Free Unfinished (Historical Fiction) by Harper Alibeck Page A

man. Nature said otherwise, however, finding ways to make her freakish episodes a visual and sensorial reminder that she was, no matter how hard she tried to the contrary, abnormal.
    And now James stared at her. Hands covered her eyes but she could feel him, inches away, naked and glorious, here in her bed where her broken womanhood made a spot that marked her inadequacy.
    “Lilith,” he said gently, one hand touching her knee. She flinched. Please leave , she thought, but the words were wrong. Leaving wasn't what she wanted. A giant sinkhole that would make her disappear would do the trick, though.
    “ Lilith .” The voice was more a command this time, and she peeked out at him through her fingers, then looked down once more.
    “You did nothing wrong.”
    “I've, oh, I can't speak. It's unbearable.” Slick, bitter tears filled her mouth as her eyes joined in, the moment ruined, all arousal drained in a flash.
    As if Lucifer himself studied this surreal scene and added a dose of cruelty, Lilith watched James lean down and sniff the sheet where the large wet spot screamed her name. “It's not – it's not what you think.”
    “Then what is it?” she cried.
    “I don't know.” He reached toward her and then stopped, seeming to think better of it. His hand stayed in place in limbo, uncertain.
    “It can't be anything but – you know.”
    “But it isn't. Sniff for yourself.”
    Where was that sinkhole?
    Lilith stood, pulled her nightdress on over her head, and reached for her robe, modesty overcome by the need to crawl out of her skin, to evacuate James, to run away and throw herself into the Charles River at once in an effort to end this mortifying moment.
    “Please leave,” she implored. Don't leave . Her heart ripped in two, the pain worse than any she'd felt at McLean.
    To her simultaneous chagrin and relieved resignation, he began to get dressed, starting to speak twice and then stopping himself. The room shrank with him in it, the bed like a piece in a dollhouse, the doorways tiny and scaled down. When he stood at full height, his reach could have touched the ceiling, and she envied him for it, but instead he bent down and lifted her chin up, gently brushing her hands from her face. She felt as dry and delicate as aged tissue paper, so fragile one harsh word could turn her to dust and ragged edges.
    A tender kiss was his only goodbye.
    Leaning against her bedroom door, Lilith stared at the center of her bed and began to shake soundlessly, the prospect of letting any sound emerge too dangerous. A sob would turn to a howl and, right now, she wasn't sure the world wouldn't break in two from the vibration of misery her soul could create.

    Sneaking out of John Stone's home was more difficult than slinking in. A small party of smokers in the den took up valuable servant staircase space that he'd used to access Lilith's room; flattening himself behind a door was not possible given his girth and breadth, and he'd received looks askance and a few overt gawks until he rushed out a side door, the cold rain a welcome break from human faces.
    He burned with confusion and emotion. What he'd thought was a good idea turned to a miserable mess, and being evicted from Lilith's room, with so much business unfinished, left a caustic taste in his mouth and a ringing in his ears that turned to a buzz, like a swarm of bees racing to nowhere, kept together sheerly through inertia and oblivion.
    Aching for Lilith, he replayed the scene in his mind. The fluid didn't bother him. It wasn't piss. Those words had stood on the tip of his tongue, ready to come out, but he'd kept them back out of propriety. Stupidity. Confoundedness. He'd wanted to shout that at her, to explain that he'd had another lover who had the same reactions to arousal, that it was no source for embarrassment or fear. Words had failed him in that moment, though; mentioning a prior lover hardly won a man points with a naked woman. Even the daftest idiot knew to keep