Going against my better judgement, I looked at him when he didn’t say anything else, the flickers of shock still clear on his face. Why did he have to do that? Why did he always have to look at me like that? Like I was the only person in the world. It was almost as if I could see my own longing reflected back at me. I let out an exasperated sigh, trying to push the idea of me being special to Thallor to the back of my mind. Because I’mnot.I’m justme.
“I guess so,” I said as I settled in, taking the remote from him and looking for another film, and ignoring the death glare that Mortimer was giving me.This is for the best, right?
“I figured a distraction might be good.”A distraction from everything that’s happened. A distraction from the feelings inside me that I am struggling to ignore. A distraction from you.
“Right,a distraction,” Thallor repeated, nodding his head a little too robotically. “Well, he would be an idiot not to.”
“Huh?”
And I couldn’t help but smile as he motioned, punching the air before letting his back settle back across the sofa. And that was the problem. It was in all the small things Thallor did. In all the small inconsequential actions that wormed their way into my chest and refused to leave. Because it was those little details–the small moments made just for us that I held close to my heart–that would leave me broken in the end.
“You’re an idiot, you know that?” I said before grabbing the last gummy snake from his hand and biting into it, grinning. He didn’t say anything for a moment; he just let his gaze settle on mine. I begged my cheeks not to blush. But there was something in the pink that highlighted his high cheekbones and the boyish look etched across his face, contrasting to the vibrant red of his hair, that tested everything within me
“Only when it comes to you,” he murmured before turning back to the television and settling in as the opening credits for another film played in front of us.
And just like that, we settled back into our quiet routine. One where I was just Quincey and he was just Thallor. One where nothing bad had happened to me, and he hadn’t ridden in on a horse to save me. One where the princess didn’t fall in love with the knight.That was what I told myself anyway.
Sometimes when I tried to get to sleep, I’d see flashes of memories that were dark and scary. Memories that would pull me back to that terrifying place until I wasn’t sure what was real and what was not. And whilst I hated those feelings being inside me, I also knew they were enveloped by something warmer. Something that saw the broken, chipped off pieces of my soul and held them gently. Something that saw my heart, the mass of dirt and ashand rubble that it was. But out of that rubble emerged something brighter. Something the cynic in me hadn’t thought possible. It awoke a fire in me that, as much as I tried, I couldn’t ignore.
Like his hair.
Like his eyes.
It burnedred.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The sun beat down on my face, thawing me from the inside out.I always forget how much I like the sun.It was the same, though, every year when the first signs of spring appeared in warmer weather and lighter coats. The last few months had come and gone in a blur ofJohn Hughesmovies, bowls of cereal, and one too many stolen glances at my demon of a roommate.
Having someone to share in my hermit-like antics had been nothing short of lovely. When the weather had finally gotten painfully cold in Darling, when the weather was stormy and thunder shuddered against the glass panes of my window, there was really little else to do but huddle under a blanket and watch films. The cooler temperatures miraculously resulted in Mortimer sticking around, too, coming in for dinner one day and never leaving. There was probably a very logical–David Attenborough explainable–reason that the flaky outdoor cat that came and went as he pleased was now a shadow at my side. I’m sure I could find the answer on the side of a tuna can, in the folds of a warm blanket, or in the whispered words of a grumpydemon who just knew it would make me happy to have him around. Whatever the reason was, it was probably the first winter I’d enjoyed in a long time.
I usually paraded around my apartment in gloves and several layered sweaters like the knittedMichelin manjust to keep my body warm, but that was no longer necessary. It wasn’t because my shit bag of a landlord had gotten his act together,no,but I’d come home one day and the old creaks in my apartment had just stopped. The unrelenting draft from the window had all but disappeared, and I rarely heard the whining of pipes from deep within my walls.
‘Stay’by Maurice Williams and The Zodiacs continued to play from the little red radio that sat on the bench next to my grandparents. That rusty old contraption had seen more years than I had and spurted out song after song as if it wasn’t clinging on to life. The tunes that played out through the speakers told the story of my grandparents’ marriage, each tune succeeding in pulling another fuzzy memory from their minds, resulting in the quiet laughter that carried me around the garden. Memories of prom, where the dresses were too poofy and the hairstyles too big, to church weddings, where the champagne was too strong and the hairstyles even bigger.
Under the guise of tending to the rhododendrons the morning I’d summoned Thallor, I watched my grandparents for a moment. I’d gotten to spend more time with them over the Christmas break, which had done little to reprieve me from the thoughts that rattled around inside my head. But the holiday break had been a necessary one. For a couple days, Thallor and Mortimer were left to their own devices, and I was sure they were wreaking havoc on my fully stocked fridge. I’d left Thallor a list of Christmas films to watch for when the mood struck him, as well as his present–a stack of steamy cowboy romance with lots of riding, none of which had to do with horses or bulls.
Jude had ended up pushing back our date to the new year, suggesting we go out on New Year’s Eve instead. He’d said something about jetting off to Napa for Christmas whilst I was standing in my kitchen staring into the vacant interior of my fridge, questioning the morality of hiked rent prices. I’d almost keeled over when he’d sent me a picture from inside an actual jet. A jet that was, for all intents and purposes, bigger than my fucking apartment.
Being home with my grandparents had been the wholesome end to a distressing and difficult year, and whilst I enjoyed being in their company, I couldn’t stop myself from searching for Thallor in the deepest parts of my mind. The thoughts simply crept in. Slowly. Quietly. It happened at the breakfast table, in the garden, and when I was searching through the endless clutter in my grandfather’s garage. It had happened in the shower too, but I’d drenched myself in gasp-inducing water to stop my mind from spiralling further.
But, try as I might, I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about him. His actions from that night, as blurry as they were, played on my mind like a broken DVD player. They slipped into the corners of fear and doubt and wrapped them in something warm. In something safe. The more and more time we spent together, the more intoxicating and confusing my feelings became. The lines between us–like static–became unfocused and unclear. Because none of his actions were those of a demon. There was nothing in the words he said or the things he did that screamed of the monster inside him.
When we’d curl up on the sofa–the distance between us getting smaller by the day–I’d ponder what it would be like if we were in one of my favourite films. I’d ask myself what it would be like if hewere Blane McDonagh, Bender,orJake Ryan,and I were Molly Ringwald. I’d think about what it would feel like to be the leading lady who finally got the guy. I’d always allow myself onebrief moment to ruminate on what it would be like before letting the thought drift away. Because as much as I wanted it to be, my life was not a movie. It wasn’t fiction at all. Thallor wasn’t the lead in a coming-of-age film, and I wasn’t the girl waiting by the window to be picked up in a red Porsche. I could never have him, and he would neverwantme.
I turned my attention back to the flower beds in front of me at the same moment my grandfather came up behind me. “Hey kiddo, want to come in for some lunch?”
Before I even had a chance to politely refuse, my stomach let out a whining gurgle. “I guess my stomach has made the decision for me.”
“Runs in the family,” he said as he patted his belly heartily like something straight out of aCoca-Colacommercial where Santa Claus stands by a large plate of cookies. “All that work Maura has me doing, I’m still not sure how I’ve put on so much timber.”
“And yet you still look as charming as you did back then,” I smiled up at him before I pushed myself up onto my knees and stood up. “I’ve got the photo on my kitchen wall to prove it.”
My grandparents had always explained to me that old age was a privilege. A gift. One, that so few people were willing to accept, but it was. In my grandfather’scuddlybuild, in each wrinkle and each line, I didn’t see age, but instead all the happy moments that had led to this very point.
I followed him up the pebbled trail, tipping out of the way of a sprawling brand before smiling over at my grandmother. “Maura, those marigolds sure do lighten up this garden,” I mused before pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Are you coming inside? Gramp’s is making lunch, and Isaac said he would pop round too.”
Maura immediately perked up at the mention of Isaac. She’d always loved him. A sentiment that I suppose made sense.He was, in every sense, includingliterally, the boy next door. Athletic, handsome. And always nice to the strange girl across the road with the old soul and thehand-me-downclothes.
