Goodbye, Goodbye
       Holly Deyson laid on the edge of her bed and stared at the ceiling chandelier through her lace canopy.  Why? she thought.  She felt the soft, simple black dress brush against her legs-and wished that she could feel his touch.   She didn’t want to move-to breathe; it was too hard.   When she closed her eyes, she saw him in the park, returning with her parasol after it had blown away in the wind.  If she opened them again, she could only imagine his image resting next to her on her bed.  
Damian Knox was a handsome man.  Holly’s imagination ran away with his splendor:  his curly, blonde hair that was soft to the touch.   His blue eyes-eyes that went from a flat, tired grey to a thrilling, clear blue.  His cheeks were high and fine, usually covered with some amount of blonde stubble, for he disliked shaving.  
      Holly rolled over onto her face, and grabbed one of her pillows.  She drank in its scent, warm and clean; a trace of him.  It gave her a little shiver along her spine, knowing that he had been there, lying on her bed, quite recently.  She fantasized about one of those many midnight escapades:  he would jump up onto her first-floor balcony, then knock on the French doors that entered her room.  She would roll out of her bed, sleepy-eyed but excited, and go over to his silhouette standing behind the ruched curtains, illuminated by the balcony lamp.  
“Hello, Holly,” he’d call.  His voice was deep and always smooth, yet he had the habit of clearing his throat before he spoke.  
  “Damian! What a surprise!” she’d always respond, and open the door for him.  From there, he would always swagger over to her vanity and set his evening coat on the back of the chair.  He’d sit down facing the mirror as Holly came over to him and sat on his lap.
His arm would encircle her slight waist, and he’d look in the mirror at the two of them and murmur “What a pretty girl,” then kiss her on the cheek.
Holly would look in the mirror as well.  The yellow tint of the lamp made her skin glow, and give her full, dark honey-colored hair a pleasing sheen.  Then she’d look at him and examine his jaw line, the set little grin on his lips.  “What a good-looking boy,” she’d whisper back.
All of Damian’s visits were pretty much the same: they would lounge around Holly’s room, kissing and talking, whispering sweet things to each other.  Sometimes, he’d come in wet from the rain, or perhaps a bit tipsy from some party.  Other times, he would bring her fresh-picked flowers that he plucked from the Cathedral gardens as he strolled to her house-she’d seen spots where some of the priest’s lilies had gone missing when she attended church on Sundays.
She buried her face deeper into the pillow, wishing it was his chest, and remembered more.  Not too many nights ago-Tuesday, she thought-Damian had knocked on her door, the same as any other night.  She let him in, along with a rush of cool, humid spring air.  Instead of his regular greeting, he just closed the door behind him himself and pulled Holly close.  His eyes were urgent and his breath heavy.  He tilted her delicate, pointed chin towards him with his fingertips, and kissed her hard on the lips.  “I love you,” was all he said when Holly asked if he was alright.  He gently pushed her back towards her bed, kissing her lips intently all the way.
“Damian, tell me.  What’s the matter?” Holly inquired as he pulled the covers over them and ran a finger along her cheekbone.
A sad, far away look came into his eyes.  He kissed her once, long and softly.  “They found me,” he muttered.  I can’t run for much longer, and I can’t hide.”
“No! Stay here, with me!” Holly said, surprised.  “I can have my maid set up something in the attic-I can…”
“No, Holly,” Damian sighed.  He scanned her face, memorizing its attractive features, the dark, dusky eyes.  “I won’t put you in danger like that.”
“But,” her protest was cut off from an insistent kiss from Damian, as he began to unlace the back of her nightgown.  Holly stiffened for a moment, her eyes wide with silent astonishment and protest.  Then she relented and kissed him back; as far as she knew, they may have only until dawn left together.
Holly opened her eyes to the present once again, and gazed despairingly into the light of a late afternoon.  She wondered why her vision was blurred and swimming, until she realized her pillow was soaked with tears.  Today was Thursday-the funeral was at sunset.  Holly curled into herself, clutching at her torso, feeling like a cannonball had hurtled through it-the mental anguish was that bad.
“Miss Deyson?”  Cheryl called, “It’s almost time to be going, the carriage is ready.”  Her maid peeked through the door, her eyes full of pity.
“Oh.  I had better go, then” Holly picked herself up off her canopied bed, and looked in the vanity mirror.  Her porcelain complexion was blotchy from tears, and her eyes were pink from the exertion.  She brushed a few hairs back into her hairstyle, picked up her purse, and wafted through her door...it was time to say goodbye.