Chapter 23 #2
I drop my eyes again, continuing the tedious task of organizing tiny sharp metal objects into tiny sharp metal piles. My fingers are pink from where I keep jabbing myself.
Lament says, “Tell me what’s going on with you.”
“Nothing is going on with me.”
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“You know what I mean. You barely speak to me. At meals, you sit next to Vera or Jester. You’re the last one to our briefings every morning and the first one out in the evening. You won’t even look at me.”
My hands still. I deliberately bring my eyes up to his.
“Is this about Venthros?” he asks.
I give a humorless laugh. “Which part?”
“I don’t know. All of it.” He looks like he doesn’t know whether to coax an answer out of me or demand it, whether to be soft or harsh.
The two sides of Lament, forever at war.
“The ape. The medical room. Master Ira. That bed…” His voice cracks, then hardens.
“I’m doing my best here, okay? But I can’t—if something’s wrong, I can’t fix it unless you talk to me. ”
“You couldn’t fix it even if I did,” I grumble.
His eyes flash to mine. “What?”
I shrug, though I realize too late I’ve just showed my hand.
I try backtracking, but it’s past midnight, and my head is full of him, and I can’t quite get my thoughts to line up the way they should.
“I’ve been thinking of talking to Vera,” I blurt.
“Asking if she can schedule us to work on different nights.”
He flinches like I’ve slapped him. “Why?”
“To give us space.”
“Why do you want space?”
I try to think of a reply that isn’t Because it hurts to be around you or Because I care about you more than you care about me. But I’ve got nothing, so I just give another shrug.
Lament’s voice hardens further. “We’re fleetmates. We’re responsible for each other’s lives. You can’t just shut me out for no reason.”
“Seriously?” Anger pours through me at that, sudden and unexpected. I abandon the screws and shove to my feet. “That’s rich, coming from the man who is a literal stone fortress.”
“I’m not saying I don’t have my own—”
“No.” I slice my hands through the air. “You’re serious right now?
Who’s the one who’s been hot and cold ever since I got here?
Who’s refused to acknowledge that we’re partners, and kept a wall up between us, and left me in the dark so many times?
You hated me before you even met me, and now you actually have the nerve to lecture me about opening up? Like, actually?”
Lament looks taken aback. “I never hated you.”
Another dry laugh escapes me. “Right.”
“I wanted you to prove yourself,” he argues. “I needed to know you were going to take the position seriously—”
“That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it,” I snap.
“When I first got here, I was scared, Lament. I wanted to belong in the Sixth—I wanted it so badly—and you did fuck all to make me feel welcome. Actually, you went out of your way to make me feel unwelcome. You’ve walked out on me more times than I can count, you’ve been unnecessarily cold, and even when you open up, it’s like I’m always waiting for you to shut me out again.
You want to know why I’ve been avoiding you? Because I can’t have what I do want.”
Lament blinks, the admission echoing against the high metal rafters. I wish I had a Time Stopper so I could set it off and escape the way he’s looking at me. Better yet, I wish I could reverse the clock altogether, take back those awful, humiliating words.
“And what,” he asks hesitantly, “do you want?”
To kiss you, I think.
It’s a knee-jerk answer. The full-blooded truth inside my idiot heart.
And now my pulse is pounding with fear, because I’m afraid Lament is going to read my expression and know exactly what sort of traitorous thoughts are swirling in my head.
I’m shit at hiding my feelings. Everyone knows it.
But these are not the kinds of feeling I can let Lament see.
“Hartman?” Lament catches my expression. “What is it?”
I have to play this off. Only, now that I’m thinking about kissing Lament, my eyes sort of …
drop to his mouth. And I am quietly dying inside.
And honestly, fuck this semi-dark workroom, and Vera’s conniving schedule- making, and the hundreds of hours I’ve spent learning Lament, the exact shape and smell of him, the way his muscles move under his shirt, the line of his jaw, soft skin behind his ears, because if not for any of that …
Oh, who am I kidding? I’d be dreaming of kissing Lament regardless of the circumstance. Because he’s him. And I’m me.
And this is a mess.
“Everything has just been so intense from the moment I got here,” I say, trying not to sound like I’m backpedaling.
“It’s been hard for both of us. And I know I’ve pushed for things you’re not ready to give, and asked for more than I should, and it’s not fair to you or to me.
So, yeah. I think maybe we should take some space. ”
“Keller.” He looks genuinely upset. “I don’t want space.”
“You don’t think you do, but that’s only because—”
“No.” He takes a step closer. “You don’t get to tell me what I do and don’t think. I mean it. I don’t want space.”
“You did hate me,” I whisper, the words slipping helplessly from that small, hurt place inside me. “Sometimes, I think you still do.”
“That’s not true.” He grips my arms with both hands, gives me a little shake. The contact is so unexpected, I have to swallow a gasp. “You have to know that’s not true.”
Words leave me. I have no idea how to respond to the way he’s touching me or looking at me, frustrated and concerned and … something else. Some strange mix of outrage and care and resolve.
“We’re going to have disagreements,” he continues, quieter now.
His grip loosens on my arms but doesn’t drop away, his thumbs smoothing the fabric of my shirt.
“We’ll probably piss each other off more often than not.
But you are my partner. Your well-being is my priority, more than any of the other Sixers in our fleet, more than anyone else in this entire—” He looks away suddenly, drops his hands.
My heart is pounding. “If there’s a problem,” he finishes, “you need to talk to me. You need to respect me enough to know I can handle it. And I’ll do the same for you. ”
“Will you, though?”
He meets my eye. Starts to say something, pauses, sighs. “I promise to try.”
The anger eases out of me. My muscles unwind, and I manage to take my first full breath since he marched over here.
We still have things to work through. I don’t expect everything to be fixed after one conversation.
But my hurt has lost its edge, and I realize maybe this is all I really needed: a place to start.
Lament searches my face. “Can we try again?”
“Lament.” I give a small laugh, a real one this time. “Sometimes I wonder if you can read my thoughts.”
“Is that a yes?”
“It’s a yes.”
He nods. Doesn’t step back. His eyes drop to my chest. “So,” he says, poking his tongue into his cheek, “you really don’t know why it does that?”
I drop my gaze. Under my shirt, my lifestone is going absolutely mad.