15. MAGDALEN
15
MAGDALEN
The car ride is silent and uncomfortable as we descend the craggy hill to the train station. I don’t know whether to make a comment about the potholes that ruin the road. I think about how much my cheeks jiggle from the impact.
‘Thank god we’re not holding eggs!’ I would say. But then I realize how awkward that would be, so I stay silent instead. What do you even say to a shit joke like that?
Theo makes no motion to say anything and I’m confused as to why he’d make such a big deal about giving me a ride if he had no intention of speaking to me. Not that he appears to be uncomfortable with the silence. I shift in my seat, sneaking a glance at him without moving my neck so he doesn’t notice. A bruise has formed across his right cheekbone, and I suck in a breath. So he goes back to the club to avenge my ability to get hurt by just standing? My mind races and my lips are moving before I know I’m speaking.
‘Why’d you go back there?’
He doesn’t even flinch at my voice; his profile remains perfectly calm and focused on the road ahead. Except his jaw clenches, just slightly.
‘I wasn’t trying to defend your honour.’
‘That’s good to know. You just punched yourself, then?’
He stays silent for a moment and then releases a breath, relaxing further into the car seat.
‘How the fuck was I supposed to just let him get away with it? You were just getting a drink and then suddenly you’re pinned down by a glass table and no one gave a shit.’ His voice fills the space between us, his chest moving rapidly.
‘Well, you didn’t need to do that,’ I mumble, crossing my arms in front of me in pathetic defiance. ‘But thank you. No one’s ever gotten punched for me.’
‘Well, get used to it. This type of shit doesn’t run when I’m around.’
My cheeks burn at his insinuation that he’ll have to get hurt for me again and the words spill out.
‘Trust me, you won’t ever have to do anything for me again. I swear.’
Theo looks at me for a lingering second. ‘I wouldn’t mind, Magdalen. I like doing things for you.’
My heart leaps. ‘Oh,’ I say dumbly. ‘Okay.’
Theo smirks, shaking his head slightly before looking back at the road. And after I realize my stupid response ended the conversation, I take a second to admire his side profile.
One hand holds the bottom of the steering wheel with ease as his other elbow rests on the centre console, fingers absentmindedly brushing his bottom lip. My gaze falls to the sharp cut of his jaw, harsh and determined. The wind from the open window blows his thick hair behind his ears, curls flowing wildly around him in dark waves as he jets down the road. Despite myself, I breathe in, smelling the clean laundry and sandalwood, wanting to run my fingers through his hair to see if it’s as soft as it looks. But the minute the thought crosses my mind, I banish it, reminding myself of the way he touched me last night. Like it was painful. Men this beautiful are dangerous. Not trusting my own hands, I tuck them underneath my legs.
I stifle a groan, having never felt this desperate to touch someone before.
Deciding that if I look at his hair any longer I’ll lose my mind, my attention drifts to the finger that still brushes his full bottom lip. As if he knows I’m looking at him, his hand falls to the steering wheel, and I find myself desperate to know what he is thinking about.
This man is an actual statue. The only deviation is by the bridge of his nose, a slight bend that somehow makes him more statue-like than without it. Who looks this good at seven in the morning?
He shifts the gear and my eyes can’t help but trail down his arm. The muscle in his forearm extends with the motion and my mouth goes dry, his tanned skin corded with dangerous strength.
We hit a larger bump and the car jolts forward. Suddenly, Theo’s hand flashes to my knee, a mere reflex. My stomach clenches, heat trailing down to the spot he touches.
‘Sorry, habit.’ Theo looks down to where his hand rests at my leg; his Adam’s apple bobs. Despite the bump being far behind us, he doesn’t remove his hand right away. For a brief moment, his thumb brushes the inside of my knee, causing goosebumps to raise on my skin. His gaze travels up from my knee to my thigh, and I look down to see my skirt has risen. Oh. He clears his throat, hand sliding off my leg and back on the steering wheel.
‘Sorry. Jesus ,’ he murmurs, furrowing his brow.
My heartbeat quickens. I release my breath. ‘Big brother reflex, right?’ He straightens himself, the relaxed composure from moments ago now replaced with strained rigidity as his hands grip the steering wheel until his fingertips go white.
‘Of course,’ he responds. ‘That must be it.’
Trying not to be offended, I fix my skirt and stare out the window again, focusing on the street instead of his response. All the while screaming at my cheeks to stop blushing.
We enter the parking lot of the train station, which is void of any cars or people. Or trains, I quickly realize. Even the sunlight seems to have fallen back asleep. My fingers tap the armrest impatiently; the tension, alongside this sudden shift in him, is stifling. Why did you ask to drive me, Theo?
‘This is fine.’ I force a smile and rest my hand on the handle of the car, eager to escape. ‘Thank you for the ride.’
‘Any time, Magdalen.’ He dips his head in a curt nod without looking at me. A dismissal.
Before I exit, I look back at him one last time. My eyes search his face, trying to determine the moment cocky ‘ get in the car, Magdalen ’ Theo left and this version replaced him. He seems to notice me staring because he quickly averts his eyes to the gearshift as if silently begging me to leave. Telling me to let it go.
I can’t help it. I have to ask. ‘Did I say something wrong?’
He pinches the bridge of his nose right by that slight bump which I now want to run my tongue over.
‘No, sorry. Just had a late night yesterday.’ Coldness slips into his words.
This time, I don’t have the strength to coax my blush into hiding. Heat prickles up to my scalp, embarrassment rushing over me.
He looks at me and I watch as the realization of his words sinks in.
‘Shit, Magdalen. That’s not what I meant.’
The want to stand up for myself is there, as it always is, coating the back of my throat with unspoken fervour. Desperate to shout that I begged him not to help me. That I could do it by myself! That I didn’t want him to look at me, that no one has ever been that close and it shouldn’t have been him first. But I sit silent instead, turning my head to give myself the push to leave.
‘Good luck on your errands.’
‘Wait, please. I just meant—’
I close the door, hearing him slam the steering wheel. Crossing my arms over my body, I walk to the platform and the echo of a train horn sounds in the distance. I feel silly and much younger than I know I am.