The rain lashed against the pane like a heart racing in my chest. Caspian had remained quiet since I had entered the penthouse that afternoon. He had refused to look at me, not even to give me an acknowledging nod. He had simply withdrawn into himself, using one hand to work at the kitchen countertop laptop and the other to speak on the phone, muttering terse comments as he paced back and forth, which were ill-concealed under layers of mounting irritation.
The gossip this morning concerned an ex-employee who had accused Caspian of acting underhandedly in creating the initial stages of his empire. The vultures circled; it was a scandal, and, of course, the press.
I had earlier said, “Caspian, I need to talk about---” All my hopes had been dashed, for he brusquely cut me off, saying, “It’s being handled.” I continued to watch him from the living room door, pouring himself a drink at the bar, while chaos raged outside.
A crisp suit; tie gone; shirt bosom more or less open; an aura of dread encroaching beneath a not-so-serious outwards ruffling: a strong, self-aware man under stress.
I couldn’t tell if his shirt had bothered me or whether today just happened to be a really bad day.
I ventured, “Caspian?” I felt rather uncertain now.
“Not now, Lily,” he said, looking neither this way nor that, like thunder cracking in the darkest sky outside on the intensity of his voice.
I bit my lip hard and clenched my fists. “You can keep saying that all day.”
He turned his head to face me; his brows were knitted, and his stare was just as implacable. “Because I don’t have time for this.”
“This?” I deadpanned as I crossed to where he was seated. “Is this me, Caspian? Or the fact I’m trying to help you?”
He almost looked quiet: as quiet as the walls thick with silence between us. Setting the glass down harder than he intended, I could faintly hear him whisper very quietly lined with his fury at my audacious presence: ‘I don’t need your help’
“You are fine; you need no one else, right?” I shot back. “You think you can lug it all by yourself, like some kind of untouchable machine? Well, guess what? You can’t. You’re a man. And men need people.”
“Don’t,” he said, each word measured, each word slow. “Don’t teach me what I need.”
And with all the remaining strength I had, I screamed, “Then stop shutting me out!”
Then silence was ringing-a gunshot louder than a loaded rifle-and his damning gaze bore through mine, soon releasing a tempestuous fury, rage, exasperation, and something intricately layered yet harshly raw.
“You don’t understand,” he began at last, quieter but no less fierce.
“Then show me. Help me understand, Caspian. Let me in.” My voice softened a little.
At that moment, I swear I saw an opening: his shoulders fell just the slightest bit, the tautness around his jaw melted for the first time. But then it was gone again, with a shake of his head, quite likely to literally shake off the idea of an entrance to a sphere of joy.
“Bitterly down below he would say to the air as it slipped from him, ‘You cannot fix this. You cannot fix me.’”
“I don’t want to fix you,” I replied, low and shaky. “I want to be with you.”
He chuckled, a hollow sound, pushing his hair back in frustration. “What does that even get you? You think I’m just going to open up to you? Just going to suddenly become someone I am not?”
What hurt him to say was meant to hurt me, but I would not back down. “I guess I don’t expect that from tonight to tomorrow morning you would change at first,” I declared, “but I do expect that you’d stop acting as if I’m some outsider. No, I am not going away, no matter what you do to try to push me away.”
The space between us grew heavy and electric, crackling with all that went unspoken. His focus intensified on me, and for a second it felt as though the world melted away.
“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he managed to spit out in a whisper.
“Maybe not,” I replied. “But I’m willing to try. Will you?”
The silence between us had been enough for me; I could almost visualize the war going within him: one party wanting dearly to trust me enough to obliterate the walls he had so painfully worked at building throughout the years; the other one, birthed of betrayal, hurt, and grief, was vying to keep me out all costs.
“I can’t,” he said finally, after an interminable pause, the last two words barely a whisper.
The water-storm of vulnerability swirling in his eyes took the ground from under me: Caspian Grey was a man, after all, beneath all his might and power. A man too frightened to let anyone close enough to see the cracks in his armor.
“You can,” I declared softly, extending my hand.
He recoiled as though I had burned him, but the man who had barely jumped away from me just stood there as still as a statue. His eyes lowered to mine interlaced fingers on his sleeve, and for the briefest of moments, I dared to wonder if he would take my hand into his. Instead, he withdrew a step away from me.
“You should go,” he said, and immediately, once more, his voice turned cold; his composure was difficult to ascertain, though.
This last effort to push me away struck deep in my heart. “Caspian-“
“Go, Lily,” he repeated, with finality as he turned his back to me.
I stood there for what felt like an eternity, tears burning in the back of my throat before I forced myself to walk toward the door. Upon reaching it, I heard him at the window, peering out at the storm.
The clouds above us thundering viciously; the raindrops on glasses told us that there was a storm within each soul. Back from the penthouse door, I thought, how much he would like to push me away; he couldn’t.
Not yet.
I couldn’t leave; not just yet. Somewhere between cold dismissal and almost pleading, his tone made me cling to the very spot. I simply couldn’t walk away while he was falling apart right before my eyes.
I breathed really deep to cool the flames of the fire raging inside me and stepped back into the room. “Caspian, stop pretending you don’t care,” I said firmly. “Because I have seen enough to know you do.”
He spun toward me, his eyes flashing with something between anger and pain. “You think you know me, Lily? You don’t. You know what I let you see, and that’s it.”
“Let me see more,” I retorted and took another step nearer to him.
He breathed sharply and ran his hand over his face. “You don’t know what you’re asking for. You really don’t know what it’s like to bear this—grasping out now at the penthouse, the wealth, the empire he had built-to have the whole world waiting for you to fail?” He paced again, stopping every other sentence to point another accusatory finger, “To have every little thing scrutinized, every little decision questioned?”
“Maybe I don’t,” I said softly. “But I do know what it’s like to feel alone. And that’s what you are, Caspian-Alone.”
It struck home. I could see it in the clenching tightness of his jaw and the way his hands formed tight fists at his sides. He opened his mouth to reply, and none came.
“Let me in,” I urged again, taking another step closer to him.
For that fleeting moment, it seemed he might melt. His eyes softened, shoulders sagged, as with the weight of the world, indeed. But just like that, he put the walls back.
“I need no one to save me, Lily,” he sliced back. “And I don’t need you.”
It felt like a pain-filled jab, and yet I would not allow myself to be extinguished by his words. “You don’t mean that.”
He laughed coldly, shaking his head again. “You think you can fix me? That you can just waltz into my life and make everything better? You don’t even know half of it.”
“Then tell me!” I shot back, my voice lifting into a crescendo. “Tell me what can be so awful that you can’t allow anybody in?”
He looked at me for a second, but then he looked away, his hands gripping the back of the couch as though he needed support.
“You wouldn’t understand,” he muttered.
“Try me,” I dared.
He didn’t answer, and we both held still, the silence almost strained with tension. I could see it in his shoulders, tightening from the fight he was waging internally; his breathing seemed to come in quick bursts. There was a war going on within him; he wouldn’t let me help him unless he let me in.
Again I moved closer, knowing that the time for hesitating was past. I touched him on the arm and said, “Caspian.”
He didn’t flinch, not now. Instead, he turned directly toward me, his burning gaze ripping through mine. I had barely breathed for a long while, fighting the urge to grasp for some flimsy consolation from faraway memories. For momentous time, indeed, the walls he built around himself were crushed to slip, leaving the real man vulnerable and raw.
“Lily,” he said, almost a whisper.
It was different this time. The last bit of his coldness evaporated into the powerful need he maintained with a plea. A longing for my help against the horrors of his world and mind.
His fingers were ever so slightly trembling against my cheek, and he crossed the whole room to me, reaching for my face with small, shaky fingers. The touch was incredibly tender: his fingers trembled at my cheek.
“I can’t do this,” he said, breaking apart even as he spoke. “I can’t let you in.”
“Why not?” I asked, feeling my voice tremble.
“Because if I do…” He fell silent, his eyes closing as he took a shuddering breath. “If I do, you’ll see who I really am. And you’ll leave.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I said firmly.
He opened his eyes sharply and for a few seconds I saw as eloquently as ever he thought I really meant it. But step backwards again he’d done, unclipping his hand to make it drop in utter resignation beside his hip.
“You should,” he said, his voice cold again.
Yet all the while I could see the truth; he didn’t want me gone.
I took one step backward away from him, giving the space he so clearly required. But I had made up my mind. “Caspian, I’m not giving up on you, however much you might want to push me away.”
He didn’t respond, but I could feel his gaze on me as I turned to leave; I could feel those very eyes watching me as I walked away.
Caspian Grey was a man at war with himself, and somehow, I had been granted a single glimpse into the malevolent play of his battle. I didn’t know what that meant, but I had one thing on my side:
I would not give up on him.