Stain
1008 Words
Jerome was bored. He had woken up thirty minutes ago and found his brother's note. He sighed as he sat behind the table in the study which they used as their room. He pouted, thinking he should have woken up earlier so he could come with Austin.
His brother was really an early bird of early birds, waking up right before sunrise— something he couldn't do, although he was considered as someone who’d wake up early as well. He was used to waking up around seven o’clock since he owned the company, and didn't have to go to work earlier than nine in the morning.
Where was he?
Maybe he just had to make an effort to wake up a little bit earlier. After all, the reason why he came to France in the first place was not because of the inheritance, but to spend time with his younger brother. Scratching his head, he eyed the shelves of books around him and decided he might as well read something while he waited for Austin to return.
He walked around the study, dragging his hands on the rows and rows of books, feeling their texture as he scanned their titles. The hardbound volumes were all very old and yet, very well preserved, which impressed him. Whoever owned them really took good care of them, and based on the titles, whoever owned them was an avid fan of Victor Hugo.
He walked around the oak table and saw another shelf, this one containing a much older collection of books. Curious, he came nearer and scanned their titles and the year they were published: Odes et Poésies Diverses 1819, Odes1823, Han d'Islande 1823, Nouvelles Odes 1824, Bug-Jargal 1826, Nils Gunnar Lie's history 1826, Odes et Ballades 1826, Cromwell 1827, Les Orientales 1829, Le Dernier Jour d'un Condamné 1829.
His brows arched in interest as he picked up the last book. "Le Dernier jour d'un condamné," he read out loud with an amused glint in his eyes.
The title meant "the last day of a condemned man," and Jerome found himself wanting to read it. But before he could, his eyes caught the second row of books and he placed the book in his hand back to the shelf to scan the others: Hermani 1830, Marion Delorme 1831, Notre-Dame de Paris 1831...
His eyes widened as he saw the last book. Like an eager child seeing a mountain of candies, he quickly took the last book and opened it. Growing up rich meant he didn't have much chance of having a playmate, so he spent most of his childhood alone reading books.
He liked the classics, and this particular book was one of his favorites, but he only ever read the English version, The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Judging from the color and brittleness of the paper, he had a feeling that this one was an original copy.
Going back to his seat, he raised his feet up on the table, leaned back and opened the book. The book however opened not on the front page but in the middle, and Jerome smiled as he saw a stain on the page. It was round and dark like tea or coffee.
"Somebody wasn't too careful with his cup," he muttered as he touched the stain, and then froze.
Remember…
A cold wave enveloped him as he saw flashes of memories in his mind.
He was sitting at the table, clad in the casual clothing of aristocratic people from centuries past, waiting for his lover to finish her chores. He was inside a small cottage, and the surroundings didn't match the fine clothing he wore. It was already night time and the dim glow from the gas lamp wasn't much of a source of light. Sighing heavily, he placed the book he was reading on the table without bothering to close it.
"I'm so sorry for making you wait," a beautiful, slender woman with long, dark hair said breathily as she came limping into the room.
She was carrying a steaming cup of tea which she had placed on top of the book on the table when she came near him.
"Hey, that's my book!" he, Johann, complained as he removed the cup from the book and he saw the stain. "Look at what you've done! This is my favorite," he grumbled as he tried to wipe the blot away.
The book was a gift to him from his father when he was twelve years old. It was written by his favorite author, and he had treasured the book since.
"I'm so sorry," the beautiful woman apologized as she used her own tattered clothes to wipe the paper, but Johann stopped her hand, closed the book, and sighed.
He looked up and saw his lover wearing a guilty expression on her face, with her red lips trembling.
He sighed once again. He really should be gentler with her. They had been lovers for years, ever since the day he had saved her life, since the day he had nursed her from the gunshot wound which had crippled her left leg. But until now, this beautiful creature felt awkward around him.
Johann knew he could be harsh sometimes with his words and actions, but it was only because he was raised to be a leader, as the heir of this land. His lover didn't have confidence in herself, with her being a peasant— a foreigner who had stowed away with her siblings from an English Isle. But Johann didn't care about her origins. He just wanted to be with her always and he would never allow anything or anyone to come between them.
He hadn't told her he loved her, though. Johann wanted to be stubborn about that. Let her figure that out, he thought as he gently pulled her close. He made her straddle his lap as he buried his face at the crook of her slender neck.
Jessica’s smell was so sweet— a mixture of fresh grass, apples, and food.
- Writer
