Chapter 15
?
So, I still make impulsive, bad decisions. What of it?
Morana
There’s a chance I’m in love with Kyran.
Ever since last night…when he fell asleep whispering how much he adores me into my hair, then—while asleep—occassionally said, I love you, Morana, while I struggled to reach slumber myself for hours…I’ve been stuck.
I told him that if he made me trust him, I’d fall in love with him.
And last night proved that I trust him more than I thought. Last night proved he doesn’t even need to be conscious to think he loves me. Last night…when he said that loving me meant prioritizing what I needed over what he wanted…it broke something inside my chest.
When he saw me in his clothes, I thought that was it.
The bad idea would end in bliss and regrets and…
that would be that. I began determining not to beat myself up about it when everything fell apart.
I began bargaining, suggesting that maybe this time it could be different, and he could take everything and still want more for a long while yet.
The thing is, he didn’t take. He gave. He gave so much, and now I’m considering that things could still be different…and he may still want me for a long while yet—even if I never give anything at all.
Maybe I’m being an idiot. Again. And I just won’t realize it until after.
But maybe I’m willing, now, to take that chance.
Forcing down a deep breath, I stare at Kyran’s gaming room door, glance at the Do Not Disturb sign, feel the weight of the notification on the phone in my pocket indicating that he’s streaming right now, and grip the plate I’m holding.
It’s not even a Clara sandwich. It’s just something stupid I threw together myself because when he had to stop bugging me today and get ready for his stream, the voices in my head screamed in protest.
It’s stupid.
It’s wrong.
It’s a test.
I just want to see what he’ll do if I call his bluff from weeks ago when he said he’d tell the whole world I’m his girlfriend if I barged in on him while he was working.
In front of coworkers he respects and followers he wants to make happy, will he still openly love me?
Or will he be upset that I’ve sprung something like this on him without warning?
A huge breath leaves my chest, and I hate myself.
I’m like a toddler, pressing on the rules, desperate to see if Mommy and Daddy will still love me even if I’m bad.
I’m immature. I always have been. I’ve always…always felt like three opossums in a trenchcoat, pretending to not only be an adult but also…a person.
And why do I need to be thinking about Talira right now of all things?
Why?
Gritting my teeth, I forget that I’m about to barge in on thousands while looking peeved, and…I barge in on thousands, while looking peeved.
Kyran jumps, tossing his attention toward me.
His blue eyes go massive as he looks at what I’m holding, then at my face, which is scrunched up with irritation.
“Mis…” He cuts a look at his set up. Three monitors.
Cameras. A chat stream flying by next to his running OBS Studio.
I know I’m off camera. I’ve watched enough of his streams to know exactly where to stand to stay out of frame.
I also know that if I approach but don’t bend down, my head will be cut off.
I’ll remain semi-anonymous. And no one but Kyran will see me scowling.
I take a step forward.
“Hey, sorry, guys. Give me a second.” Kyran moves one headphone muff off his ear and…mutes. Delight dances in his expression. “Mistress? You…brought me a sandwich?”
“I made it,” I inform him, to relay expectation. “I did use Clara bread, though.”
A smile melts over him, and something inside me revolts.
Stomping up, I cover his camera with my hand. “What do you think you’re doing?” I hiss.
Still smiling, he says, “Couldn’t I ask you the same thing?”
No, he may not. I grit, “You’re not following the script.”
“Script?”
Well if he doesn’t remember the script, I’m not going to tell him. I glare at him, hating how much I want to—
“If you don’t uncover my camera, Enigma’s not going to stop screaming in my ear that I’m up to indecent things. Unless…of course…you’d like to actually be up to indecent things?”
Heart rate pounding in my skull, I cut a look at the ballistic chat, full of hearts and question marks and about seven thousand clips of Kyran’s smile. My stomach hurts. I mutter, “Take your stupid sandwich.”
“Yes, mistress. Thank you, mistress.” He takes his stupid sandwich reverently and places it on his desk, beside his soundboard.
I grimace. “Well. That’s all. So.” I pull my hand away from the camera, step back, and make it less than a foot closer to the door before Kyran rises, pulling his headphones off completely and catching me in my retreat.
“H-hey,” I protest, cutting my attention toward the video playback of us, close, everything above our shoulders out of frame.
My attention catches on Enigma, in Kyran’s chat, his Tier 3 Twitch membership loud and clear as he suggests we either get a private room or switch to the office camera view.
I flush.
Enigma riles a moderator to start a poll, and the landslide of office camera winning erupts to fill my overheating head. Why is it so unearthly hot in here? Oh. Right. All the gaming equipment.
“I have to get back to work,” he says, like no, duh. I’m being a nuisance. I know that. I know that. But he…does not seem to know that as he repeats, “I really have to get back to work.”
“Yeah, obviously. I shouldn’t even be bothering you. At all.”
Yet, he’s still smiling.
He did not do what he said he would, but he’s not upset.
Maybe that means something? Obviously what he said he’d do was a joke.
I’m probably the only one who remembers it.
So the fact he’s not upset with me for interrupting him after he told me last night how much being a creator means to him must mean something.
I’m being greedy. And dumb.
Despite this, he cups my chin, lifts my face, and kisses me. It is not calm; it is not tame. It is sudden and short, but devouring. And then it’s over, and I’m off balance as he steps back, freeing me. “I love you,” he says as he reaches for his headphones. “I’m unmuting now, okay?”
“I…uh…” Air is not forthcoming. “Okay.”
Setting what just happened aside, Kyran—still smiling—settles back down at his desk, unmutes, and says, “Sorry about that.” His smile says he’s not even a little bit sorry about that.
I turn before the nonchalance of him getting right back to it has a chance to hurt me. He says, “My wife brought me lunch.”
I freeze in place, halfway out the door.
“Oh, I don’t know. I didn’t look. Let me check.
” He hums, then he laughs. “Looks like it’s a BLT.
Yum. Good thing Ender’s not here right now.
He’d have eaten the whole thing while I was…
preoccupied.” A pause. “No, I don’t think we need to talk about the wife reveal.
Everyone saw enough of her to know I’m lucky…
How long have we been married? Our whole lives.
Why’s it matter? I’m allowed to keep dirty little secrets. ”
My heart pounds.
“I know, I know. I’m off brand. I’ll stop smiling as soon as I can figure out how. Promise.”
He doesn’t. For a while.
After I leave his gaming room, I pull up his stream on my phone, sit in his sensory swing, and watch him beam with every bite. Even after his sandwich and smile gradually siphon away, the twinkle that clings to his eye doesn’t.
?
“Having a crisis, mistress?” a voice from the outside world asks, invading the peace of my crisis cocoon.
Huddled up in a ball, I say, “No. Don’t be an idiot, e-boy. I’m just processing injustices.”
“Injustices?”
“I was lied to.”
He settles into the fluffy pink saucer chair just outside the sensory swing. “Lied to?”
“You said you’d tell everyone I was your girlfriend, not your wife.”
“Oh?” Genuine curiosity. “I forgot I said that.”
“You fo—” I huff. “Why’d you say anything like that at all if you forgot?”
“Because. That’s the great thing about telling the truth. I don’t need to remember what I say.”
Eye twitching, I shove my face out of the cocoon and glare at this infernal man. “Telling the truth, Kyran?”
“Yes. The whole truth. Nothing but the truth. Very honest, me.” He grins, teeth flashing, so I guess he’s still getting off on whatever high bringing him a sandwich while he was streaming caused.
Hopeful that I might crush his dreams and that smile of his into dust, I inform him that, “We are not husband and wife.”
Undeterred, he declares, “What an odd thing to say.”
I wrestle myself free of the sensory swing, march to him, and slam my hand against the back rest of his chair.
“Oh…my…” he murmurs, suggestively.
“Can it,” I snap, fisting my free hand in his shirt, because—historically—that goes soo well for me. “You can’t just tell the universe that I’m your wife. There are rules. Government procedures.”
“Rules and government procedures are ever so romantic.”
I twist the fabric of his pretty ice blue dress shirt. “It’s not about romance. You lied. To the world.”
“Did I?”
“Yes!”
“Or do I just consider you to wholeheartedly be my wife?”
“Again, that’s not something you get to decide all by yourself.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Kyran, so help me—”
“You’re my wife, Morana. I’ve already made that vow to you in my heart.
Whether or not I become your husband, whether or not we let the government know, that’s another thing entirely.
But, to me, you are the only woman I will ever consider for marriage.
My life is already yours. So…” He grips my hand.
“Are you going to tell me your thought process as to why you specifically interrupted my stream, or am I going to assume you wanted to be my girlfriend but were too shy to ask?”
I sneer. “Do I really come off as shy to you, Kyran?”
“You know something? I think the fact that you’re shy is as deeply hidden a secret as the fact you like pink.”
A flurry of emotions riots in my stomach. “I interrupted your stream because I wanted to see what would happen. I wanted to see if you’d get mad at me.”
“Mad? Me?” His brows rise. “At you?”
“Do you want me to be honest?” I ask, voice wavering.
“Of course I do, Morana.”
“I’m trying to get you to give up on me. I’m trying to push you off the edge and make you realize I’m not worth it because I’m annoying or inconsiderate or needy.”
“And your grand scheme for that was…to make me a sandwich for lunch?”
I close my eyes. “I am. Also. An idiot.” I release him and step away, but he catches my hand and won’t let go. I continue my muttering, “It’s probably why my name is Morana. Do you even know what my name means?”
“Yes.”
I scoff. “You’ve got Maelin, literally meaning princess. And then? You’ve got Morana. A total moron. Death, illness, nightmares.”
“Goddess,” Kyran says. “A winter goddess. A queen over death, and inevitable rebirth. A symbol of duality. You are as much a dream as you are a nightmare. And despite the English closeness, your name has nothing to do with being a moron. It’s a powerful name, mistress.
” He tugs my hand until my fingers are at his mouth.
“As someone plagued by nightmares and embedded deep in winter imagery, I find it poetic how well your name matches me. It’s as though you were made to be mine. ”
Heat swells, cutting the chill and stealing my strength.
Kyran takes advantage of it immediately, yanking me onto his lap and circling his arms around my body.
His whole palm clamps to my thigh, and I suck in a breath as our eyes meet.
“My goddess,” he whispers, “test me if it brings you comfort. I am but a mere vessel of love for you. My purpose dwells in the fulfillment of your whim.”
“St…” I bite my tongue.
“Stop?” he asks, opening his fingers.
I grip his hand and keep it. It feels like my soul is quaking. I whisper, “Would you…really marry me?”
“Yes. Immediately.”
“You can’t mean that.”
“Should I call Crisis and ask where the guy who runs that part of the courthouse lives? Then should I call him and tell him to make it happen within the hour? At what point will you believe me? At what point will you stop denying what you already know? You trust me. You know that I’m honest. You know I’m not kidding.
I would marry you in a heartbeat if you let me.
I would do anything for you, Morana.” Lifting a lock of my hair in his free hand, he kisses the strands.
“Even wait. For as long a time as you deem adequate.”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I rest my forehead against his shoulder. “I don’t understand. I’m not interesting.”
“Lie.”
“I’ve been used.”
“If only I could get my hands on the people who have thought they were allowed to use my wife…”
“I’m just…I’m not…”
“Say it,” he murmurs, turning his face and kissing my neck. “Say it out loud, so I can prove it wrong.”
“I’m not good enough,” I whisper. “I’ve never been good enough. For anyone.”
“You’re more than good enough for me.”
“For how long?”
“Forever.”
I clutch him. “How will I know that you mean that?”
He frees a breath against my skin, runs his touch down to my knee, and says, “I guess…you’ll just have to come into forever with me, feeling how much I mean that from moment to moment, and day to day, until—eventually—you don’t question it anymore and you know…
we have reached the state of forever I’m talking about at last.” He cradles my body. “Would you like that, Morana?”
That is, perhaps, all I have ever wanted, but I can’t bring myself to speak, so I just dip my chin and hold him, terrified of what might happen if I let go.