Chapter 7 #2
“I…I realized earlier that this isn’t working for me anymore. I want…more, I think.”
“More,” he echoes in a flat, vacant tone.
“Yes. Something real, what like Daemon and Alix or Odessa and Kastian have.”
He just stares at me, and even though he hasn’t moved at all, I feel like he’s completely turned away from me. My stomach sinks, but I still hold my breath waiting for him to say something.
“If that’s what you want then you should go find it,” he says finally.
My sinking stomach bottoms out. “Oh.”
“You should get everything you want, Aurelia.” Fox says flatly, his gaze shifting to a faraway point over my shoulder. “Don’t let me stop you from finding what you need.”
I blink and open my mouth, then close it again. Wait a minute, what?
“No, I don’t think you understand,” I say slowly, battling with the tiny spark of hope now growing in the empty pit of my stomach.
“Sorry, I’m not saying this right at all.
I mean, I want more from this,” I wave my hand between us.
“More from you. I don’t want to just show up sometimes to fuck anymore, I want… ”
“More,” he finishes for me, tone still flat.
“Exactly.”
His gaze shifts from over my shoulder back to my face, and for a second I see that same unreadable expression that he wore in the hallway right before he kissed me. My stomach swells, and I rise on my knees, meaning to close the distance between us.
And then, all too quickly, it ends.
“I can’t.” he says, gaze returning to the wall behind me. “I can’t give you more.”
The growing spark of hope inside me snuffs out, leaving only emptiness behind.
“Oh,” I hear myself say again, my voice sounding strangely warped as if from a thousand miles away. “Oh, alright. Well, thank you for telling me.”
“It’s not—” he starts and breaks off, letting out a huff of breath. His eyebrows pull low and he almost looks angry as he tries again to explain. “If I could, I—”
I jump to my feet. “No, it’s alright. I’m sorry I mentioned it.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, dragging a frustrated hand through his hair.
“Don’t be,” I say on a breath, feeling slightly hysterical as if I might start laughing—or crying—at any moment. “Don’t be. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“We—I should never have—”
“No, stop,” I interrupt. “I know what you’re going to say, but don’t.
It’s not as if I was tricked into this, I always knew exactly what we were doing and I was fine with that until…
um, recently, I suppose. It’s really fine, though.
Probably better that things end this way, honestly.
For obvious reasons, I don’t think I’ll be coming to your room anymore. ”
He nods once, but says nothing.
Usually, I have no trouble at all interpreting his silences, but this time I have no idea what he’s thinking…which is probably for the best.
“Right,” I say briskly, standing up to leave.
“Well, I think I’ll go to bed. If possible, please try to blame this on the wine, alright? I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Aurelia!”
I flinch as Fox calls after me. “No, please don’t apologize again,” I say, keeping my face turned toward the door so he won’t see the tears now brimming in my eyes. “You don’t need to apologize for not loving me.”
I walk out of the room, across the entrance hall, and up the wide, sweeping staircase. On the second landing, I jump at the sound of a dull thud and crack of plaster from down below, as if Fox drove his fist into the wall.
I don’t turn back, quickly climbing the spiral staircase and gripping the railing to steady myself. The stone walls blur from a combination of wine and tears. Finally, I reach my tower and the door bangs against the wall as I stumble inside.
Eugene’s claws click frantically across the floor, and he winds between my ankles, chirping for attention. I step over him, and collapse against my workbench, pressing the heels of my palms against my eyes until stars bloom in the darkness.
I suck in a shaking breath, trying not to cry.
I’ve been alone practically my whole life, but I’ve never felt lonelier than I do right now. Fox’s words replay in my mind, each syllable a knife twist: “If that’s what you want then you should go find it.”
What kills me is that he’s right. My entire life I’ve wanted to go on an adventure, but for almost two years now I’ve stayed put…
and if I’m honest with myself, a large part of that was because of Fox.
Clearly, I didn’t need to bother, because he didn’t hesitate to encourage me to leave. And why shouldn’t I?
All these months of training to defend myself, all those spells and potions I learned, all the maps I’ve collected and stories I’ve memorized—what was it all for? I’ve always known I was preparing for the day I’d finally walk away from Storia.
There’s nothing really holding me here now.
My friends are here, but Daemon and Alix are going on their honeymoon and Odessa and Kastian will be leaving in a day or two to return to their ship.
Jett will probably leave soon on another one of his spy missions, so it will be just Fox and me trapped here together, with nothing to say to each other.
The horror of that is almost too much to bear.
With a sudden burst of energy, I jump to my feet and lunge for my ingredient shelf, sending a bottle of dried moonflower crashing to the floor.
The glass shatters, petals scattering like pale stars across the stone, but I don’t care.
My fingers close around a squat jar of powdered dragon scales and a vial of morning dew.
A flick of my wrist toward the hearth produces a whoosh of blue flames, and another flick fills the cauldron with water.
My heart pangs with more regret as I watch the water bubble.
Fox hates magic. I should have known this would never work out, but I stupidly let myself get involved with him, anyway. On top of all the hurt, rejection and disappointment, I’m angry with myself for being such an idiot.
I angrily toss ingredients into the cauldron, barely paying attention to what I’m doing. In less than five minutes, I dip a ladle into my potion and bring it to my mouth, gulping the foul-smelling liquid down while it’s still steaming.
I cough, gagging as the potion burns a path from tongue to stomach.
In addition to burning, it tastes disgusting, but at least it works.
Instantly, I feel entirely sober. The wine fog lifts from my mind, replaced by a clarity so sharp it cuts.
My fingers tremble as I lower the ladle back onto the workbench.
Eugene sits on the workbench watching me and makes a hesitant squeaking sound, like he’s asking if I’m alright now.
I swallow thickly as I reach out and scratch beneath his chin. “I know, I know. I ignored you when I came in. Some friend I am, but my head’s clear now, and we have work to do.”
Eugene cocks his head in question, and I scoop him up placing him on my shoulder before I scramble up the ladder to my loft, fling the wardrobe doors wide, and start yanking out clothes—sturdy boots, warm cloaks, anything that might serve me on the road—tossing them in a chaotic pile on my quilt.
“My birthday is only a couple of weeks away,” I explain to Eugene. “For as long as I can remember I’ve wanted to see the lights and now I’m finally going to do it.”
I pause, feeling into the back of the wardrobe and unearthing an old satchel I use to gather large potion ingredients. I dust some dirt from the outside canvas, and bring it over to the pile of clothing on my bed.
“It will take a long time to get to Thermia,” I muse to Eugene. “So if I leave tonight I’ll be sure to arrive by the time the lights appear on my birthday…now, what to bring with me? I’ll need my potions belt, some money, a sword, but what about clothes?”
It takes only a few minutes for me to decide which clothes to bring.
I need to pack light, but functionally. I usually wear a mixture of Fae and human clothing, but outside of Vernallis the human clothing will probably draw unnecessary attention toward me.
I don’t pack any of my beloved t-shirts or hoodies, but I can’t resist including some of the stretchy human leggings.
Unless someone was looking closely, they will probably just look like riding trousers, and they’re so much more comfortable than any of my long dresses.
When I’m finished packing, I get dressed—again, in a pair of the leggings, paired with tall boots, a long tunic top, a corset, and my potions belt. I braid my hair, as it’s gotten long enough now that I have to keep it away from my face, then finally I’m ready to leave.
Eugene’s claws scrabble against the wooden floor as I heft my traveling satchel onto my shoulder.
His ears flatten against his head, and he lets out a high-pitched mewl that sounds almost like a question.
I crouch down, extending my fingers toward his quivering whiskers.
“Well, don’t look at me like that. You’re coming with me, aren’t you? ”
He leaps onto my hand, then runs up my arm to perch on my shoulder. In spite of the ache still lingering in my chest, I smile. At least I won’t be entirely alone.