Chapter 18 - Fall From Grace #2
Except my brain doesn’t work like that, no matter how much I wish it did.
I’ve had a lifetime of dealing with the fear of inadequacy and rejection, sometimes in the smallest of ways.
Most of the time, I can say it barely affects me; I’ve had the same secure job for almost a decade, haven’t dated, and I’ve got the same friends I had in school—there’s no place for either of those reactions in my life.
I’d like to say my parents have a lot to answer for, but the responsibility is on me to work through it now.
And I do. I am. Trauma responses aren’t just fixed overnight, though, and sometimes my irrational brain wins out.
Like now, when it tells me that Tanisira’s probably meeting up with Samiran, even though we agreed to see where this took us.
And why wouldn’t Tanisira spend the night with her, when I am obviously not good enough for anyone?
Fortunately, I do have experience wrangling my own brain, and I’m able to slow the barrage of doubt.
This hasn’t happened for a while, which is both good and bad, but this is why I’m better off alone: it’s all just so much work.
Now, with The Tower looming in the distance, I remind myself that my issues don’t give me the right to feel territorial about Tanisira.
It’s mostly effective. Instead of spiralling about her meeting up with Samiran, I start to wonder why she’s sneaking around in the first place.
Faltering, I come to a stop in the middle of the pavement.
This is foolish. No matter what, following Tanisira through this station is invasive, crazy.
Something is off, though. I can’t quantify it, but she’s been shifty since yesterday.
If she just wanted to spend the night with Samiran, why wouldn’t she say?
I might not love the idea of Tanisira being intimate with anyone else, but I’m a grown woman, and I’d have handled it.
After all, we’ll likely never see each other again after reaching Red Horizon.
Mostly, I hate being lied to, and something is going on here.
I start walking again.
The lounge area abuts the reception, and I’d carefully chosen a corner to tuck myself into.
I see the moment Tanisira arrives at the hotel, carrying an oversized tote bag on her shoulder.
My heart does a disgusting swoop followed by an instant dive.
The tasteful lighting plays along the strands of that thick hair as she leans over the desk, the elegant line of her neck bared.
There’s probably an overnight bundle in that bag.
The receptionist tells Tanisira her room number is 1501, before she heads for the lift.
She gives a good impression of being preoccupied, but I’ve spent the past week in close quarters with her, and I catch the watchful darting of her eyes; she’s on edge.
Even though I’m obscured by a standing lamp, I pull my new cap further down, shadowing my face, and slump into the seat.
Thankfully, she sweeps her gaze over the room before moving on.
In blue jeans and a pleather jacket, I don’t stand out amongst others in casual clothing.
Weaving through gaggles of tourists, I meander in Tanisira’s wake.
She steps into an open lift, shifting into the corner as more people pack in afterwards.
She looks preoccupied but I turn away anyway, shoulder to the wall, until the doors slide shut.
There are signs all around the lobby indicating the hotel’s layout, and Tanisira’s room is on the 15th floor.
I wait for the number on the floor indicator to hit double digits before I dodge a bickering family and slip into the next waiting elevator.
Her room is in the centre of the floor, opposite the lifts.
The layout, like long curved bullhorns, means there’s nowhere for me to hide except around one of the corners, hovering outside someone else’s door.
I look suspicious as hell. Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, I hunker down to wait, but wait for what, I don’t know.
Several people come and go, all but one of them giving me odd looks as they pass.
Thankfully, it’s not someone from the room I’m camped outside.
Every time someone heads in the direction of Tanisira’s door, my body tenses in a perversion of the fight-or-flight reflex.
I’m dying to know what Tanisira’s up to.
After watching her absolutely destroy that game yesterday, it could be that her past is connected to this sneaking around.
But there’s also the worry, still scratching at my brain, that she simply wanted to see an old flame this evening.
Then, all the oxygen is stolen from my lungs.
A pair of ridiculously long legs emerge from a lift.
I follow them up to take in the stunning woman that they’re attached to.
She’s tall and slender and walks with grace, dark hair floating around her shoulders.
Her hips sway magnetically as she approaches the room, a long and fitted knit dress moulded to her curves.
She’s Suryavan, and her Vahrin sits against the burnished skin of her neck: a gorgeous maritium choker.
At first, she takes my breath away because she’s unreal.
Then, she takes my breath away because she’s knocking on the door to 1501.
I deflate. This has to be Samiran—fucking hell—and my imagination provides plenty of reasons why they’d be meeting tonight.
It would have felt like a slap, but if Tanisira had simply told me she was planning to see Samiran, I’d have adjusted.
For fucks sake, I would have curbed this insane and overwhelming attraction I feel for her. I would have... I would have—
Tanisira opens the door; she doesn’t smile, but her eyes do crease in the corners with a familiar warmth.
Standing beside each other, they have similar figures and stand at the same height.
They make a beautiful, evenly matched couple.
The worst part is the towel wrapped around Tanisira’s body, a small knot tucked into the valley between her breasts, baring her legs and bare feet.
I’ve never actually seen them—we’ve always been too occupied—and they’re long, like the rest of her, but pale.
Slim. Samiran has probably seen them countless times, lain around in bed and run a hand over the arches. She’s seen her. She’s known her.
Maybe Tanisira missed that.
Tempted as I am to leave—and I should—I don’t. In for a penny, in for a pound. It’s an old English saying that doesn’t make sense anymore given our currency evolution, but it fits the situation perfectly. Why stop now?
Roughly an hour later, after having stretched my legs several time in short bursts, I’m considering my insanity when Samiran steps out of the room.
Confusion mingles with the disappointment and sadness I’ve been nursing.
She’s completely changed her outfit. I lean forward as far as I dare without tumbling around the corner.
Her hair now sits on top of her head in a tightly wound bun.
She wears dark pants over boots and a faded jacket that reaches her thighs.
She still looks beautiful, but now it’s more of a grungy aesthetic, topped off by a bag dangling from her fingers.
Stepping into a lift, she bows her head and slides her hands into her pockets.
I don’t know what to make of it. Maybe she was on a stopover and needs to get back to work.
Tanisira never mentions Samiran, so I don’t know what she does.
I sigh from the very depths of my stomach.
I shouldn’t have done this. Regretting that I let my insecurities run away with me, I shoulder my bag.
I’m about to head downstairs when Tanisira’s door opens again.
A second later she’d have seen me, but I manage to slide back into hiding.
She makes a beeline for the lifts. As I take in her appearance, my confusion ratchets up a few more levels.
In contrast to her usual outfit, the captain is now wearing a thick, long-sleeved fleece and loose, roughened trousers with an uneven hem that sit just over boots.
Her hair is tucked under a cap and a woven crossbody is slung across her body; she’s wearing the same outfit as Samiran. Tanisira looks... like a dock worker.
I know it’s ridiculous, but I follow her again.
As soon as her lift starts to descend, I jump into the next free car.
It spits me out in the lobby just in time to catch a glimpse of Tanisira sweeping out of the hotel.
I rush, grateful that the footfall has dropped at the border of Novus station.
The majority of people exiting The Tower head left, towards the hub—Tanisira turns right.
It becomes clear why these streets echo.
The paving stones start to become dirtier, chipped.
Walls crumble, lights flicker. We pass houses with flimsy doors and boarded-up windows: narrow and long, stacked up alongside each other like teeth.
The air feels thicker here, a distinct texture against the back of my throat.
And when people materialise out of the shadows, they’re dressed more like Tanisira than any of the patrons back in the hub.
They walk with purpose, heads down and strides fast. I’m thankful for my cap and unassuming outfit, but my skin crawls every time I pass a darkened alley.
If someone were to step out and attack me, what would I do?
Calling for Tanisira would be complicated, and I’d only have myself to blame.
But the need to know what she’s up to burns through me; if this is about more than Samiran—if Tanisira’s into something shady—I have to find out. For Vee, for myself.