We all go through the motions of saying goodbye, even though I’m in a daze, still lost in my own thoughts. Patrick turns toward me at the door for a moment, and I almost think he’s going to hurt me. The scared child inside of me shrinks away, which pisses me off. I think I end up giving him a look that’s half-defiance, half-discomfort.
Whatever it is, he looks awkward for a second. Who knows? Maybe he was going to pat me on the head or something, like a pet.
Instead, he nods at Tadhg one more time before disappearing back into the night, leaving a gaping chasm of anxiety behind him.
Savage
The air in the room is stifling, even after Father leaves. Micah and I orbit each other at a distance. Neither of us seems willing to go far, but we’re also unwilling to reach for each other either.
I’m not sure what any of this means. Half my brain is slipping right back into work mode, calculating what to do next.
Eamon volunteered to dispose of the body and it turned up at a hospital, when I’m the person most likely to have evidence trace back to. Eamon clearly wants my job. If he did this on purpose, it means he isn’t above fucking over the Banna to be king of the ashes.
None of this surprises me, because I wouldn’t put anything out of reach for him, but it is a problem.
Eamon is a problem. One which Father will expect me to eliminate.
Normally, I wouldn’t bat an eye. For once, I’d actually enjoy being sent on this particular murder mission. But while I had thought Micah was able to ignore the gaping stretch of time between now and when we last saw each other, including everything he probably knows I did in between, things are different now. I feel more dependent on him by the minute.
How can I expect him to keep looking at me and touching me the way he did last night if he’s forced to confront just how disgusting I really am? How much has to happen before he starts to look at me with fear?
The thought sends a shiver running through me.
When I glance around to find Micah, he’s farther away from me than I’d thought. He’s in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, still holding a beer that I don’t think he’s really drinking and staring into space.
Even from this distance, my fingers are itching to reach for him. I’ve always had the urge to keep him close, and unlocking all the new ways of touching each other is only making the feeling more intense. But the expression on his face is melancholy. I can’t tell if he’d even want me to touch him right now, and the thought of his rejection is even worse than just keeping my distance.
I must stare at him too long, though. Eventually he looks up at me, giving me a wan smile and finally taking a sip of his beer. It’s only when he tosses his head at me that I obey and cross the distance to the kitchen.
Once I’m standing next to him, I still resist the urge to reach out and touch. But being closer means I can see him more clearly. Including the fact that his hands are shaking. Personally, I’ve dissolved into a pile of uselessness on the floor here more times than I can count, but seeing Micah unnerved is unnatural. At least, seeing the confident, adult version of him like this.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
Micah shakes his head and gives me a pissy look. “Nothing. I’m being dumb.”
But the shaking doesn’t stop.
“He’s not going to hurt you.”
Now that earns me a really pissy look.
“You know that’s not true. He could hurt either of us any time he wants. He could make you do anything he wants, no matter how fucked up it is, and then at the last minute tell you ‘congratulations, you finally won your freedom’ before shooting you in the head like we’re all living in an HBO series. He’s capable of anything and the only thing he cares about is his own power.”
I blink for a second, because that’s a vivid and unnerving image.
“Honestly, Bambi, I don’t think he’s that clever.”
Micah snorts, but there’s no humor in it. “Yeah, well. Every scenario I play out keeps ending the same way. And I don’t like it.”
Sighing, I have to shut my eyes for a second because I can’t look at him while I say this. “Do you want me to leave? I know—I know everything keeps changing with us. But I don’t want to fuck up your life and put you in danger. I can go. Try to get out, maybe come back one day when I think it’s safe.”
Micah’s eyes are wide, and his lips are parted when I finally look at him again.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” he breathes. Then—finally—his hands are on me. Gentle arms circle my waist and pull me closer to him until we’re chest to chest, just like before. “Whatever half-assed plans you have about nobly sacrificing yourself or making up your own HBO drama can also get flushed down the fucking toilet, Tadhg. I’ll make a plan.We’llmake a plan. I just need a minute to think.”
Then he lets out a long, shuddering exhale before shoving his face into my chest. I hug him back, holding him closer to me. It feels weird and not weird at the same time. Like our dynamic is constantly shifting. I always used to be the rescuer, now it’s him, but then he acts like this, and I feel like we’re little kids again. He’s that small, fragile thing that I’m desperate to protect.
Am I the strong one or the weak one? Are we family or sexual?
