Chapter 20 #2
Tired, I sink back to the bed, even though I’d half-heartedly told Lem I’d take the floor. I’m not going to argue; if he insists, I’ll let him be the floor-sleeper again, even if I do feel guilty over his rough accommodations.
I twist my fingers in my lap. “Perhaps we should start by looking for Henry.”
Lem shuffles his feet on the rug. When he speaks, his voice is lower than it was a moment ago. “You think we’ll be able to find him?”
“If, as you say, he’s been looking for you, then he’ll have left word with someone—”
“Ha,” Lem huffs. He steps closer to the bed and peers down in the silken moonlight. “That’s your fake-serene-voice, isn’t it?”
“What?”
He lowers himself to sit next to me again. I wasn’t lying before; he really does smell. But I find that I don’t mind too much. His presence is welcome anyhow.
“You speak more slowly,” he explains. “Like you’re trying to hide something.” He glances at me out of the corner of his narrowed eyes. “What are you hiding from me, Agatha?”
I make an effort—a valiant effort—to gather all my Poise, every last scrap, and wrap it around me like a blanket of chain mail. I need armor if I’m going to get through this conversation unscathed.
But I’m exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and the knowledge that Lem can see through my performance is too much for me.
What should be an easy brushing off, a careless act of fairy-given smoothness, is instead twisted into a moment where I am raw and exposed and completely unable to protect myself from Lem’s unusual perception.
I try to say, “Why would I be hiding anything?” but instead, I draw a breath and break out in sobs.
I cover my face with my hands, ashamed and annoyed by my weakness. Beside me, Lem grows stiff. Well, serves him right if he’s uncomfortable. He’s the one who was being nosy.
Then, to my surprise, his arm snakes around my shaking shoulders, pulling me closer to himself. His thumb traces gentle circles on my sleeve.
I shouldn’t be comforted by this—I shouldn’t enjoy being touched by this smelly prince-turned-untalented-minstrel.
But, heaven help me, I am and I do.
Gradually, I’m able to control my tears until I’m no longer sobbing, but just sniffing.
I press the heels of my palms into my eyes and wish the floor would break open so I could fall through it and run away from Lem.
How can I ever talk to him again? He already thought ill of me; he’ll never change his mind about me now, not after witnessing this breakdown.
The thought, unbidden, sickens me. Why should I care what Lem thinks? Why should I wish for his respect?
His thumb still rubs my upper arm in a calming, grounding motion. I let my hands drop from my face, but keep my eyes closed. Perhaps he’ll think I’ve fallen asleep and won’t keep asking questions I can’t answer.
His gruff voice breaks the peace. “What did I say?”
I choke on a final sob. “No one … no one’s ever cared before.”
His thumb stops moving. “What do you mean?”
Embarrassed, I shrug off his arm, scooting away. “I mean, no one has ever cared about what I’m hiding. No one has ever asked.” I think I should be angry about that. Perhaps, when I’m not so tired, I will be.
Lem grunts. “Then they were idiots.”
“Who were?”
“All the people who didn’t care. Agatha—”
I wait with bated breath, suddenly very interested in whatever his gravelly voice is about to say.
But he doesn’t finish his thought. “You need sleep,” he says, rising. “You’re exhausted. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
Will I, I wonder? I don’t quite believe it.
Lem strips off his jacket and hangs it from a hook in the wall before lowering himself to the floor. Slowly, I lie down on the bed, feeling very alone and small.
I wish—I wish—
“There’s not enough bedding,” I say in a rush. “You should—we can share. I don’t take up much room.”
A shaft of moonlight filtering through the window lands on Lem’s frozen face.
Oh, I wish I could blush. It would be a relief to turn bright pink, let him know this is awkward for me, too. Of course, he can probably guess that, even with his something-less-than-half-a-brain.
I’ve got to stop thinking things like that. It’s habit, hard to break, to imagine all the nasty things I’d never be allowed to say to anyone’s face, but I don’t have that liberty anymore.
And besides—I don’t really believe that about Lem anymore, either.
When he finally chokes out an answer, his voice is even gruffer than usual. “I’m not sure—”
I don’t know why I care so much, but I’m very interested in him doing as I’ve suggested.
But I don’t want him to know this; I can’t let him see how needy I am, how desperate I am for his presence.
So I gather my remaining scraps of serenity and clear my throat.
“Not too close, though. Or I’ll never be able to sleep because of the stench. ”
This, oddly enough, works. Lem rises from the floor, his scowl loosening. “The feeling is mutual.”
I bury my smile and scoot to the far side of the bed, rolling so my back is to Lem. There’s a creaking of the bedframe, and then his presence is there behind me, and I should feel very awkward about it, but instead, I just feel safe.
And I drift off to sleep.