house behind me.” I peer at the vast expanse of brickwork in the distance, perhaps having not fully appreciated his wealth before now. “And those women are part of the truths I told you you did not want to know about me.”

  The gap in the fence appears in front of me, as he finishes the sentence, and I come to a halt and look at him through the large gates blocking the exit or entrance. “Are they mad?”

  He smiles a little and jumps down from the horse, leading it towards the gates and me. “Not permanently.”

  No more words than that. Just him looking at me as this massive, chestnut brown animal paws the ground and huffs around skittishly. He’s as unfazed by it as he was earlier, as he holds the reins securely and lets it whirl some more. And those eyes keep themselves directed solely on me, no matter what’s happening around him. Time seems to stall at that, like it did at the castle. Only this time it feels uncomfortable, as if I should fill the space rather than just let it be and wait for him to move into me.

  “That thing looks angry,” I mumble, as I watch it jumping and kicking out at nothing.

  His smile twitches again, eyes springing to life as if he’s amused. No words, though. Nothing to make the atmosphere relaxed and easy between us, if that ever was what we were about.

  Eventually he walks another few steps forward, bringing both him and his horse within touching distance if this gate wasn’t between us. “She’s young, confused,” he says, reaching a hand to its muzzle and stroking softly. “Doesn’t quite understand what being controlled is yet. Nor does she particularly enjoy the thought.”

  The skitting about seems to stop instantly, the horse's body stepping in closer and butting at him gently with its head. I remember that. Soft hands. Soft lips. I watch him touch her for a while, near mesmerised by the way he seems at ease next to her fire. I leant on him like she’s leaning into him now, rested and calmed myself near him. And then we kissed, made love, connected ourselves by something other than this ordinary out here. But now I’m trapped behind wire, caged in as if I’m not capable of sound decisions.

  “Have you eaten?” he suddenly asks.

  The question breaks me of my fascination, making me look back at his face. “Not really.”

  “Hungry?”

  My shoulders shrug, and I look at the floor. I don’t know. I’m lost again, unsure out here without the pills to lead me. And he’s being someone I don’t recognize in some respects. Or maybe I don’t recognize me out here without the pills and that makes him seem like someone I don’t know.

  My hands tighten their grip on my arms, insecurity making me feel pathetic and alone, and I turn to see that Ridley person still hanging around like a spare part half a field off.

  “Ever ridden anything?” My eyes fly up to find his smile broadening slightly, more of the man I do know on show this time. He looks me up and down, eyes darkening to match the stormy sky above him. “Apart from me, that is.”

  I’m not in the mood for jokes. “I’ve ridden one other thing than you. It wasn’t a horse.”

  “Did it make you come as many times as I did?”

  My own smile twitches a little for the first time, comfortable with this type of honesty with him. “No. It didn’t hurt me as much as you did either.”

  The sudden, loud clank of metal makes me jump, feet stumbling backwards and gaze flicking around for whatever it is. It’s only when I hear a whirring begin that I realise the gates are opening.

  “How did I hurt you?” he says, as I watch him walk through them purposefully.

  “You were mean to me. And you lied. I want my truths.”

  The horse stops before he does, both her front feet leaving the floor as her body skits up into the air again. He chuckles, nothing more than that, and let’s go of the reins completely.

  “What if the truths aren’t what you want to hear?”

  “I’d rather that than lies, Gray. I don’t like liars.”

  He nods and smiles weakly, stepping out of the space between me and the horse. “If you want your truths, Hannah, prove it.” His body turns away from me, his hand pointing at the horse. “Get on her and follow me back to the house.” Me? No. I’m not going anywhere near that crazy thing. My feet move backwards, hands gripping tighter to my arms. “She’s far less aggravated than I am. If you can handle her, I’ll give you your truths. I know what it’s like to need them.”

  Oh.

  Chapter 13

  Gray

  I knew I shouldn’t have ridden this way. I should have avoided her for another few days, ignored Beatrice’s words of moving on and letting go. She’s as bad as Malachi in my head, causing untold problems for me to either accept or dismiss. And now I’m fascinated again, needful, tempted beyond sense or reason, irrespective of those sweatpants shrouding her small frame.

  “I don’t have to prove a thing to you,” she calls from behind me.

  She’s right. Sh
e doesn’t.

  I wave my hand at her, wondering if she will follow. She doesn’t have to do a damn thing realistically. Two options. Get on Filigree and do as she’s told or break to the left and run for it. I smile at the thought and keep walking, amused that she might try. She could even do both. Ride like the wind to get herself away from me, my truths, and her confusion.

  She won’t, but she could if she wanted to.

  I can’t help but glance back after a while, part hopeful that she has run for it. She hasn’t. She’s stood about three feet out from Filigree, her body poised as if about to reach for the reins. The gates close down behind her, the mechanism spooking Filigree from her near calm stance. Hannah moves closer, gently crossing the ground to get to her. I can imagine the tone of her voice now, that seductive charm she likes to use to tempt me into her bidding.

  More slow steps and she eventually picks the reins up and starts walking towards me, softly towing Filigree in her wake. I nod to myself at that and carry on, unsure what the hell I’m doing again. One look at her bitching on that floor, of seeing her attitude flying about again, and I was lost in desperation. Dinner, talking, relaxation rather than scattered points in time with no reason other than passion. It’s as if the ball out here in the real world, and then her seductive technique in my apartment, and my concern for her near death seem to bind me in something I can’t avoid or deny.

  My feet stop, body fully turning, and I stare at her as she makes her way to me across the fields of heather that should be making me forget. She’s stroking Filigree’s neck, smiling and running her small hands over all that muscle and tension. Damn mare whinnies quietly, nuzzling Hannah as if soothed. Annoying. My own shoulders roll at the thought, memories of those same hands all over me causing a jealousy that’s unwarranted.

  “What’s her name?” she asks, eventually coming to the side of me.

  “Filigree.”

  She smiles and runs her hands over her again. “What’s yours?”

  “What?”

  “This version of you that rides horses? I’ve not met him before.”

  No, I don’t suppose she has.

  I look her over again, unable to keep my gaze from something I know so intimately, and try to suppress the need to put her on the floor and fuck like we should be doing. Tempting. I chuckle and move in closer, damn sure it’s the only thing that might make all this easier.

  Not entirely sure either of us need that, my damn hands pick her up swiftly so I can deposit her in a safer place. She gasps and goes rigid as her ass hits the saddle, every inch of her tense and nervous. “Gray, I don’t-"

  “Pretend you’re riding me. Relax. It’s the same thing,” I cut in, walking slowly again. “Tease her into forward movement like you do with me.” The thought makes both me and my dick ache, and I watch on as she still stays rigid up there. “Softer, Hannah. You remember how to tease, don’t you? Make me come.” Her eyes fire to life at that, a determination setting in to them, and she loosens her hold on the reins she’s clutching. “Ride. Move your ass.”

  “This is more like the Gray I’ve met before,” she mumbles, shuffling her weight around.

  My smile widens, as Filigree takes a couple of steps sideways. “You move sideways, she’ll move sideways. Direct her.”

  A small step forward, and another and another until I have to pick up the pace to keep up with them both. The sight of her up there, doing something I love doing so easily, confuses the whole damn situation more so than it already is. Beautiful. Appealing. Charming even in some southern way I hadn’t realised about my own heritage.

  I frown the entire way across the fields, part beguiled by the thought of sharing this life with her, and part annoyed with the reality we’re in.

  “So, truths,” she says, as we reach the white fencing that surrounds the house. She stares at the barns, easily turning Filigree where she wants to go, and then looks down at me as we head back towards the barns. I’m not ready for that yet. Nor do I want this damn heather beneath us. It’s a stain, an untruth no matter how fucking true it is. “What are they?”

  “Are you alright up there a while longer?”

  “Yes.”

  I nod and cut across the pathways, ignoring her question. “Wait here. I’ll be back soon.”

  She frowns, but stays firm up there, as I head back into the stabling, her hands continually soothing the mare’s neck and shoulder.

  Ten minutes later, and I emerge back into the dimming light, leading Tuscan, to find her perfectly still with the sun just about set behind her. The dull, incandescent hue mixes with her hair and skin tone, messing with my logic, as I climb into the saddle and walk up beside her. She looks new to me. Vibrant against the flattening light. New and yet old, as if engrained in parts of me I can’t forget.

  I smile at the vision on my own land without thought, interested in the myriad of possibilities it gives me to contemplate. Life. Hope. Happiness even. A diverting concept. It’s disconcerting, though, making me feel like I’m on the back foot for once with her. I am in reality. I don’t know what this is any more than she does. My apartment, and both Malachi’s home and townhouse were easier than this. Simpler. No emotion to counter rational behaviour. I could be firm there. The necessary evil she needed to keep the distance delineated was more agreeable to my sense of approach. But now we’re here, and I’m about to take her for a ride so I can what? Somehow ease my own conscience before the inevitable? Pretend we’re living a life I haven’t got?

  I walk forwards and down towards the river, ducking under branches to keep us side by side. I like that about us. I’ve enjoyed it since the beginning when she levelled her stare on me and made me break rules. She never bowed entirely, never let me master her. She’s stronger than that, more adept at seducing me into her thoughts rather than me leading all the time. So beautiful, too. Even now, without the garments of splendour or lack thereof.

  I chuckle at the thought, then frown at the image of that small, frail body that I found. So pale. So fragile and brittle, as I pulled her up to me and administered the drugs to counter the effects of what she’d taken. If I can thank Malachi for anything in this fucking scenario, it’s that he did call me and tell me about the red pill she’d taken.

  My gaze goes to the woman I’ve brought back to life, and I let the sensation of fear seep through me some more. I didn’t at first. I processed, managed, and found a way to bring her back safely with a sound mind in place. Analytical. Logical. Diagnostic, regardless of not sleeping and concern. But now, and for the last few days without her if I’m honest with myself, I’ve found a sense of desperation curdling my guts. It’s a need I don’t know. Have never known.

  “When did you start liking horses?” she asks.

  “I’ve never not liked them. My family has a stud in Georgia. It’s still there now. My cousin, Ann, runs it.” She smiles brightly, as if that one truth was enough to change everything between us. It probably was, and yet the honesty came so easily when she asked. “You ready?”

  She looks bemused, but at least tightens her grip on the reins. “For what?”

  “To ride harder.”

  I’ve kicked on before she gets a chance to counter any thought on the matter, and both Tuscan and Filigree take off at full speed along the river’s edge. A sharp scream sounds out at first, curses and shouts being thrown my way, but it’s eventually replaced by laughter - real laughter. Beautiful and whimsical laughter.

  I find myself smiling at the sound of it, both amused and aroused because of the lilt she makes, as the hooves thunder along under us. And then she swerves and turns, somehow managing to inch more speed out of Filigree until she’s cutting across the front of me and leading us through open fields.

  Tall grass brushes the muscled flanks of the horses, dulling the sound of the hooves until my heart is the only thing I can hear racing alongside hers. It’s another memory I don’t want to process, but can’t abandon, as the wind whips passed us and darkness begins to cr
eep across the ground. Darkness and heartbeats. We’re better like that. Truer than this false reality we’re now in. Even I’m struggling to process rationale now. It’s becoming a blur of rights and wrongs, thoughts and scenarios. She’s not here anymore, hasn’t been for so long.

  And what does it matter other than the truths I want?

  I could let go. Perhaps should.

  Kicking on again, I gain traction on her and nod my head over towards the main tracks back towards the house. She swerves with me, her smile so bright it damn near illuminates the ground we’re racing on and makes the lacking sun seem irrelevant. Maybe we should stay out here in the dark and let the ground swallow us up into hedonism rather than head back into the light where truths will be told and life will cease again.

  I begin slowing at the thought, steadily bringing Tuscan back to a light jog to ease the time we have out as long as I can. Damn truths. I sigh at them and watch as she slows with me, still captivated by her ability to be inside me somehow.

  “Wow,” she says, breathlessly.

  “Wow? Not the most eloquent thing I’ve heard you say.”

  “I don’t have anything else for that. I mean, it’s …” She pats the mare’s neck again and pants a little, comfortably sitting on top of the skirmish that is a hectic four year old trying to calm down. “Wonderful then. I didn’t realise. Thrilling.”

  “You’ve never called me thrilling.”

  She smirks and turns her head away from me. “Are you jealous, Gray?”

  “Extremely.”

  “Of a horse?”

  “You’re riding it, not me.”

  She laughs weakly, but it’s nothing like the laughter that came ten minutes ago. It’s become laced with disenchantment, weariness even. The mare almost stills under her, the heaving muscles becoming lax and relaxed, as they slow further to a walk and then stop. The look of the pair of them subsiding makes me remember that about her, too. I can feel it still in my arms. Her skin on mine. The breathlessness. The way her body gives in when it’s had enough, just moulds to me and clings on irrespective of the more I kept asking her to take.