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I shrug the comforter around me and peer into rooms as I go by them, finally seeing some clarity in them with no pills to cloud me. It’s pretty, especially with light spilling into the rooms to highlight all the old canvases and details. Beautiful. I scowl at the thought of the word and walk into the dining room I was in one night. Beautiful. He called me that. Said I was. And then he made love to me. Softly. Gently. Fingers and whispered words. Lips ghosting compliments and praises. And now he’s gone.
Not dead.
Just gone.
My fingers trail over my bruised lips, as I look at the huge table spread out in the middle of the room, enough seating for twenty or so. Men were here. Lots of men. And Malachi with his ‘Malachi says’. None of them were Gray. None of them were inside me, with me, understanding my needs like he does. They were vacant of whatever it is that he has. Just bystanders hoping to amuse themselves with my skin.
I sigh and move listlessly, dragging the heavy length of this comforter around with me so I can sense weight and density around me. I feel too light, as if something’s missing from my skin. I don’t know what that is. Everything seems empty. I do. Maybe I’ll float if I let go of this weight, rise above whatever state I’m in and hover over it all. But it smells like him, and I can’t let that go even if I knew he would let me go.
The view pulls me to it and I gaze upwards at the mountains stretched in out in front of me, as I listen to the footfalls in the main hall behind me. They belong to Malachi. He’s following me at a distance. He says it’s his job to look after me now. Keep me safe if I want to stay or get me home if that’s what I want. I don’t know what I want, but I do know that Malachi isn’t it no matter how attractive he is. Besides, he’s married. Not that that seems to make any difference here, but it does to me. I want a claim that is my own if I choose one, nothing in the way of it.
“Come. Food,” he says, sharply.
Food.
I keep gazing. Not aimlessly this time. No. I’m not aimless. I am more than that. I’m not going to falter like I did with Rick. Hurt, whilst painful, is now invigorating somehow. I knew the feelings, the closeness would leave, knew he would be done when he was done. He told me enough. Made sure I understood the connotation of the few nights we had. And I felt it last night, anyway. Accepted it even when it hurt to think about it. But what’s confusing me, what’s riding over me and making me feel like Iamlost and faltering, is that I thought I was going with him. When it ended for him, it ended for me. He was adamant. Immovable. But apparently, given my presence still in this castle and the fact that he is not in it with me, I’m not.
I don’t understand that.
“Hannah?”
My head turns slowly at the sound of my name from Malachi’s lips, a sigh leaving me. “Now you call me that?”
“I like you a little more than I did before.”
“Really?”
His fingers pinch together, creating an inch worth of space. “A little. Don’t get sentimental about it. I can’t cope with it in this mood.”
“What mood is that?” I ask, moving towards him and smiling.
“Blue. I miss him. And that’s your fault, so will you come and eat something before you disintegrate or I beat you to death for annoying me anyway.”
My brows shoot up. “My fault? He’s the one that’s left.”
“For good reasons.”
“What reasons?”
Minutes pass as he mulls over answering that. He knows. Whatever it is that has kept Gray at a distance and whatever it is that has made him leave, Malachi knows. I narrow my stare at him and move closer, part determined to find out regardless of if anything changes or not. I mean why? Why would a man, who lives a reclusive life, making his millions while he does, choose to not be part of something that was becoming all consuming, needful, and desperate in some ways?
I sag and then right myself at the thought of sagging. I will not sag. My chin lifts, hands wrapping the comforter tighter so I can use the strength of him still lingering on it. I just want answers this time. Reasons that make sense to me so I can move past whatever feelings I have for him. They’re here, both buried and erupting because of last night and his words. I didn’t get the chance with Rick to understand.
This time, I’m getting my answers.
“Why are you so against eating food?” Malachi eventually asks.
“I’m not. Why are you hiding something from me?”
“I’m not hiding anything. I’m just not telling.”
“Malachi.”
“Hannah,” he mirrors, smirking slightly.
“Are you not allowed to tell me, or are you choosing not to tell me?”
“Both.”
