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Kyla ran for the bedroom and slammed the door. The lock turned on its own. She stared at it, hyperventilating. His rage was inside of her, worse than snaking spiders, worse than the artic chill of his angry eyes when she’d tried to leave. She was bawling so hard it was as if the tears couldn’t come fast enough, couldn’t pound down hard enough. The emotion that tore out of her acid-filled stomach was gut-wrenching.
Tristan was downstairs and he was horrifying. The look on his face, the hate in his eyes. The energy coming off him. The feelings inside of him. She still felt them.
She heard a slam. And then she heard a series of bangs, crashes, and more slams.
She tried to catch her breath. She braced, waiting for him to come in. But he didn’t. She got her breathing under control and spying a bottle of water on the dresser top that was unopened, she guzzled it down.
She opened the door and quietly made her way downstairs. He wasn’t there. She moved the chair and table away from the staircase. The couch was tipped over on its face, the coffee table against the front door. Framed art pieces that’d been on the walls were on the floor. The place looked like it had been in the eye of a twister.
She wandered the main floor checking the other rooms. He wasn’t there.
Where was he? She carefully opened the front door. No one.
She closed it and walked back to the kitchen and opened the door that was there and looked outside. She saw him. He was walking. She ran back upstairs and got her shoes on and then ran back down and out and tried to catch up. She couldn’t see him. She followed the path and it led to that meadow with the swing. He was against the tree that held the swing and he was staring out at the pond. He looked over his shoulder and saw her.
“Go back to the house.”
She froze in her tracks. He wasn’t looking at her.
“I need a minute,” he said, still looking the other way.
Excruciating pain tore straight through her. She ran back to the house and up the stairs and threw herself on the bed. Her already broken heart wasn’t being glued back together by him. Instead, it shattered further.
Feelings. Fucking feelings. Fucking her over. As usual.
~~~She woke up cocooned by his arms. It was dark and he’d just gotten into the bed. She tried to pull away, anger gripping her. His arms tightened.
“Don’t,” he whispered and held tighter.
She stayed still there for a minute, quick and shallow angry breaths coming out fast but he held tight, saying nothing.
“I’m sorry,” he finally whispered and that unleashed absolute agony inside of her. Her agony and his braided tightly together and they both felt it. All of it. She let him hold her and stroke her hair and rain kisses on her face. They said nothing. They didn’t need words because they were in some sort of mind meld.
Her pain and his pain, two mirrors facing one another, showing one another an infinite spiral of hurt.
Eventually she fell back to sleep, their hearts beating in perfect time together.~~~
Sunlight streamed into the room. She was alone. She was alone physically but she felt like she was also alone in every way possible. She couldn’t feel him. After having felt him and not feeling him now, she felt like part of her was missing.
Panic gripped her. Was he okay? Was this what he’d felt for all this time whenever they were apart?
She got up and saw that the bag and folded tall pile of clothing were gone but there was a clean outfit sitting there for her. She took it to the bathroom and took a shower. When she got out she dressed in the black walking shorts and purple t-shirt and then she put on her black t-strap sandals. She headed down the stairs. She smelled coffee.
He met her at the bottom of the stairs, dressed in jeans and that cyan blue tee he’d worn the night he found her in Victoria. He had shaved, too.
He handed her a coffee cup, “Grab the rest of your things from up there and put them in our bag.” He motioned to the sofa where their things were stacked.
She took the cup and nodded and turned back around on her heel.
He hadn’t tried to kiss her, hadn’t smiled, hadn’t really made eye contact. Her heart twinged with pain.
She heard voices as she came back down the stairs with her bathroom things and what she’d worn the day before. Adrian was just inside the door and Tristan didn’t sound happy. She felt his anger, like hot bubbling liquid inside her brain.
“Don’t try to keep us here another day with your stall tactics. You told me it’d be ready today so get it to me so I can fucking go.”
