WHEN ALEXANDER RETURNED TO our bedroom later that afternoon, bags under his eyes even if light still streamed in through the window, he began to undress. It was first his breeches, then he untied his cravat, after that he unbuttoned his waistcoat, and finally he pulled his hunting shirt over his head, throwing his articles of clothing all over the floor, something I’d have to clean up later. Despite my promise to myself not to look at him ever since our argument after the court-martial, I fеlt my eyes stray to the еxposed, freckled skin on his back.
Too late did he pull his nightgown down over his head, and I saw it.
Scratch marks all down his back.
They were long and red, and clearly they hurt just from the looks of them, from how deeply they were in his flesh. In straight lines they went down his pale skin, almost making it to the area where his pants covered him. It looked as if he’d been attacked by some wild animal near camp, but I knew they’d been done by the hands of man, one who wasn’t attacking him—one who was seeking pleasure. This man he’d slept with sometime recently, or even worse—a woman.
He must’ve moved on to some girl in our time of not speaking—a camp follower maybe, or more likely his old crush and potential girlfriend Kitty Livingston perhaps. Maybe they were in love again, just like they had been when I first arrived at headquarters and Alexander no longer needed me to satisfy his lust. I mean, from what I’d heard of Kitty Livingston, she was quite beautiful, with chestnut brown hair, hazel-but-more-green eyes, the most intricate angel-bowed lips, and skin like one of a porcelain doll’s. Her figure was supposed to have quite a big bosom—something I found no appeal in whatsoever—and a tiny waist—no doubt she was wearing a corset.
Her looks weren’t the only thing that attracted people, though. She was known for her kindness, even going as far as inviting random men asking for directions at her house for tea. Her manners were splendid, almost as good as my sister Polly’s European ones, something that was thought of quite highly in the colonies. She was the opposite of me, so neat and dainty, so composed and put-together, while I was brash and reckless, a powder keg about to explode. There were countless times Alexander had walked in on me crying from some stupid dream or contemplating slitting my wrists. I was a lot to handle—I knew that—and Kitty was nothing. A breeze, simple and easy. I could tell Alexander would tire of looking after me sometime soon, while he’d never have to worry about the same thing happening with his old crush. So, from her description, I couldn’t help but think of how the immigrant most likely could’ve fallen for her again, and considering how handsome he was, there was no doubt that she reciprocated his feelings, especially with his high rank. But the Livingstons lived in New York; it would take days—weeks—for Alexander to get there. But, then again, they could be visiting…
Or maybe it was the same thing that happened with Francis: He hooked up with some random woman at the bar (whomever he deemed pretty enough to waste his night away with) and the next morning decided he was in love with her despite not knowing her for more than twelve hours. As much as I hated to admit it, that seemed quite possible, considering this was Alexander Hamilton we were talking about.
Speaking of the Devil, he must’ve known I’d seen his scratches, for he winced audibly. He turned to look at me, a nervous look on his face while he ground his teeth together anxiously. “John…”
“Who is it?” The words came out more strained than angry—which was a lot—through my gritted teeth.
“John, I—”
“Who is it?” I asked before adding in a sneering “Hamilton.”
His shoulders slumped at my usage of his last name. I hadn’t used it in forever—the last time I remembered using it was while we were still at the headquarters in Pennsylvania before the battle at Brandywine—and not even during public affairs, showing off how close we were, so that definitely came as a shock for the ginger. “L—Lafayette.”
I couldn’t stop my mouth from hanging ajar. Of all of the people he could’ve engaged in intercourse with, he’d chosen Lafayette! But he was happily married with a wife and child whom he loved dearly. He would never cheat on them, never mind with someone of the opposite gender.
But maybe I didn’t know him as well as I did. Maybe he truly did like men like I did and not women, and that his feelings for his family were faked. But he was too happy and nice to lie to anyone; it’d show clearly on his face.
“I don’t believe you,” I spat out. Literally—spit came flying out of my mouth, that was how angry I was.
Alexander sighed; we both knew there was no easy way of ending this conversation once we’d made this turn. “It’s the truth, John. I’m not lying—I haven’t lied to you since we met.”
I felt tears stream down my face—tears I angrily wiped away so that he wouldn’t see me cry. Why did this always have to happen to me? Couldn’t I just have a normal life like everyone else?
“No, you wouldn’t do this. Not to me. I’m the man you love; you wouldn’t leave me heartbroken. Where’s the real Alexander?”
“Right here,” was the aide-de-camp’s curt reply. Clearly, he wasn’t one to sugarcoat things. “Look, I’m not proud of what I did—”
A peal of laughter escaped my throat. “Oh, but you are! I know you take pride in breaking women’s hearts, so why should I be any different?”
“Because I love you, John, not him.”
“Then why’d you do it, huh?”
He opened his mouth to answer, but I didn’t allow him to do so—I was already walking out of the room.