Chapter 16
JUNE
Imarch straight from our house to Greshenia’s at the other end of the shore. Her screen door is closed, but the inner door is open when I arrive, giving me a clear view of her sitting on her couch and smoking a muskranom.
“She cheated on you with your sister!” she screams at the projector. “Ficqing moron.”
I’m hesitant to knock at first, knowing I’m about to interrupt her show, but I give in when I realize I have nowhere else to go, and am a few seconds away from breaking down. “Greshenia?” I call through the screen door. “May I speak with you for a moment?”
“Yeah,” she replies, followed by a dry hacking cough. “Come in.”
The furniture has clutter all over it; the coffee table is littered with full muskranom trays and empty beverage cans.
It reeks of smoke, and the paint is chipping on every visible wall.
Greshenia has crinkles next to her eyes and mouth, and thinning pale green hair tied in a messy braid that hangs down her back.
To everyone she meets, it’s abundantly clear she doesn’t give a single fuck. I admire that about her.
I wipe away the tears that fell on the way over here and plaster on a smile as I enter her home. “I was wondering if my old house has been reassigned yet?”
She blows out a puff of smoke as she waits for me to continue.
“If not, I wanted to see if I could get my key back. I need a place to stay for a few days.”
I’m not sure where Ziv and I stand right now; I just know I need time away from him.
Time to clear my head and get over the horrible words he tossed at me in a moment of tension.
I’m crazy about him, and even though we passed the test and are no longer required to maintain the fake mate ruse, I want to proceed as his mate for real. At least, I think I do.
He hurt me. Smashed my heart into a million fucking pieces when he implied I’m a killer, but we were in the middle of an argument. By the look on his face after he said it, I could tell he regretted it. I just couldn’t hear any more. Not even an apology. I’m too raw right now.
A few days apart will be good for us. I hate the idea of Akkal wondering where I am, and not being able to spend time with him, but I can’t be in that house until I cool down.
“Something happen with Zivren?” Greshenia asks, pausing her show. This woman loves drama, that’s for sure.
I wave a dismissive hand. “Oh, no. It’s nothing. An argument between mates. You know how it is.”
She takes a deep drag of her joint, then stares distantly out the window. “Not since Ferlung went to sea. That was forty-eight turns ago now.”
“Right.” That’s clearly a whole saga that I’d love to dig into someday, but I’m too exhausted for it at the moment.
“He knew he’d be eaten out there. Told me himself that the red sea is alive with demons covered in teeth.”
Oh boy. We’re really veering off the topic now.
“Um, it would just be for a few days,” I tell her. “And I’ll make sure to leave it exactly as I found it.”
She groans as she gets to her feet, shuffling over to the wall of keys on hooks that separates the kitchen from the living room. She grabs a keyring off one of the bottom hooks and tosses it my way. “New settlers coming next week. I’ll need you out by then.”
I clutch the keys to my chest as I thank her several times.
When I reenter my old bungalow, the stress of the test, the unknown of my future, and the hurt from my argument with Ziv seem to hit me all at once. I kick off my shoes and flop onto the couch as a new wave of sobs wrack my body.
Ziv’s cruel words repeat themselves over and over as my mind is flooded with images from my youth.
My parents’ death. Their funeral. The first foster home I was sent to, and the rest that followed.
The boyfriends I thought I’d marry who’d end up leaving eventually.
Rivarry and Nacarya, vowing to love and protect me and keep me as part of their family for the rest of my days. And yet, here I am. Alone again.
What if Ziv truly believes I’m capable of murder? I have no doubt he’s physically attracted to me, but maybe he let that and the anxiety around the tests distract him from the idea that I might be guilty. Now that the test is over, what if believes I’m a killer?
I could tell him the truth about what happened that night, but I wasn’t the only one there. It’s not a story that belongs entirely to me. I’m also not inclined to confide in him when I’ve shown him over and over that he can trust me and he still doesn’t.
If he truly thinks I could be a murderer, why would I pull back the curtain on the most traumatizing moment of my life? It likely wouldn’t make a difference, and does he even deserve that much of me?
I clutch a pillow to my chest as I continue to weep. If he doesn’t trust me, I’m not sure how we can move forward. Did I just lose the only home that’s ever felt safe?