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Cedra
Guilt tugged at my gut as I dragged myself home a little later than usual. I shouldn’t have left things as they were this afternoon. My soul had yearned to follow her into the service room, pull her back into my arms and assure her that my decision to remain apart was for her benefit, not mine.
But I hadn’t done that.
Instead, I’d spent the afternoon shoveling out the barn with more force that necessary, focusing on the harsh pants of my breath rather than the ache in my heart.
The sun was just setting on the horizon, throwing a golden glow over the dark living room furniture as I entered the house quietly, using the tip of my boot to shut the door behind me.
My senses were primed to expect the smell of dinner, and I paused midstep, inhaling deep.
Nothing.
I frowned, making my way through the house, looking into the kitchen and service room before trying the bedrooms as well.
This was too familiar—the resounding emptiness of the large house. Panic bubbled up my throat and I reached out to grip a doorframe, trying to draw breath.
It was an evening very much like this one when Riane had taken a hovercraft to Royal One while I’d been out in the fields, leaving nothing behind but a note saying she couldn’t do it anymore. She couldn’t be with me. Farm life was not what she had envisioned for herself.
I thought I’d let that pain go many years before, but it returned swiftly, like needles sliding back into preexisting wounds. I struggled for a minute—without time to brace for the pain, it hit me quick and deep, slicing through without obstruction.
My favorite chair was a small comfort as I stumbled to the living room and fell into it, letting it settle around me. My fingers dug into the worn arm of the sofa, trying to draw comfort from it.
I sat like that for a minute, eyes closed, trying to get my bearings again.
My fingers almost trembled as I reached for the easy-light pipe on the side table, letting it sizzle to life as I raised it to my lips. The tobacco did nothing to soothe my nerves, although I wished it would cleanse me of the deep disappointment I felt.
The house was too still. It was obvious that Twyla had left.
Just one day in my home and she’d decided it wasn’t for her.
I wanted to say I couldn’t blame her—a starperson’s life was mundane compared to the bustle of Royal One. I did the same things, day in, day out. It was a comfort to me, but I knew it was not the life everyone dreamed of.
I winced, recalling what happened between us and how I’d treated her...the tears in her eyes as she’d turned and ran from me this afternoon...
It was all my fault.
If I closed my eyes, I could still see her in my arms, feel her fingers on my skin, pressing urgently against the nape of my neck, demanding more. I could feel the smooth slide of her curls under my fingers as I kissed her, trying to ignore the insistent thrum of the sweet blood under her skin.
As I released a third puff of smoke into the quiet room, the sound of people clapping echoed in the distance.
I frowned, sitting up in the chair.
The clapping started up again, followed by hoots of laughter. It seemed to be coming from inside the house. The basement.
Oh.
I’d told her she was welcome to use the viewing room in the basement.
In that moment, it dawned on me how close my emotional scabs were to the surface. Just a little encouragement and they peeled back, exposing raw, open wounds. It had happened so blindingly quickly—that utter panic, the resignation. The sadness. And finally, acceptance. A whole cycle of grief in mere minutes.
I found her curled on the synthi-cotton sofa, fast asleep in front of the viewer, which she’d left on. My finger reached out to flick it off immediately, and I briefly wondered how much power she had wasted. I needed to take some time to run through a list of house rules with her later.
For a moment, I just stared at her sleeping form, curled so perfectly on the sofa, hair tumbled in artful chaos. Her lips were parted as she breathed deep, a picture of perfect calm.
I wished to touch her, absorb that peace into my body to quell the lingering aftershocks of my sudden panic from before.
“Twyla?” I called instead, crouching next to her. It occurred to me that I was disregarding the one rule I’d set earlier today: that we should stay away from each other.
