Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
TALLY
After only one night here, Cyrus’s sheets don’t have her scent embedded within them just yet– but it’s still faintly there.
It’s there enough that once she steps out of the room to talk to Amara and Mabel, I don’t feel alone. Her scent, no matter how faint, makes me feel safe.
Slowly, my sobs ebb.
Tiredness weighing down on my bones. The last few months have been hectic and oppressive. The last few weeks have been a constant battle to not let my guard down. If I let my guard down, it meant I might miss something or someone will take advantage.
But that scent of open ocean– salty and wind-fresh– gives me the sense of security I’ve been missing since she left months ago.
Sinking into the mattress, I’m tempted to let exhaustion win and fall asleep. However, Cyrus is still outside. As much as I feel safe in just her faint scent, I need her close, in sight. Just as a sense of security– nothing else. Definitely for nothing else.
How long does it take to tell the story to two people?
Has she left me here on my own?
I really, really fucking hope not.
Flashes of blood rear their ugly head behind my eyelids. Words written in dark red, depicting their threats. Unsigned parchment. A villain parading around my island in disguise.
Have they managed to gain any ground?
Do others agree with them? Are they just waiting for the villain to off me?
I really need Cyrus to come back. The sense of security that found me when I entered this room, is quickly dissipating. Please don’t leave me. Please. Don’t. Leave. Me.
Tears start to well again.
I can’t be on my own.
Just as the first droplet of water spills down my cheek, the door opens. Panic hits me. Cyrus left and the arsehole poisoning my home is here to kill me.
I whip myself upright, my fight or flight response struggling to decide which direction it wants to go in. Only for Cyrus to walk in, calm and almost collected.
When she sees the– what must be– wild look in my eyes, she rushes over.
She climbs onto the bed with me, her palm coming up to rest along my jawline. Thumb delicately tracing the hollow under my cheek. “Talk to me.”
I hiccup through a sob before responding. “I need you to stay.” Oh, how the roles have reversed.
Her features crack into a blinding smile. Hell’s bells, she’s stunning when she smiles. It’s such a rarity, that each one burrows beneath my ribcage. Emblazing themselves into the bone, so that they’ll never leave me.
“I’m not going anywhere. Consider me your personal bodyguard.”
Exhaling harshly, the tension in my body flows out with it.
My heart might not be able to take her being around as nothing more than a bodyguard, but my brain is immensely grateful I have her as my someone safe.
Her thumb keeps stroking as her eyes watch me carefully, tracing each facet of emotion dancing through me. “I’ll make you tea, then you’re resting. The crew will find out what's happening.”
I nod, not trusting my words. Especially when she lets go of me and starts brewing tea.
Instead of focusing on the negative, I watch.
I watch how Cyrus’s movements are fluid, practised.
Her expression is soft, relaxed, not at all stuck in the rigid posture she usually displays.
In fact, none of her is her usual statue interpretation.
Loose and fluid suits her far better than rigid and poised.
Cyrus’s presence here is enough to calm me down. No more tears erode paths through my cheeks; sobs no longer wracking my chest.
It’s obvious that I’m still very much in love with her.
Here’s to hoping that this visit goes differently from the last one.
Starting with– no matter how tempted I am– no sex. I can’t fall into that habit again. Especially with even more than just my heart on the line this time. This time, it could very well be my life.
Cyrus comes over with a steaming mug, she sits down on the mattress again before handing over the mug.
We sit in silence as I sip on it, Cyrus just sat there watching me.
It should feel awkward or weird, but that's the last thing it feels.
Sitting in silence together is comfortable– comforting almost.
Once I’m finished she takes the mug off me. Then the woman is manhandling me, lifting me up as if I weigh nothing and switching up our positions.
Now she's resting against the headboard, while I lay almost on top of her. Her arms– that are definitely bulkier than before– wrapped tightly around my torso. I couldn’t move even if I wanted to.
Soft lips ghost along my hair at my crown, leaving phantom kisses over my scalp.
This is too tender, too soft. When our last conversation was her telling me she could never love me, her current actions are telling me the opposite.
Not only am I scared, I’m confused.
What’s her motive?
I know she cares somewhat, so is this just her showing some compassion? Or is there something deeper?
Those questions follow me into the dreamscape, as I melt into her chest and fall asleep.