“Next, I want to know whatyoulike.”
“Me?” I croak, struggling with words and thoughts and breathing when her eyes hold mine.
She ignores my discomfort, never releasing me from her stare.
Which is why I only manage one word.
“You.”
3
OPHELIA
“You.”
I watch as the witch’s pale skin turns as red as his fiery hair. Even flustered, the man is handsomer than any other I’ve ever encountered. Even his twin cannot compare. There’s something about Broderick Shelly that puts me at ease. I think it has to do with his genuine nature.
Or that he’s bad at lying.
Maybe those two are the same thing in a way.
All I know is that I don’t feel unsure of any of the words that he speaks to me. Every time Broderick opens his mouth, there is a resounding ring of undeniable truth. And not even a harsh truth.
He seems kind.
I have not experienced much kindness in my life.
And so, hearing him, with his genuine nature, answer my question with the simpleyoufills me with comfort.
And also guilt.
The man, seeming to have realized how much his one-worded statement might reveal, continues to babble in a way that he does often.
“You … know …you know, I like things that most people like. I like … pens. And paper. And mugs.” As Broderick lists off these objects, I watch his green eyes flit around his desk.
I do my best to fight a smile, but feel the expression curving my lips nonetheless.
“You seem to have many of the things that you like in your office already.” My voice is as matter-of-fact as I can manage.
It feels good to make a joke. A subtle one though it may be.
I want to be able to laugh. I want to be able to see the humor in the world.
I don’t want my days to be long stretches of twisted anxiety anymore.
Broderick clears his throat and fiddles with one of the buttons on his dress shirt. He is always dressed well. Not necessarily strikingly or sporting high-fashion designs, the way that his twin brother does. But the witch is usually wearing an ironed shirt and a nice set of pants and only slightly scuffed loafers. It’s a professor look I see many of the faculty at Ramla University opt for. But the style looks best on him.
“Yes, well, I prefer to surround myself with things I like.” As Broderick finishes making the statement, his eyes land on me, and it suddenly becomes impossible to ignore how close we are in this cramped office of his.
I want to ask if he would consider surrounding himself with me.
You don’t deserve to think of him like that, I remind myself.
Now, I feel heat rising underneath my own skin, but my mortification comes from a harsher place. Broderick should not feel shame about saying kind things about me. I deserve his derision after how horribly I reacted when he freed me from thatterrible curse. The man had cut himself open to help me. Even now, I can see the scar of his sacrifice puckered on his palm. The witch cast painful magic for a stranger.
And I snarled at him. I fled from him.
And to this day, six months later, I still have not saidthank you.
