I stare at the liquid as it circles down the drain. “It’s fine.”
“I can get you something else. Anything. Just—”
“I’m fine.” My arms wrap around my stomach.
I know Kane’s looking at me because I can feel his intensity, so I stare at the ground, study the laces of his trainers, how they’re tucked into place rather than tied.
“I got your message,” he says. He’s trying to fill the silence, but I let it hang.
I can’t force myself to engage in conversation with this feeling of betrayal lingering upon my skin, my lips, inside my body.
How careless was I to just accept food from him? So stupid. Naive. Like always.
Kane places his hand on the edge of the sink. I watch his fingers, see them twitch.
“I can leave,” he says, so quietly, like he’s already preparing to.
I scrunch my eyes shut, the words inflicting a sharp spasm in my gut. My lips part in a silent cry I can’t explain.
But his darkness is there. It sweeps around me, soothes me. The edge of a chill racing along my side, caressing my ribs, easing away the discomfort I can’t explain.
“Do you want me to leave?” The question fractures on his tongue, raw and low, like he’s trying not to let it hurt.
He sounds so… lost.
I manage the barest shake of my head.
Immediately, the aches melt away, as though rewarding me for making him stay, whispering the comforts I’d have if only I allowed it.
He’s even closer. “Do you want to ask me any questions?” He keeps his voice quiet, like he knows how close we are to breaking this fragile peace.
But I’m just so tired.
Tired of being in pain.
Tired of fighting my emotions.
This. Them.
The coolness intensifies and I finally open my eyes, glancing at his fingers still holding the edge of the sink. It’s his darkness still touching me, and I’m too selfish to tell him to stop. Too exhausted.
My head droops, I see his feet again, see those stupid trainers as they get even closer.
“Why are you dressed like that?” I murmur.
It’s not evencloseto a question I had jotted down, but it’s a question. And he has to answer because that’s the rule.
But for such a simple, easy, non-life-threatening question, there’s a very long pause.
Taking a deep breath, I force my heavy head up. But he’s looking over me, staring at something in the distance. It lets me really study him, see the lines which are still too visible, note how his body has turned inwards, how close we are… how he’s cornering me slightly—trapping me.
I should feel trapped. Claustrophobic, maybe. Like when the bond was revealed, when every wall felt too close and I needed to just leave.
But I don’t. I feel… comforted. Content.
Safe.
Those thoughts… these feelings… they’re so vibrant and intense, so sudden, they make it hard to stand.
