25. Zyran #2
Esperr is watching me, her spoon turning slowly in the yogurt that she has yet to take a bite from. There’s a guardedness in her shoulders that wasn’t there this morning, and I know I’m the one who put it there.
“You eventually going to eat that?” I ask.
She looks down at it like she’s forgotten it existed. “I’m thinking.”
“Yeah? About what?”
“Things,” she mutters, gnawing on her bottom lip.
“That’s very helpful.”
The spoon comes to a halt, her gaze lifts to mine, and there it is again—that busy, working look behind her eyes, the thing she does when she’s turning something over while keeping the outside of her face neutral.
She’s not great at it, not as good as she thinks anyhow.
“Ask me,” I say, taking a step towards her.
She blinks, caught off guard. “Ask you what?”
“Whatever it is that’s clearly on your mind.”
Her chin lifts slightly. “I don’t have a question,” she deflects.
“Esperr.”
A beat of silence, and then she sighs, shoulders dropping.
“I have several questions,” she admits.
“Then ask.”
She reaches back, setting the yogurt down on the counter behind her, and crosses her arms. I’ve learned that usually means she’s either about to say something raw and brutal or she’s building a wall around the fact that she wants something—sometimes it’s both at the same time.
“Why me?” She finally whispers.
I look at her for a moment before answering. “You want the honest answer or the one that won’t freak you out?”
She frowns for a second before her face hardens. “I’m not easily freaked out.”
“I know,” I say, walking towards her. I don’t stop until we’re both in the entryway of the kitchen.
“That’s part of it. You move through the world like you were waiting for something to go wrong.
You’re not paranoid, just… ready. Like you’d already done the math on every room you’ve walked into and knew the exits. ”
Recognition crosses over her face, like she’s not realizing that I’m seeing the real her.
“Most people don’t do that,” I tell her, leaning forward.
“Most people walk around like nothing is coming, like they’re in their own little world, thinking nothing can touch them.
But you… you knew something was always coming, and you didn’t let it make you small.
” I pause, letting my words sink in. “I noticed that first.”
“Tha—” she stops and shakes her head. “That’s a very specific thing to notice about a stranger.”
“You weren’t a stranger by the time I noticed it.”’
Her jaw tightens slightly, but it’s not because she’s upset; it’s because she’s forcing it. “That’s not comforting.”
“Wasn’t meant to be comforting. And don’t forget you asked for honesty.”
“How long?” She asks, unfolding her arms and then crossing them again as if she had no idea what to do with her hands. “And I want an actual answer this time, not a while.”
I hold her gaze. “A year… before it happened.”
She stills, her brows creasing. “Before what?”
“Before I got shot. I was watching you before that. Then I was down for about a year.”
The math crosses her face slowly, her eyes moving, counting, arriving somewhere she wasn’t expecting, like all the pieces are finally being put together.
“You’ve been watching me for two years.”
“On and off.”
“On and off,” she repeats. “That’s… Zyran, that’s?—”
“I know,” I sigh.
She turns and heads towards the window, resting both hands on the sill, shoulders up around her ears, and I let her have the silence because there’s nothing I can say that’s going to make two years sound like anything other than what it is.
Then, quietly, almost to herself, she says, “You got shot.”
It’s my turn to frown and be confused, because I for sure thought she’d rip me a new asshole for stalking her for two years, not bring up me being shot.
“Yeah,” I grunt and try swallowing around the lump in my throat.
She lifts her head but doesn’t turn around. “Is that what the scar is from?”
“On my neck, yeah.”
“Were you—” She stops again, her voice cracking. When she starts again, it’s clearer, but you can still hear the emotions. “Was… it bad?”
“Bad enough.”
She nods and turns back around. It’s written all over her face; she’s feeling something and hasn’t made up her decision on what to do.
I can see it in her eyes and the way she's picking at her nails. Esperr isn’t exactly upset or angry, but it’s a messy feeling.
It’s like the specific look of a person who has received information and has no idea if it’s a good thing or bad.
“The grocery store?” She asks.
“Yes and before that.”
Her eyes narrow slightly. “The coffee shop?”
I nod.
“The bar?”
“Yes, and before that.”
“Zyran.” She snaps.
“You asked me to be honest.”
She pushes off the windowsill and takes two steps forward, but then comes to a halt and stands there, taking a moment to look around the apartment. I don’t know how long we stand there, her looking around her apartment like she’s looking for something new before she finally turns her gaze to me.
“And in those two years?—”
“Off and on.”
“That doesn’t make it much better, Zyran. You watched me, learned my schedule.”
“Among other things,” I mutter.
Her gaze sharpens, and I swear if she had a weapon, she’d use it on me. “What other things?”
I should’ve kept my mouth shut.
“You run to work and back; you start off in a jog, and then once you reach the third corner, you start running. You tip more than you should for someone who counts change at the grocery store. You hold doors for people, even if they’re rude, and then you get annoyed with yourself for doing it like you didn’t mean to be kind. ”
Her mouth opens and then closes, gulping like a fish out of water.
“That’s—” She shakes her head, throwing her arms down. “That’s a lot.”
“You’re a lot,” I blurt out. And when she gives me a strange look, I know she took it the wrong way. “Worth paying attention to.”
Esperr looks at me like she’s wanting to argue but decides not to. “And then what? You just decided to come back?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You know why,” I say quietly.
“No, no, I really don’t.” She looks back at the window, to the snow, and back to the safe neutrality of the storm. Her arms are crossed again, fingers pressing into her own sides like she’s holding something in that wants to break free.
“That’s a lot of pressure,” she finally mumbles.
“I’m not putting pressure on you,” I say, frowning.