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“Sometimes you need some distance from your family.”

He got up and walked to the fireplace, where he picked up a teapot and held it in the air, his gaze questioning.

“Tea?”

“I shouldn’t bother you any further,” I said, shaking my head.

This situation was embarrassing enough. What must he think of me?

“It's my fault you're here,” he sighed, putting down the pot, sounding as if he were done with life.

Alarik, who was usually so composed, poured himself a glass of whiskey and sat back down, only to take a big gulp.

The black veins around his Adam's apple started to disappear.

“No,” I shook my head, leaning back into the soft pillow. “It's my mother's fault. She came to Blairville.”

Alarik turned the glass on the table, stared into it, seemed deep in thought, as he often did when he wasn't radiating pure calm and serenity.

Finally, he looked up, concerned, as if I were still sitting in the forest.

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

I had to get used to the fact that he wanted only the best for everyone. I would probably never understand why I was one of these people.

If it made him feel better and meant he wouldn't ask any more questions, I would ask him for one thing...

“Your book. Did you write a poem?”

I couldn't help the smile that stole across my lips.

“Actually, yes...” He smiled down at his glass. “I even have it here. But...”

“Please...”

Our eyes met.

There was this indefinable glint that flickered so quickly through his eyes that I wondered every time if I was just imagining it.

Finally, he reached for a black notebook, tossing it to me and it landed on the bedspread in front of me.

I wanted to reach for it, but my hands were still numb.

Desperately, I looked up at Alarik.

“I can hardly feel my fingers...”

“You should rest,” he said, the lightness in his expression that had just been about to take hold fading as he stepped to the foot of the bed and sat down, unbuttoning his shirt sleeves to roll them up before reaching for the book. “But... whatever. I know how stubborn you can be.”

My cheeks were literally glowing because he could only be referring to the break-ins in his office.

He opened the book. Our book.

I wish more people would communicate with each other through books. It resembled an exchange of letters, yet it was slightly different, feeling like a conversation room that could be opened and closed as needed.

It was far from fast-paced. It was natural. Timeless. A form of art.

Alarik cleared his throat softly before beginning to read.