“And that is why you cannot leave?”
His head nods, but the dour expression makes my chest ache. I want to ask more, but he continues and cuts me off. So, I offer him the ear I’m not certain he has in his life.
“Honestly, I’m not sure how that’s going to work even once I graduate if they don’t release me,” he groans and runs his fingers through his long hair.
My brows steadily lift, taking in his crestfallen face as he dives deeper into his pain. My hands rub along my thighs, once again itching to touch him. I’ve barely made contact with him tonight, so I will continue to be patient.
“I mean. Shit. What am I gonna say if I get a job? ‘Hang on, let me ask my grandmother for permission, ‘cause I'm a grown-ass man-child.’”
I don’t realize he’s crying until he wipes away the tears from his eyes, and I feel like the biggest twat. He pushes up from the ground and storms away, hugging his middle. The soft sobs that follow him tear my heart in two.
I follow after him. The need to console him is overpowering. But anytime I attempt to form the words in my head, they never sound like enough. What can I say to him? I don’t know enough about the world today, and he’s clearly holding back information. So, my words are useless.
I follow anyway.
The roiling in my gut steadily increases as I unknowingly approach the border of my territory. It’s not enough to double me over or halt my steps. Yet. In fact, my sole focus is on the retreating form of the man I’ve come to grow fond of.
I don’t realize how far we’ve traveled until my feet lock into place and refuse to move. The lack of movement would likely be more disconcerting if I wasn’t accustomed to it and what it means.
“Fuck,” I mumble.
Do I call after him and beg him to return to me, or allow him the space he so clearly desires?
With no answer, I pace like a caged animal. My body senses the invisible border, allowing me to skirt it easily.
Not able to handle the space, feeling more like a chasm opening between us. And I hate it. My power begins to spike.
“Rami!” I call out, hating how my voice breaks on his precious name.
Thankfully, he stops and glances at me over his shoulder. When he realizes I followed him only part way, he turns entirely toward me. One brow rises as he looks all around, like he’s piecing together a puzzle to my predicament. I love how clever he is. His curiosity has made my inability to explain the components of my curse so much easier.
“Why did you follow me just to stop way over there?” The arms that were around his middle, as if he needed to physically hold himself together, are now across his chest. The tears created track marks down his cheek and I itch to wipe them away. But here I am, stuck.
“I c-can’t,” I stammer.
Rami closes most of the space between us, and I can feel my shoulders lower from my ears. “The curse traps you here.”
It’s not a question, but I nod anyway.
“Can you show me?” His eyes sparkle in the torchlight, pleading. Begging me not to deny the distraction disguised as a request.
“As you wish.”
We walk the perimeter in a content silence. He never closes the distance between us; remaining just outside of my range. His arms have returned to around his middle, and I hate the discomfort I see on his face. It’s not until we’re almost back to where we started that I finally get the nerve to ask him something.
“Do you have no other family you could turn to?” I’ve heard him speak about how horrendous his grandmother is, and hope he has someone willing to fight for him. Well, someone not trapped in the woods by a curse.
He shakes his head, dropping his gaze to nudge some dirt with his boot. Shame emanates from him in cloying waves. “My mother was quite promiscuous. She claimed she never knew who my dad was. Based on the number of boyfriends she bounced between when I was a kid, I don’t doubt that. We moved around a lot between boyfriends. It always felt like an adventure each time. Until one boyfriend, when I was about ten, got her addicted to drugs. Things spiraled pretty quickly then, leaving me to raise myself. I filed for emancipation when I was fifteen, and Mom died of an overdose when I was seventeen.”
The pain this poor man has been through is choking. My need to touch him grows exponentially.
“In college, I fell for a sweet older man at a gay bar. Turns out he was a professor at the college I was attending. So we had to keep our relationship quiet. But I fell hard for him. Life was good, and everything was easy.”
His voice trails off as his fingers absently run along the raised pink scar across his wrist, and I know there’s more, but the painpinching his features tells me now is not the time to pry. I grit my teeth as I attempt to step closer and don’t even budge.
“I’m so sorry, Rami. The last time I saw my family was when I left home at eighteen. It was common back then for witches to branch out and travel. To help those in need. It, unfortunately, made it rather difficult to build any sort of relationship.”
I couldn’t help but picture the handsome young man who was the first one to really pay me any attention when I arrived in Sabletown. His affections were almost enough to make me give up my life.
