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I have no idea what would be best for him. I just know that I'm in love with him, and if word of that gets out, it might ruin this new job for him, a job with a garden, and trees, and the freedom to do as he pleases.
So I simply smile and thank Lord va'Rin for the job offers. "It's very thoughtful of you. I'm sure Victor will love the shore."
21
VICTOR
Bee is sending me away.
I listen to her conversation with the mesakkah lord, and I hate every word of it. She doesn't disagree with him when he says my new position will be far away from town. That I can't intermingle with the residents of Port just yet. That I'll be far enough away from her that we won't be able to see each other. Instead of saying that it isn't what she wants, that she wants to keep me, Bee laughs and smiles and discusses the office she will have in town. She is eager to help the women of Port, she confesses to him when they end the comm.
And then she sighs softly to herself.
She does not cry. She does not weep that I am going to be leaving her. Bee is silent in the other room, and I clench my fists, wishing my claws were back, because then I would be able to dig them into my skin. I could rip at the walls here in this small cottage and show my fierce anger and frustration and rage.
But Bee likes these painted walls. They make her happy. And Bee makes me happy.
So I go outside and return to working on the stone path. I have been making it better, just because I like for things to be the best. There is no point to working on it, not now when we are about to leave this place, but I need to do something with my hands.
Bee did not ask me to stay. She is ready for me to go.
And I…I will never be ready to leave her side. But if she does not want to keep me, I will not force myself upon her. I need Bee's smiles and companionship more than anything else in this world, more than her kisses on my cock or her gentle, squeezing hands. I need her laughter and her voice and her very personality. I need Bee.
I want to rip the stone path up and fling the rocks over the cliff, but seeing disappointment in Bee's eyes would hurt more than anything. So I stew on my frustration and sadness, and wonder what it will be like to have trees and a garden, but no Bee.
Things are strange between us after the discussion with Lord va'Rin. Bee busies herself with packing up the small house, chatting animatedly to me about how nice it'll be for me to have a garden without her sneezes, and the fresh vegetables I can grow. That we can re-pot my small saplings and have them transported to the new house. That I'll make new friends with the guards at the other outpost, and that it'll be nice for me to live by the shore. That the coast is lovely and temperate and she thinks I'll adore it.
Bee talks and talks, her words and smiles trying to convince me that I should love the job waiting for me.
I am silent, because I cannot agree. Perhaps a garden will be nice, but I would rather have Bee. Perhaps the shore will be nice, but I would rather have Bee. Perhaps the new job will be interesting…
But I would rather have Bee.
Everything comes back to Bee. I would clean floors and shovel mud if it meant I got to spend the rest of my days with Bee at my side.
She says nothing about our parting, though. She smiles and talks and smiles and talks. Bee does not say she will miss me. She says she is happy for me. Excited.
I am miserable. Completely and utterly miserable.
I never thought beyond being with Bee in this moment, in this house. I did not think about a future, or that we would not have one together. It feels so natural to be with her, as if we have always been together, have always been laughing together, breathing in each other's scents. It is special to me.
But it is also becoming clear that it is not special to Bee, and perhaps that is what hurts the most.
That night, Bee sets up my bed in the other room. "In case one of the others comes by early, we should make sure they don't think there's anything going on between us," she says softly. "I don't want to jeopardize anything for you."
I grunt a response.
If my lack of commentary hurts Bee's feelings, she hides it well. She fusses over my bed, squeezes my hand goodnight, and then retreats into her room and shuts the door behind her. I wait, listening. As I have learned with the others that called me “Asshole” for the first few weeks, people say many things behind doors that they will not say to your face. Most do not realize I have excellent hearing, and so I hear a lot of things I am not meant to.
