When It All Falls Apart

Chapter 1:

Without too much protest, Scarlett O'Hara allowed her maid, Pansy, to place a cold compress on her forehead and adjust her feet so that they rested comfortably on the chaise lounge. She had fled to her room the moment Rhett left, if only to begin packing her portmanteau for Charleston - she would follow him there, whether he liked it or not, if only to prove her sincerity. But then, Pansy had uncomfortably drawn her out of her frenzy and reminded her that Melly was dead. Dead. As if she could have forgotten long! But Rhett was gone - two whole hours gone! He could already be on the train to Charleston for all she knew. Scarlett looked at the small china clock opposite her chair. Two o'clock. Melly had been dead for three hours and Rhett gone for two.

Already Mrs. Meade and Mrs. Meriweather had turned up knocking, demanding that Scarlett receive them and wanting only to tell her that Ashley, India, and Aunt Pittypat were too grief-stricken to deal effectively with the undertaker or handle any of Melly's arrangements, for that matter. As Melly's former sister-in-law, Scarlett was next in line for the task, and the two matrons had expected her to respond with more enthusiasm than she had, as though they had offered her the chance to become Queen of England - clearly her Great balls of fire, leave me alone won't you? had taken the women by complete surprise. Fleeing the foyer, she had barricaded herself and Pansy in her bedroom, only allowing the girl to leave once she had agreed to go over to the Wilkes's to see what exactly was required of her. As if to add to her misery, her splitting headache showed no sign of letting up. Perhaps she had had too much to drink the night before. No, she rethought, I didn't have a thing to drink last night - I was at Melly's, waiting for her to wake up - waiting for her to …die.

How could Rhett leave her now? Now that she was expected to take up the mantle of responsibility for not only Ashley and Beau, but Melly's wake and funeral as well. It was incredible, really, that Rhett would leave her. And not a word out of him but that awful, uncaring My dear, I don't give a damn. Not a sigh, not a tear. Even as she had pleaded with him and cried and laid her whole heart out for him only to throw it back at her with those cruel, callous words. She had truly thought that if she had only held her emotions in check, Rhett would have seen how she accepted the situation and he would have been proud of her resilience. But the fact that he had gone through with leaving even at a time like this made her wonder now if he had ever really loved her at all. What the devil was she to think? God's nightgown, but she couldn't think of it all right now, not with the throbbing headache she was suffering from.

A loud knock at her door made her sit up with a start, thinking in a moment of madness that it was Rhett, hat in hand, saying that all was forgiven.

It was not Rhett.

Ashley came in, wearing no jacket, his grey eyes red rimmed and swollen.

"Your maid said you weren't feeling well, Scarlett."

No mention of Melly. Nor their conversation of three hours prior, in which he had told her once and for all that it was Melly he had always loved, not her, Scarlett. There he was in her room, without even a guilty look.

"Nothing that won't right itself by this afternoon, Ashley," Scarlett said, standing up and staring at him warily. He was clearly not himself, and she only hoped that he hadn't been driven mad by Melly's death - surely not!

"That's nice," Ashley said, sitting down at the edge of her bed. My God, Scarlett thought to herself, appalled. He really is terribly drunk! But how to get him out before someone noticed him inside her house?

"Where is your husband?" Ashley inquired, as though he had merely dropped in for afternoon tea. Scarlett wasn't prepared to discuss the matter of Rhett's leaving with anyone just yet, particularly Ashley, and most especially with him in such a shameful condition. Ashley never imbibed so much as two glasses of sherry at dinner; although, Scarlett admitted ruefully, if Melly's death didn't drive him to drink, she didn't know what would. But surely he wouldn't …an uncomfortable premonition reared its ugly head.

"What do you think you're doing in my bedroom, Ashley?"

"Well, I suppose I came by to say hello."

"Hello?"

"Yes."

"You just, thought you'd go out?"

"Yes. If you've not noticed, my dear, it's an absolutely lovely day. Just perfect for going calling."

God's nightgown, calling? How drunk was he?

"Oh yes, I simply could wait no more, my dear," he said, standing up and drawing closer to her.

Scarlett was speechless, and before she could recover, Ashley had leaned his face close and put his lips on hers. Her eyes flared and she instinctively slapped the side of his face, which only seemed to encourage him.

"Pansy!" Scarlett screamed, then fairly flew toward the door, hoping that someone in the house would be alarmed by the harried tone of her voice. Someone had to get Ashley out and under control before someone noticed that he was missing -

"Don't make me wait now, Scarlett," Ashley said in that awful voice that was not his own, grabbing her arm in order to gain her attention.

"Ashley, stop this! You understand me?" She looked up at him, thinking that never in her life had he put a forceful hand on her. She was at a loss how to respond, but instinct told her to jerk her arm back. His grip held.

"Stop it, Ashley! You've got to get home!"

He was grinning stupidly at her, as if he enjoyed the challenge - as though she was one of Belle Watling's girls, not Scarlett at all - she was appalled.

Was she supposed to stand there and argue with him? Not likely. She needed only to get him out before someone walked in and witnessed them coming out of her bedroom. Again she drew back her hand and let it make impact with his face, and this time he let her arm go to jump back and avoid the slap. He avoided being hit, but then pushed her forward into the door and out into the hallway. She shoved him away forcefully, and her nostrils flared with anger and outrage. She gave him her back, safely now in the hall. If only she could get to one of her male servants to see him home…

Suddenly, he was behind her again, and put his hand over her mouth and pinned her against the wall.

"I've wanted this for so long," he whispered into her ear.

Her scream died abruptly in her throat. This could not be happening. Not Ashley, not her perfect, honorable Ashley. Her face and chest were shoved against the wall, her hair was freed from its chignon and she felt his hard elbow at her back. He was holding her arms so tightly at the center of her back so that she was held still. God's nightgown, he means to possess me - well by God, he will not!

She had to get away from him in his lunacy, whatever it took. She dug the sharp heel of her shoe into his shin hard enough to shock him.

"I'm very close to screaming my head off, Ashley!" she warned him, walking backwards toward the staircase. "Now I'm telling you to stop, so -"

He lunged at her, in one final act of desperation, although it was not as forceful as before. She let out a choked little scream, then felt herself trip on something. She stepped out of one shoe, then pitched backward, Ashley's stunned face the last thing she saw before she was surrounded by total darkness…

. . . .

Scarlett O'Hara awoke to find herself in a room that she didn't recognize offhand- a large bedroom suite adorned in a style she didn't recognize. The bed sheets were made from expensive looking white satin. Wealth, clearly. The furniture looked as if it was custom made to match the big bed she was laying in, all fit for a queen. A nice house, to be sure! Nicer than any in the County. Saratoga, she was sure. Yes, she must have fainted in the hot sun. Mother would be mortified, she thought with horror.

"Scarlett - Scarlett! Doctor, see, she's awake!"

The flow of words came as a man hurried across the room and dropped onto the side of the bed and grabbed hold of her hands, but tenderly. He was old, at least forty, if not more, with black hair, a proud, patrician nose and forceful chin. A handsome, well-bred face to be sure, but far too old to be considered a beau.

"Scarlett?" he asked, his tone a cross between irritated and hopeful.

"I suppose I owe you thanks," she responded, unsure.

"For what, my pet?" he asked quietly, then in a lower tone, "You do know who I am, don't you, Scarlett?"

"Of course," she lied, if only to soothe his vanity. At sixteen, she knew that even men as old as this one liked to be noticed. "You saved me, after I fainted. How much longer must I lay here? Where's Mother and Pa?"

He lowered his black eyes, and said gently, "You don't remember me, do you?"

"Of course I do," she tried again. "But I would dearly like my Mother, if you would be so kind as to bring her to me…"

"All in good time," he replied calmly, then stood up. "If you'll excuse me, I need to have a word with the good doctor first."

Please be gentle, this is my very first GWTW fanfic … Constructive feedback is certainly welcomed! -NJ