Chapter 15
Rami's POV
Okay, so I know routine is supposed to be the balm to boredom.
But monotony is like arsenic to my soul.
After two weeks of schoolwork and Bible study during the day and then gardening each night with Adriel, I’m losing my shit.
I’m clearly not one of those people that thrives on routine.
That I’m more sure of now, than ever before.
Variety is the spice of life and all that jazz. Or something along those lines.
“You seem distracted today,” Adriel says, drawing me from my head.
“Huh?” I ask dumbly, sitting back on my heels and staring at him.
“That’s the second plant you’ve killed.” Adriel points to the small bundle of green leaves in my hand.
I drop it like I’ve been burned and cover the gasp with my dirt-covered hand. “Oh, shit, I’m so sorry, Adriel.”
He dips his chin, being far too kind for my fuck up. “It is okay, but perhaps you would enjoy watching tonight instead of helping.”
Sighing heavily, I wipe off my hands on my jeans and stand. But when I turn to step down, the joint rolls weird and I stumble. I hiss loudly, grumbling a series of repeated curses. I hunch over and rest all of my weight on my good ankle, my hands braced on my knee.
“Are you okay?” Adriel asks, worry making his voice raise an octave.
“I’m fine, just stepped weird.”
“Nonsense, you will sit and I’ll make a poultice which will help take away some of the pain.”
Bobbing my head, I decide there’s no point in arguing. He rushes off into his home while I slowly limp my way toward his little sitting area. He returns and lays out a series of furs to create a little nest for me. Very carefully, I prop myself up when Adriel gestures for me to do so.
It would have been so much easier if he was able to help me down, but that’s not going to happen.
Adriel disappears again while I work off my boot and sock, returning with a bowl of mixed herbs and other stuff I can’t even begin to name. He muddles the mix together until it makes a thick paste.
“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to apply it.” He hands me the bowl, his expression turned down as shame and sadness waft off him.
“I understand, and it’s okay.”
I don’t think he believes me because he sighs exaggeratedly before he sits off to the side on a stump.
“It’s not, but I appreciate your kindness,” he whispers.
Knowing he doesn’t need my words or reassurances right now, I focus on putting the poultice on with his guidance. He hands me a patch of cloth to wipe off my hands with when I’m done and prop my leg up on the only chair.
He stands eerily still, aside from his eyes tracking every nuanced twitch of my muscles. It almost feels as if he’s memorizing each of my reactions. But why?
One second he’s doing the super hot, but totally weird assessment of me, and then he’s dropping my bag at my side and retreating to his garden.
I sigh heavily again, something I seem to do a lot when he’s around. Running my fingers through my hair, I try not to allow the hurt of his blatant dismissal bother me. Should, honestly, be accustomed to it by now.
Reaching into my bag, I pull out my most recent book. It’s one of the dark fantasy graphic novels I’d been eyeing at Abraham’s bookstore, but I don’t remember buying it. Perhaps he snuck it into my most recent pile of books because I found it on my bookshelf tucked amongst the other books.
After a couple of chapters, I close the book with my finger holding my place. Trying to focus on the words and beautiful drawings turns out to be too much for my distracted brain to accomplish. The handsome and mysterious stranger twenty feet away from me keeps owning my thoughts.
“Why do you only garden at night?” I ask, breaking the silence.
At first, I’m not sure he heard me, but when I look close, I can see that his back has stiffened and his hands have stilled.
Well, shit. Now I’m even more curious about his answer.
When he doesn’t answer, and feeds Ludo a seed, I assume he isn’t going to. I’m about to return to my book, hoping he’ll answer when he’s ready.
“Y-you don’t have to answer. I was just curious,” I mumble when I open my book again, to give him an out. I say it so softly, I’m not sure if he hears me.
He pushes up from his kneeling position and sits on the same stump from earlier.
At this proximity, I can see the way his cheek muscles keep jumping as he clenches his jaw.
He runs his hand down his face, looking more exasperated than I’ve ever seen him.
But the way his eyes bounce everywhere except at me makes me wonder if the annoyance is more internal than aimed at me.
“It’s not that,” he whispers with a sigh. “Part of this…”
His voice trails off, and his nostrils flare as if he’s fighting a losing internal battle.
“Curse?” I supply for him, closing my book and giving him my undivided attention.
His eyes widen, and he dips his chin in thanks. “It prevents me from speaking about it.”
I open my mouth and then click my teeth shut, processing his words. “Let me get this straight. So you can’t tell me who cursed you, why they cursed you, what all the curse entails, or how to remove the curse?”
His shoulders slump and he seems to almost shrink before me. Like the weight of this curse is physically pushing him down. “Correct,” he finally says, his voice laced with pain.
Once again, I want to reach out to him and console him. But I know I can’t. And I hate it.
I have to fix this. The chasm of space that’s formed between us breaks a small part in me. I thought I was really getting through to him, getting close, and then I’m thrown back to the beginning.
How can I make this better? A distraction of some sort. That should allow the rising tide of emotions to ebb away into oblivion.
“My little group of college friends and I were all pretty close,” I start, staring up at the starry night sky for strength.
Thinking back to the time before my accident always makes my throat get a little tight. But what better way to break the tension and distract him from his own pain than to tell him a story?
“During breaks, we’d frequently travel to camp in off the grid locations.
It was always a lot of fun. Eugene was always getting up to some sort of shenanigans on the trips, and half the fun was trying to figure out what it was.
One trip to the Blue Ridge Mountain area, he got his hands on ‘the strongest weed his cousin had ever heard of.’” I use finger quotes on Eugene’s words.
I can’t help chuckling thinking of some of the stuff he got up to.
Probably shouldn’t mention the time Eugene dropped acid and then woke me up with my dick in his mouth.
He didn’t have an ounce of shame about it, either.
Seeing as he was supposedly a straight man, I expected a lot more freaking out, but he just shrugged it off.
He was good like that. Never let anything keep him down for too long.
Fuck, I miss those guys.
Clearing my throat, I remember I was mid-story with Adriel and totally lost track of time.
“You don’t have to share your story if it brings you pain,” Adriel says sweetly.
“It’s not that,” I say, shaking my head. “I haven’t seen them since…” my voice trails off and my fingers absently run along the scars on my wrist. “It’s been a while.”
Adriel nods like he understands completely. Of course he would. He’s trapped here in the woods, cursed. And, here I am, complaining about missing my friends who are only a phone call away.
“Anyway,” I continue, trying to get back on track.
“We were in the middle of the woods, and Eugene started rolling the joint badly, so my other friend, Sera, took his stash and rolled them.
He then whined that we were no fun when none of us wanted to join him.
So we just ignored him, focusing on roasting our marshmallows and talking about nothing particular around the fire.
“What are marshmallows? And I assume weed is a drug?” Adriel asks.
I nod. “Yeah, weed is a drug also known as marijuana or cannabis.”
“Ah, yes. I’ve heard of cannabis, but it was used for its healing properties. The calming effects were more of a side effect.” Adriel’s face softens and brightens as he explains it and it’s cute how excited he is about it.
“Oh, and a marshmallow is like a fluffy, sticky, sugar confection thing,” I attempt.
Adriel raises a brow and stares off at nothing, likely trying to picture it.
“That’s a terrible description, but they’re quite yummy and addictive. Especially when cooked over a campfire.”
I make a mental note to bring a bag with me for him to try.
“So, Eugene was high as a fucking kite. He started running around our campsite, flapping his arms like a bird and cawing at the top of his lungs. Thankfully, we were the only ones within several miles so there wasn’t anyone else to annoy.
We just laughed, and he changed up which bird he was from time to time, always keeping us on our toes. ”
Laughing again, I shake my head. I can still picture Eugene. My side was killing me by the end of the night. My phone burns a hole in my pocket, encouraging me to call them again, but it’s been so long I doubt they even remember me. Everyone has moved on. Everyone but me.
“After about an hour, he’d decided that just flapping around as one on the ground wasn’t enough.
He climbed up a nearby rock face and shouted at the top of his lungs, ‘I can fly!’ We all tried to talk him down, but he wasn’t having it.
So, I climbed up and tackled him to the ground.
It took all of us to get him back down and we taped him to a nearby tree.
“Come morning, he was still taped there and very apologetic. He cursed his cousin and buried that shit somewhere in the woods. The rest of the camping trip, he was quite cuddly.”