“How curious. You are the only man I know who would chase this hard after being rejected in every way possible.” I laughed, but I was angry. “You are even self-aware that you are not wanted.”
“You are stubborn; you’re punishing yourself.”
“Punishing myself by staying away fromyou? Do not flatter yourself.” I scoffed as I opened the door to the flat on the top floor.
The brass doorknob was so new it was gold to the touch as I turned it, the hinges of the door producing a low moan as it opened.
“You deny yourself pleasure and happiness because you feel there are others who are more deserving,” he chimed from behind me, and I looked back at him. Just the action itself made him keep going. “You think of yourself as an exception. Women should be treasured, but not you—you don’t deserve it. Women are weak and need protection, but not you—you are strong and capable, of course. God forbid Alina is caught soft like cotton before she is spun taut enough to tether ships.” He appeared almost bored despite the violence of his words.
“You are just trying to be hurtful.”
Silas leaned against the doorframe, effortless as he continued his badgering. “You are a misogynist, no different than any man, and you are robbing yourself of life’s most beautiful pleasures because you cannot but keep punishing yourself for being born a woman, and nothing being made for you in this world. You burden yourself with the world’s problems, only to mirror them in your frustration.”
I threw the book at him, but it hit the wall instead when he moved, consequently shattering something.
He looked at me, victorious at the ruse. He nodded as if in understanding and retreated down the hall.
My attention was drawn to the glass on the floor. What a mess.
I hastily knelt beside it, plucking the shards from the floor on top of the photograph like a tray. The figures of the girls and I were bent and warped under the pile of glass.
Quickly, I salvaged what I could and set it on the table.
Wait . . . table?
I expected an empty floor plan, a blank canvas. I realized there was a reason that Silas asked if I had come upstairs recently.
The once-desolate open floor plan of the main room was decorated similarly to my shop. Dark wood furniture was spread around the room, creating many smaller collections of furniture as if to make as many nooks as possible.
In the kitchen, there was a circular table next to a window, with a couple of chairs around it. In a crystal bowl in the middle, there were oranges. I did not have to count them to know there would be thirteen.
On the other side of the room, a bench had been placed in front of a window, a bookshelf on either side of the bench to create a nook. A tea table was placed in front of the bench with a vase on top.
Along the walls were collections of things to fill the space. There were dried flowers, framed illustrations of poisonous plants of North America, and other little curios he must have found at a market.
Several collections of furniture littered the space, neatly separated by the rugs they were positioned upon. He had chosen sage green, dark wood, and brass for most of the furnishings. I suppose it was to match the best part of the room.
Directly opposite the front door was the observatory that protruded out of the wall like an oversized bay window. He had filled it with monstera, Dracaena, anthurium, and assorted fig shrubs. It reminded me of the botanical gardens. There was a couch or chair on each of the three walls of the glass room, a table in the middle with an ashtray and a lighter. Plants hung in the corners and were placed on the floor or side tables, depending on their size. The greenery was what I craved the most every winter.
I was the last person who deserved this. It felt like I had sold something valuable for material nothings.
I plopped down on the couch and buried my face in a decorative pillow, lying down with my knees pulled to my chest. I screamed into the suede before it turned into a sob. My body shook, but it was not from the cold.
My mind screamed at me to keep him far away, but my heart wanted him to comfort me, to hold me, to hide away from the world with me in the home he had made to cage me.
Before I knew it, I had soothed myself to sleep where I lay.
I came back to consciousness at the click of the door. Phoebe approached with a bowl.
“Apologies, I didn’t know you were asleep.” She was a bit distracted by the details of my room. “I brought soup.”
“I didn’t realize how long I slept; I would have joined you.” I sat up and wiped a bit of dried drool from my face.
“It was a long day,” Phoebe commented and sat on the floor in front of the tea table, opposite me. She slid the bowl toward me along with a spoon. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine.”
“Truly?”
