A barrel of angst

PROLOGUE

The room was small. It was not beautiful, but it was tidy. It had the lingering yet subtle smell of lavenders. The walls were bare, save for a small picture frame, housing a photograph of a laughing baby and its mother. The mother, gazing lovingly at her child, a lopsided smile on her lips.

To the far corner of the room was a semblance of a crib, it looked like it had been put together in a hurry, it was made from different bits of wood arranged in no discernible pattern. The joiner it seemed had been more interested in functionality than aesthetics. In this hurriedly made crib of mismatched bits of wood was an actual baby. A baby whose soft noises was testament of a rather sound, if not deep sleep. Unlike the crib in which he slept, the child was whole, of a uniform tan colouring, and was lovely to look upon. 

Next to the crib was a small wooden table, under which was a brown bag with clothes crammed into it. It was a rickety table which had clearly seen better days, but now carried a small vase of lavender flowers threatening to fall off its uneven edge. 

A woman sat at one end an old battered three seater couch, older even than the table, it was the only other furniture there was. The woman sat with her eyes unfocused, staring off into space, clearly in deep thought and completely ignoring the man who knelt before her. 

The man was an odd sight. Odd, only in that he stuck out like a sore thumb when his immediate surrounding became a factor. Dark hair he had, clean shaven too he was, and a strong jaw it seemed, for his head was bowed hence his facial features not clearly discernible. What was discernible however was his clothing, understated, but clearly expensive. A sharp contrast to the woman's.

  At first glance, one would not be wrong to imagine this was a proposal, albeit a rather unusual one. But then the woman looked down, and with a delicate hand and graceful motion lifted the man’s chin, gazing into his now visible electric blue eyes. Her fingers which were still on his chin were dark, near black even, they were slender and they looked like they had once been beautiful. 

The woman was clearly the woman in the picture, she had full, albeit chapped lips and a button nose sat proudly on her face. She was not exactly beautiful, hers was a pleasant enough face, but she did have a regal bearing about her; a change of clothes, and a bejeweled crown, and one would have thought her a queen. It was in the way that she held herself; delicately, yet still managing to look firm and strong, it was in the little, not quite condescending smile that played on her lips as she locked gazes with the man.

"You r***d me," she said after a while, in an almost imperceptible whisper.

"I'm sorry," the man said

"You r***d me," she repeated.

"I'm sorry," the man too repeated, but this time with a strain in his voice.

"You denied my, our child, and you threw me out, when you knew I had nowhere else to go."

“I’m so-” he began to say again, but she placed a finger across his lips, silencing him. Her hand, moving to the faint scar on his cheek, and for a while she remained like that, caressing it. 

“Now you kneel before me, telling me you're sorry,” she began again. “You've said sorry to me before William, and I forgave you, yet here we are again. Do you even hear yourself? How can you say you love me after all you put me through? This cannot be love."

"It is love..." he interjected. “I swear it is."

"Hahahaha," she threw back her head laughing. A wicked, ugly sound it was.

"You swear?” She questioned. “You my dear know nothing about love. I loved you William, I loved you with every fiber in my body. I forgave you, and I loved you. And for loving you, you rejected me."