16. Phoebe
16
PHOEBE
V apas puts his hand on my shoulder as he steps in front of me and moves towards the door. The crumpled towel remains, lying in a heap on the table and for whatever reason it feels important. As if that rumpled piece of cloth is a metaphor for this entire mission. Vapas growls, shakes his head, then looks over his shoulder.
“Go upstairs,” he says in his deep, rumbling voice, motioning his hand behind himself.
His attention is locked on the door, as is most of mine. A knock on the door cannot be good. For a brief moment, I’m frozen in fear. The whiplash of emotions leaving me paralyzed.
Vapas growls, a sound that sends a shiver racing down my spine while also breaking my paralysis.
“I’ll—”
“Go,” he orders before I finish.
I don’t move. My feet feel glued to the floor, my mind spinning with what-ifs. What if it’s not safe? What if it’s the Maulavi? What if this is the moment they come for me?
The pounding comes again, louder, more insistent. The door shakes in its frame, and Vapas lets out another growl, this one sharper, edged with warning.
“Phoebe,” he snaps. “Upstairs. Now.”
He shoots a glare over his shoulder and any further protest I might have had dies. I slip past him and then run up the stairs. My heart pounds and I wish it was only from exertion but it’s so much more.
Crouching at the top of the stairs, I hear the scrape of the sliding lock and the opening of the door. My heart is in my throat and every nerve is on edge. There is no door to the stairs that I can close for protection. All I can do is press myself against the wall and listen.
And pray. I’ve never been particularly religious, but I do believe, so I offer up my prayers. I’ll take any help I can get right now. If it’s them, if they’ve come for me, he won’t be able to stop them. No one will.
I know Vapas’ voice, but not the other one. And, worst of all, they’re talking in Urr’ki which means of course that I have no idea what is being said. It doesn’t sound heated, though.
I wait, doing my best to not let my trembling give away my presence. It goes on for what feels like forever. When the door closes at last, I exhale sharply. My knees feel weak and I almost drop to the floor.
“It is safe,” Vapas says below.
I make my way slowly down the stairs, knees feeling like jelly, so I hold to the wall to keep myself steady. I don’t see him when I reach the ground floor, but I hear him in the kitchen, so I join him there.
He already has two mugs. When he sees me, he gestures to the one closest to me. My hand is shaking as I pick it up. The towel remains where he’d left it. Wrinkled and seemingly accusatory of something, though I don’t know what.
“Wh—” my throat is too tight to get the words out. I clear my throat, look at the mug in my hand and almost take a drink but the memory of how it burns gives me pause. I cough twice then try again. “What was it?”
Vapas tosses his own mug back, wiping his mouth with the back of his arm. The mug clanks against the table and then he fills it again. His hand trembles as he does. He raises it to his lips, stares into it for a moment, then tosses it back.
“Vapas… please,” I say.
He rolls his neck and shoulders, filling the kitchen with a loud cracking as his bones shift. He inhales, holds it, then exhales sharply. Finally he looks at me. My stomach is on the floor and I’m so cold that it’s all I can do to not be uncontrollably shivering.
“The Maulavi are suspicious,” he says, blinking slowly.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“They will come,” he sighs staring into his empty mug. His eyes shift from it to the bottle and I expect him to fill it once more but he sets the mug down instead. “We must be ready.”
“Ready?” I ask, my throat dry.
I need a minute. Maybe two. Fuck. It feels as if I’m on some wild ride. Every time I think things are settling and going to be okay, I get jerked in the opposite direction.
I wanted to talk to Vapas about what happened between us. Work out, or at least work through, some of these feelings. My eyes burn as pressure builds behind them.
I’m not going to cry. I’m not. Damn it. I’m not.
Vapas studies my face as if he’s memorizing every line and flaw. I’m instantly self-conscious, averting my eyes as I shift from foot to foot. I raise and drop my hands, twist in place, then clear my throat again.
Giving in, I take a sip of the drink, hoping some ‘liquid courage’ as my dad used to call it, will help. It burns across my tongue, down my throat, and sits in my stomach like a roiling ball of flames.
I blink and gasp, shaking my head. A half-smile forms on Vapas face and he mutters something that I don’t catch.
“Ah, gods,” I gasp, giving in and waving my hand in front of my mouth hoping to ease the burning. “What did you say?”
“Huh?” Vapas grunts. “Nothing.”
I don’t know why, but his denial makes me irrationally angry which also gives me the courage to meet his eyes again. Or, maybe it’s the alcohol but, either way.
“No. I heard you say something. What was it?” Vapas frowns then looks away. He shakes his head and shrugs. He gestures with the empty cup then turns his back. “Vapas…”
He turns back, meeting my eyes. He frowns, then shrugs.
“Like her,” he says.
“Her?” I ask, absolutely confused on who or what he is referring to. He shrugs. “What do you mean her ?”
He swallows, opens his mouth, snaps it shut and then turns away. He cleans his mug in silence. I watch him work, wanting to know, but at the same time not wanting to push him to talk because I already feel like a jerk.
“Vapas,” I pull a chair out from the table out and take a seat. I should go back to the conversation I was trying to have, but the courage I had built up to confront that is gone. Still it’s what I intend to say, but instead my mouth does a dodge. “What do you mean ready?”
He finishes cleaning and puts the mug away. Turns and grabs the forgotten towel, wipes the table, then shakes his head and pulls the chair out and sits.
“I am sorry,” he says. “I was… wrong.”
I bite my lip. Damn. Here it is. No running away. No dodging. I don’t know Vapas well, but I shouldn’t be surprised. He doesn’t seem like the ignore it or avoid it kind of guy.
“It’s not… it wasn’t… just you,” I say. “I wanted to tell you… it’s okay.”
His eyes bore into mine and it feels like he sees the truth. As if he knows every detail about me. Something in my brain itches. I can’t stare into his eyes like this. They’re so sincere, so open and honest and here I am afraid to let him in.
“What happened… I did not intend,” he says.
My lips tingle with the memory of his. My hand drifts across the table, moving as if it has a mind of its own. I know I’m doing it, but at the same time, it sort of feels as if it belongs to someone else.
His eyes don’t move from mine but he moves his hand to cover mine. His is roughly calloused but warm. I like the tone of his skin, the rich green color. I like how big his hand is, fully covering mine. I think he could cover both of mine with one of his.
“It’s… fine,” I murmur.
Fine. What an insignificant, almost non-committal word. What is fine? What does that even mean? His hand tightens onto mine as he grunts.
“No. Not fine. Not okay.”
I look up, meeting his eyes once again. My heart beats faster. In his eyes there is kindness. Unexpected, uncalled for even, what have I done to deserve anything from him? I’ve acted like a bitch. His body reacted and so did mine. No matter that I don’t want to admit it, I liked it. I like him.
Vapas rumbles. I’m not sure if it’s supposed to be a growl, a grunt, or something else. He frowns, shakes his head, then his mouth opens. I lean in, ready for his words. Ready, I think, for more. The warmth of his breath brushes my skin. Warmth suffuses my cheeks.
“Vapas,” I whisper.
He leans closer. Both of us have our elbows on the table. My breath hitches then races to match the beating of my heart. This is it. I…
I want him.
I lean closer still. Our eyes are locked, lips close, almost close enough.
He pulls back and the moment breaks.