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Malachi will get her home when she’s ready.
If she’s ever ready.
The chair she sat in is in front of me before I can try to ignore it. I stare at it, imagining her hollowed and haunted frame in it when we came here, and then glare at my reflection in one of the cabin windows. She looked as tired then as I look now, as lost. Not anymore, though. Under me she seemed thriving and awake again. Evolved and fully conscious of who she was choosing to be. Independent, fiery, self-governing. Beautiful. But me?
I sneer and turn from the distorted view of myself - I am tired. Tired of living, of trying, of getting nowhere with results that should mean something, and now I’m tired of not buckling and just getting on with the life I could have.
She was so alive,isso alive. And I can still smell her here in this cabin, as if she’s barely left it or me, drowning out the smell of heather somehow. Words grumble out of my mouth about that, most of them laced with other words that mean something to me because of her. Whispered words. Words in ears that had sentiment and feelings attached to them, breathed through lips as she got closer and closer, clung on tighter and tighter.
“We’re ready for take-off. If you could buckle in, Sir,” the same crew member says.
I look at her, then back at the door as it’s pulled to. Buckle in. I smirk at that, remembering her ‘no’s’, her defiance. I can only assume that will carry on regardless of me. She’ll grow more, evolve more, find her path out here in the real world and forget about the man who she shared a few days with. As she said - no regrets. The only one I do have is that I’m not still lying in that bed with her, holding her and telling her I can stay or live like she’ll be able to when she emerges back into reality.
I smile at that at least, imagining her out there when she gets back, snappy attitude being thrown around and her way the only thing she’ll ever accept. Shame, though. I liked her hollow, dismal gaze. Not quite as much as I liked the evolved version, and certainly not as much as the feel of her softly running her fingers through my hair, but the darkness is where we reached each other first. Where we lingered without shame or concern.
“Sir? Are you alright?”
I frown at the sound of the crew member again and turn my gaze away from the door, nodding and walking for the chair. Alright? Perhaps not, but that isn’t something that needs discussing or analysing any more than I already have done. I am as I am.
And my world is as it is.
My phone rings, as I get to the seat and sit. Done. I nod to myself, resignation bedding in, and answer the call as I feel the wheels start moving.
“And what am I supposed to do with her?” Malachi asks without me speaking.
I shrug, unsure, and look out the window as the world starts passing by. Help her get home. Let her stay for some more time. Maybe be a gentleman and explain some of the reasons I’ve been the way I have been without telling her the truth. “That’s up to her and you,” I murmur. “Just look after her. No more face veins. Make sure she enjoys whatever she gets, and make sure she stops taking the pills before she leaves. And Malachi?”
“Hmm?”
“Make her eat.”
He grouses about something and goes quiet, nothing but the gentle notes on his piano sounding in the background. I stay silent and listen, perhaps hoping I’ll hear her talking around him, or shouting, or getting obnoxious about something. Me, probably.
“You didn’t have to leave,” he says, morosely, another few notes played. “I was beginning to get used to having you around.”
I chuckle and sigh again, watching as the ground below leaves me and the snow and ice begins dissipating into nothing but clear blue sky. “Yes I did, Malachi.”
Quiet again on the line. Just breathing and thoughts, as if he can change my mind and get me back there somehow. He can’t. And I don’t care how much that bothers or annoys him. He won his little game by tempting me into someone I couldn’t deny, and now he can pick up her pieces if she needs that because I was never going to be able to do that and he knows it.
“I don’t like her much,” he says.
“Yes, you do.”
“No. She vexes you. That aggravates me.”
“She doesn’t vex me, Malachi. She wakes me up, pushes something in me I can’t adhere to. It’s the reason I’ve left and you know it. Too beautiful. Too well matched. And too much for me to deal with.”
“Hmm.” The notes begin playing a tune, sombre and as dark as he needs them to be. “You had a good time, though?”
Yes, it was a good time. Every time. It’s been everything I’ve been missing and more, given to me as a gift I can’t honour any further than the time we had. I smile and think of her in our room, her dark hair spilling out on white sheets, her pale body restful in my arms for the night. ”Yes, Malachi. I had a good time.”
“Good. How are you?”
“What?”
“How are you?”
“Relevant, why?”
