I am at so much peace when I’m near her, knowing she’s safe, sleeping in my bed. And yet, ironically, I have never been more restless, because she is near me.
Avira
I wake up with a smile on my lips. Hugging the pillow to my face, I rub against it, breathing in his scent before opening my eyes.
Sunlight cascades onto the bed through the open window. It’s always open. Zoan can’t sleep with windows closed, not even in winters.
I stretch lazily across the bed before sitting up. My eyes roam around his neatly arranged room. Everything is in perfect order, not a single thing out of place.
Curiosity gets the better of me, as I pull open the drawer beside the bed. For a moment, I wonder if he keeps condoms in here, like the men I’ve read about in books. Instead, I find a gun. And a strange-looking knife. I purse my lips. This man desperately needs a life.
On top of the side table, there’s only a book written in some foreign language. The worn cover and faded pages make it look like an ancient scripture.
I open the next drawer. This one isn’t filled with weapons or scriptures, but with doodles, pencils, coloring pens, hair ties, little cards. My eyes widen as recognitionstrikes. They’re mine. All of them. The silly little things I used to leave lying around in his room years ago. He has kept every single one.
I close the drawer quickly, a lump forming in my throat. My chest tightens with a mixture of emotions. He has always treated me like his real sister. In his eyes, I am family. He loves me, but as a sister. Whereas my love for him is anything but brotherly.
I slide off the bed, and that all-too-familiar tide of shame and guilt rises to consume me again.
Yesterday I witnessed what I read in psychology, that the frontal cortex slows down when exhaustion takes over. Last night I was too tired to think about the rationality of my feelings, too tired to push them away. So I surrendered. I let myself enjoy his presence, his smell, his warmth. For once, I slept happily, believing I had everything I wanted.
I got permission to live with him. I got what I had been aching for.
But I forgot, the problem was never the distance. The problem is my love for him. My need of staying forever in his arms. Living near him changes nothing. If anything, it will only make living harder.
After bathing, I head downstairs. July serves my breakfast.
“Where is Zoan?” I ask.
“Mr. Bennett is in his study,” she replies.
I nod.
I’m almost finished eating when I hear steady footsteps behind me. I know it’s him. Without footwear, he moves in complete silence. With shoes, his stride carries a perfectly balanced rhythm.
He reaches me and, without a word, takes my chin between his fingers, tilting my face to the side. His eyes search mine with a deep frown, studying me for a few heavy beats before he lets go and takes hold of my hand.
I rise from the chair silently and walk beside him to the living room. He makes me sit on the couch, then sits beside me, close enough for his presence to press on every nerve in my body.
“What’s bothering you, Dove?” His voice is tired.
“Nothing. Everything is fine.” I force a smile.
His eyes sharpen. “Don’t force a smile. Tell me honestly what’s troubling you.”
I glance around the room, reminding myself that I am a happy girl. I have loving parents, doting grandparents, cousins. I am happy.
A more genuine smile tugs at my lips. “I just slept on the wrong side, so I’m a little grumpy.”
His brows draw tighter together, his voice turning cold. “Don’t lie to me, Dove.”
“I’m not li—”
“Yes, you are fucking lying. You woke up with a smile, that same smile stayed on your face until you opened my drawers. And then you got lost in your head.”
I stare at him, stunned, my mouth parted. I’m more shocked by his shouting than by his words. This is the first time. I have never heard Zoan raise his voice. No one has.
“How… how do you know this?” I whisper.
