Chapter 15 #3
“...our way of breathing.” Davian broke the three feet in half. “Tell me, Quill,” he lowered his hoarse voice. “Am I dead if I don't write? Do you think I'm broken?”
The glassy layer that covered his eyes made me hesitate.
We were only inches away from letting two chaotic, lost ink hearts collide.
Our blue threads were still tangled together. They had become too tightly intertwined.
“We were never broken.” My voice was as soft as his. So fragile. As if I were talking to his and my inner child. “We were just never compatible with this system.”
A painful yet liberating pull took hold of all that was left of me. Of the little girl hiding inside the paper castle. Every page I wrote made the walls thicker. And yet I couldn't shake the feeling that she was more of a prisoner than a resident in there.
“What good is it if we have no choice but to survive in this system?”
I slammed into reality and new cracks appeared on the facade of the castle.
“I would hate to see this place tear you apart.”
My vision cleared. Only now did I notice that I had tears in my eyes.
Davian's expression was concerned as he studied me. Concern that overwhelmed me.
He had no reason to worry.
“I'll be fine,” I said quickly. “And don't worry.” I forced myself to smile one last time, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I'll be leaving this town soon.”
I wanted to turn around, wanted to leave, because something inside me had slipped and needed to be put back in its place before a crack could become a crevasse.
“Quill...”
And once again, his voice had power over me. The only external control in my life that had ever felt liberating. He pulled me back toward him by our thread.
Immediately, he stepped closer.
“You have...” He raised his hand, but stopped at the level of my neck. “Ink on your face.”
He tapped the edge of his jaw, let his hand wander toward me again, stopping in front of my cheek.
The moths in my stomach were traitors who had already abandoned me back on the bridge in this war of reason.
“May I?”
He looked intently yet cautiously between my eyes and the stain, waiting for my consent.
“Mm-hmm...”
I nodded slightly, knowing that he must have seen this spot the whole time. But he had only asked me when I had been about to leave. He didn't want me to go. He was thinking back to that evening, just as I was, even though he would never admit it.
When the parchment touched my skin, I held my breath, letting the fluttering in my stomach travel through the rest of my body until my knees threatened to give way.
He focused on the spot, placed his other fingers under my chin, and applied pressure with his thumb to a certain area, rubbing gently over my skin.
He pursed his lips and looked at me apologetically.
“I smudged it.”
I gave a little smile.
He continued to focus on the spot, and I on the warmth of his fingers.
God, this man. Lara’s father…
This wasn’t okay. And yet I couldn’t help but enjoy the careful rubbing of his thumb.
I knew he wouldn't be able to get the ink off just like that. And he, too, seemed to realize what a trap he had led us into when his eyes slid back to mine and his thumb paused.
The rims of his irises were dark blue. The daylight reflecting in them was candlelight for my longing moths.
The fact that he swallowed. My death.
He stepped back.
And it felt devastating when he withdrew his hand.
“I'm sorry.”
Hastily, I shook my head, letting the chaos overwhelm me.
“No. I'm sorry.”
He wanted to say something, but this time I turned around quickly enough, rushed out of the room without closing the door, and left him behind.
New York
Carlos Rafael Rivera
My hurried steps carried me through the campus park.
I couldn't face Lara like this. And Thomas would notice that something was wrong.
Home. Even if this toxic-contaminated pit didn't deserve the title, it was the only place where I could lock myself away and regain control over my chaos. At least as long as my father was walking around this campus.
“Ah!” Someone appeared beside me. I blinked away my tears and looked at my only professor. “Quillon. There you are.”
Her smile was meant to cheer me up, but now that I knew Davian had to lie to her for me, I was torn apart by guilt.
“Professor Berger, I...”
“Please, call me Monica,” she looked at me seriously. “And I don't want to keep you long.” She handed me a piece of paper with a street and house number on it. “Here.”
I stopped and took the paper completely out of her hand.
Flussstra?e 10
Confused, I looked up.
“Your address?”
The smile returned.
“I hope you don't mind if I invite you to dinner. We can talk undisturbed and in peace.”
O-kay? That came as a... surprise. And it didn't help my feelings of guilt at all.
“I don't want to cause you any trouble.”
“You're not.” She waved her hand dismissively. “I was planning on cooking this weekend anyway. So...”
How was I going to get out of this? She would never let me say no.
But it was just dinner. What could possibly go wrong?
Now your ink stains my fingers.
A precious ephemerality that fades with every passing hour.
– Leaking Batteries Diary