I can appreciate the irony.
I keep glaring at the kitty, but he simply ignores me.
I shot him a vulgar gesture.
Indeed, my point, he sasses and in the same moment the door swings open, stopping me from ripping the head from the cat’s shoulders, or flipping him off again. I haven’t decided yet.
The echo of chuckling embers in my head. Or I’ve finally gone mad.
“Where were we?” Jestin walks in, eyeing the sitting arrangement.
No small talk on the menu today, straight to the point.
His gaze falls on the cat. “I hope you don’t shed.”
Aidon rubs lazily on the sofa, without a doubt with the intention of leaving fur.
“Disgusting.” Jestin wrinkles his nose.
He usually drops his stone mask in this room, but now it’s tightly fixed. My stomach drops.
“What’s with the frown, my love? I assumed that camping in the middle of my land was a giant flag: ‘Hi, Jestin! I’m here. Meet me halfway.’”
“Fair assumption, unfortunately, totally off base.”
“Oh, really? What were you doing out there?” He asks. “Why were you gone for half a year? What happened? Give mesomething—anything, or am I the only one who gives a damn?”
Each word is deliberate, his mask firmly in place as he folds his arms and leans against the door, so controlled, so composed, and yet entirely at odds with the storm behind his words.
I take a long breath, hoping the air will magically bring the right words. Of course, it does not. The space between my ears remains empty. Even the insults I normally hurl at myself will not come.
“Total accident. Can we talk now?” I finally answer, and give myself a mental face palm.
“Can we? Are you ready for ‘that talk,’ or are you planning to leave the second it gets slightly uncomfortable?”
Ouch.
“I did not know you would care so much,” I lie, my words dripping with feigned condescension.
Of course I knew. From the moment I made the decision to leave his bed, I knew. We had something good, and I panicked.
And now, I realise I’m only saying this to be reassured, to quiet the gnawing edges of my insecurity.
Pathetic.
I am pathetic and nothing rings truer today.
Jestin only shakes his head. His true talent is not in bending sand but in his golden patience. In a room full of ambassadors, his scrutiny turns him into a predator. Every glance is calculating, every pause deliberate. My Gram always said I had much to learn from him.
After a moment, he sighs. The sound almost weighs down the air. “Where were you?”
“Tricity,” I answer.
“Why?”
“I needed space,” I admit. It was true, still is. But we’re here now.
He comes closer and sits on the couch next to me. “Why did you run away?” he asks gently. Our breaths blend, the mixture so familiar my insides scream.
