Julian leaves before breakfast is served. I watch him go, and I can see in the way he’s walking that he seems dissociated. Like he’s not here with us, not truly.
I desperately want to know who put those marks on his body. With everything in me, I want to follow him. But I know I’m the last person he wants to see, and it would only make our families suspicious. So instead, I watch as Barfred enters the dining room with our breakfast, and everyone eats in silence.
Almost as if out of respect for Julian, our entire meal is eaten in this solemn way, and once we finish our food, I make a beeline for my bedroom. I need time to sit on my bed and dwell despairingly over who could have done such an awful thing to such a beautiful face.
Only I don’t make it past the main foyer. My mother calls out to me, placing a hand on my bicep.
“Darling,” she whispers softly, though no one else is currently near us. “Should you check on Julie? You’re the closest in age, and I fear he’s gotten himself in some kind of… trouble.”
I swallow thickly, unsure of how to weasel my way out of this. Julian wouldnotappreciate my barging into his quarters, and I have no innocent way of explaining why this is to my mother.
“I’m under the impression Julian would rather have space, Momma,” I counter, patting her hand where it still rests against the silk fabric of my button-up.
“What he wants and what he needs may be two different things.” Her eyes drill into mine, beckoning me, and my violent ocean tides fight her calm, summer skies.
Eventually, I blink, and I sigh.
“Okay, I’ll—”
“Julian,” a hushed, whisper-shout of concern fills the foyer as footsteps become closer. “Please tell me what’s happening to you.”
“Dad, I need to go meet Susie and Landon. I don’t have time to hash things out right now. It was an accident.” Julian sounds defeated, uninterested in the man next to him or even the activity he’s on the way to participate in.
Once the two Walsh men enter the room and see us standing by the main staircase, they smile—forced, close-lipped smiles—and stop walking.
“Oh, hello, Lady Theodora, Young Master Atlas,” Jeremy says, nodding toward us.
“Julian,” Mother starts, her eyes never straying from poor Julian’s face. “Why don’t you just invite your friends here, hm?”
There is a long moment of silence before Julian’s eyes widen comically, his mouth falling open, then closing, then opening once more.
“W-what?” he stutters. Jeremy elbows him.
“Port Orford can be so boring,” Mother continues. “Bring them here; drink some tea, watch a movie, or use the music room. Whatever pleases you, truly.”
“Are… are you sure?”
“Of course, sweetheart. Of course.”
Julian watches her a moment longer before his gaze returns to his father, who shrugs.
“Okay,” Julian says uncertainly. “I’ll tell them to head here then…”
I expect him to turn on his heel and stomp away, or, rather, mope away, considering his current state. But he does not.
Instead, his eyes flicker to me, and an expression of pure, unfiltered sorrow and fear overcomes him—one that I cannot swallow, that I cannot comprehend or properly digest in the short amount of time he gives me before heisturning on his heel and walking away.
What was that for?Have I upset him that badly? Have I somehow hurt him with my shameful nature, or the way I acted toward him?
I find very suddenly that I know nothing—that every important thing I’ve ever known has become meaningless. And if I am too simple-minded to understand something as obvious as what his expressions are meant to portray, perhaps I have never known anything truly important at all.
I want to run after him.
Thisthingbetween us, or rather, this one-sided dance, has always been physical. I have wanted him to devour me whole from the moment I saw him, and I have grown comfortable with that realization. I’ve dreamt of it, felt the shame of my desire, pleasured myself to the thought of his hands on my skin.
But now, having seen the remnants of another on his flesh and the defeated sorrow in those big brown eyes, something else is beginning to fester uncomfortably close to my heart. Something that feels eerily similar to affection, protectiveness, and rage.
What I am meant to do with this sudden realization, this overwhelming possibility that I maylikeJulian, I’m unsure.
