28. Phoebe
28
PHOEBE
A shiver races down my spine while I do all I can to not breathe too loudly. I worry the sound of my heart might attract whatever monster is outside. The scraping sound is coming closer and now there is a snuffling.
Vapas moves back and away from the front wall and door, keeping me behind him as he quietly shifts positions. When my back comes up against the rear wall I bite down on a gasp of fear.
The scraping sound is right outside the door. Through the slats I see a shadowy shape moving past. Vapas’ body presses against mine, shielding and protecting. I am looking under his arm to see the door. He draws the knife from his side, gripping it tight and crouching.
“Grah-ha-ho!”
Someone outside yells and the thing on the other side of the door leaps. Claws clatter on stone then it’s gone. Neither Vapas nor I move, waiting. My heart is one hard thud after another thundering against my chest.
The tension leaves Vapas and he steps forward, giving me more room to breathe but also leaving a chill where his warmth was. He makes his way across the hovel with quick, silent steps. He presses himself against the wall next to the door, staring through an open seam. He stands for a long moment then another before he fully relaxes and steps away, nodding.
“It’s safe,” he says, motioning with his knife hand then stopping when he seems to realize it’s still in his hand. He grimaces and puts it in the sheath on his belt.
I take the opportunity to explore the room but there isn’t much to see. What little bit there is exists in various states of disrepair. The walls are makeshift pieces bound together by nails or even string in some places. There is a crude bed with worn rough spun blankets tossed haphazardly across it.
The bed itself is lumpy and hard and looks like it might manage to be more uncomfortable than the stone beds the Cavern Zmaj use. I’m pretty sure there are some kind of bugs crawling on it too which makes my skin crawl and I back away from closer inspection.
Vapas watches as I explore, silent and brooding. When I finish, I walk over to stand in front of him, straining my neck to look into his eyes. I take his hands into mine, squeezing them to give him some reassurance.
“We’re here and we’re alive,” I say.
“Yes, there is that,” he says, squeezing my hands back. “We are together.”
Acting on impulse I rise onto my toes and kiss him. He leans into the kiss, his arms hooking around my lower back and pulling me off my feet. I wrap myself, legs and arms, around him and let the moment pass, but we can only keep the pressure at bay for so long.
I break away first, but rather than move to have him put me down, I rest my head on his shoulder and just hold him. A little longer, absorbing the comfort of being in his arms as long as I can.
Reluctantly, I ease my grip and he intuitively lowers me to my feet. Both of us lean into the other, keeping our bodies touching even as we settle apart. I trail my fingers over his face then press my head to his chest. Questions are heavy in my thoughts, weighing down the joy I feel in his arms.
“Vapas…” I say, but my throat clamps onto the rest of the words, stopping and choking them down.
“I know,” he whispers, his hands running through my hair.
I inhale, taking in his musky scent, then exhale heavily, trying to let the stress and fear go with it. I straighten, taking a step back, then walk over to the table and the mugs we had left untouched. I pick one up, sniff the contents, and immediately recognize the burning scent of the Urr’ki alcohol.
Screw it.
I take a big sip. It burns across my lips then all the way down my throat and sits in my stomach like a freaking active volcano.
“Oh gods,” I mutter wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Too strong?” he asks, smirking as he takes up his own mug.
“It’s fine,” I say but even my voice is hoarse as if it too was burned.
I choke, gasp, wave my hand over my mouth to try and cool my lips and tongue as tears build in my eyes. The burning is not stopping.
“It is an acquired taste,” he says then tosses his mug back in a single shot. He smacks his lips and chuckles. “But perhaps the human throat is not well made for it.”
“Hey,” I say. He arches an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. I close my eyes and shrug. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
He laughs. I realize I don’t recall having heard him laugh before. His laugh is a rich baritone that shakes his whole body. He pulls out a chair and then offers it to me, waiting until I sit before he takes his.
The immediate threat to our lives past, the weight of the all the unspoken words between us drops like a stone thrown into a still pond. Ripples pass between and over us, but we don’t even look at each other.
I move the mug around on the table in front of me as if maybe it will give some insight into what to say, or how to say what is in my head, which is more the problem.
I almost have it. Looking up, the words form, but the moment I see his face they’re gone, wafting away like smoke on the wind.
He’s intensely staring at his mug. Tracing designs on the table with one finger. His eyes dart up and meet mine before I can look away. I’m instantly embarrassed and don’t even know why.
“Uhm,” I say, shaking my head. This is stupid. Say what you mean. Or think at least. “Vapas, I?—”
“Phoebe I?—”
We speak over one another and both stop at the same time.
“You go?—”
“Go ahe—” he says at the same time I’m telling him to go ahead and we cut each other off again.
I chuckle at the absurdity of this. He laughs then shrugs.
“Please, go ahead,” he says, gesturing with his chipped mug.
I clear my throat, buying time because the words that I just had are once again gone now that I’m free to say them. Of course they are. This entire thing has been some weird comedy of errors.
“Vapas I…” say it. Damn it, say it. “I didn’t know about your wife. I’m sorry. I don’t want to… I didn’t mean to…”
“No,” he says, soft and gentle. “Phoebe, no. It’s not you.”
“Vapas we don’t have to… it’s fine… I mean…”
He clears his throat as he shakes his head. He reaches across the table and takes my hands in his.
“It’s not her,” he says, “it’s you.”
“Oh, uhm, sorry?”
“Not sorry,” he says. “This… us… was pretend but… you do these things. So many things that remind me of her.” I open my mouth to protest my innocence, but he stops me by holding up his hand and continuing. “In good ways. I do not think…”
I’m hanging on his every word as he trails off. I wait for him to continue, my heart pounding in my chest. My throat is dry and I need him to say it. Say that I’m not alone, that he’s feeling these things too.
“Think?” I prod when I can’t take waiting any longer.
He shakes his head looking down then up.
“Think, yes,” he says, pursing his lips. “Phoebe, none of this makes sense. A dragoste… it is supposed to be a one and only. I know she was my dragoste and we will be together in the next world. But you…”
“I?” I ask, breathless, leaning further onto the table to be closer to him.
“You are… everything.”
I can’t breathe. Can’t blink. I don’t want this moment to ever end. I don’t want to miss a single, solitary second of it. My eyes burn and then I do the only thing that makes sense.
I leap across the table and kiss him.