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"Anne," Athos' voice was miles away, an echo under the rushing pulse of her heart in her ears. The oak floorboards seemed to disappear from beneath her. The large study with its white walls and gold trimmings grew smaller until it was no longer there and she was on the streets. Alone. Cold. Shivering. The rain beat down, soaking her and the filthy rags she wore.
No! No! No! Her mind screamed. Don't take me back there!
But it was no use. That night; the alley. It was real once again. She never saw his face, only the sinister shadow which loomed above her cowering form against the stone wall.
"I'll teach you to steal from me, you urchin!" The man's voice boomed on the heels of a thunder clap.
When he reached out his hand, Anne didn't think. Instead when it was within inches of her face, she grabbed ahold of his wrist and sank her teeth into the skin. The man howled and stumbled backwards, clutching his wounded appendage. Scrambling to stand up, still trembling and tasting blood, she kicked him square between his thighs and pushed him against the opposite wall.
The fear almost paralyzed her as she watched the aristocratic bastard crumble to the ground, muddying his fine clothes. She spat on him and ran down the alley. From then on, Anne never walked the streets without a weapon carefully concealed somewhere on her person. She never wanted to relive that night of terror again. But here she was, unearthing a memory she thought was buried and gone.
"Come back to me, Anne," her husband's voice was clearer now. "I'm here."
She forced herself to breathe through the tears, to focus on the rich smoothness of Athos' voice. When she felt his hand caress her cheek, it was all that she needed to ground her, to bring her back to reality.
She had never confessed to him her fear of storms. Anne hadn’t noticed that there was one rumbling off in the distance because she had been so busy running away from him during one of their games. But later, it was the thunder clash overhead made her stop and take notice. The windows rattled from the rain and when she spun around, the eerie shadows masked her husband’s face as he cornered her against the bookshelf.
Now she was brave enough to peel her eyes open and see him kneeling in front of her as she cowered. It was the first time she had seen him look apprehensive and confused, clearly needing to reach out to her but so unsure about what was the right thing to do.
She fell into his arms and clung to him, allowing herself to cry again.
"Please Athos," she whispered, "Don't ask. Don't ask."
"I won't," his voice strained. He needed to know but she knew he wouldn't dare ask.
She buried her face in his shoulder, trying to catch her breath. The urgent need to tell him about it, to tell him everything, was so close it almost spilled out in choked sobs. But she swallowed them down and let him hold her.