Chapter 20 #2
“He talked me down, shared some tea with me. He was … kind.” The scent of jasmine tea wrapped itself around my memory. The way he’d looked at me that night. “I just … I thought he cared. God, I’m such an idiot. You warned me, and I didn’t listen.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down. You are not an idiot!” She lowered herself into my sight line. “He’s an asshole, okay? You didn’t do anything wrong. This is what he does: shows an interest, gets bored, and disappears. This has nothing to do with you or your worth, Fey.”
Despite my best attempts, tears pushed their way to the surface.
Why do I even care? I’d probably just screw it up anyway.
My shoulders shook as my lungs battled for a big-enough breath.
He’d lied to me. While I spun out of control, worrying about my sanity, he secretly had the answers I was looking for all along.
Admission about them “only wanting the best for me” was a cheap cop-out.
They knew more. I knew they did, and they’d kept it from me.
He kept it from me, even after the burns and the stone and—
I inhaled a deep breath. In for three, out for three. Settle yourself.
The worst part was that I shouldn’t even care. I mean, what was Cillian to me anyway? There’d been no love there, only a lucky run-in and a few cheap magic tricks. We weren’t friends. Certainly weren’t anything more.
Roxie set a hand on mine, pulling me back into the moment.
“Fey, do you hear me? This is not your fault, okay?”
“O-okay.”
Her head shot up, and before I could make out what she was after, she was already perched before Cillian who’d barely cleared the dining room entrance. I hopped to my feet and trailed after her.
“Hey, asshole,” she yelled, pushing his shoulder. “Do you just get off on hurting people or what?”
My stomach twisted as I took him in: pale cheeks, dark bags under his eyes, and lips that looked almost frostbitten. The hell …
His brow creased. “What are you talking about—”
“Don’t you dare.” Roxie pointed a finger in his face.
“Don’t you dare stand there and pretend you didn’t hurt my best friend.
You led her on like you always do and then dropped her!
Don’t you get tired of it, Cillian? Being a complete jerk who runs from any semblance of responsibility or commitment? Must be real fucking lonely.”
“Wait, Fey?”
He looked past her, his eyes crashing into mine. There was something there, hidden behind his confusion, that twisted my stomach up in knots. Pain? Sadness? Irritation? I couldn’t place it.
Roxie released an exasperated sigh. “Yes, Fey. Who else would I be talking about? Or have you already moved onto your next poor victim?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, it’s not what you think—”
“You owe her an apology. Now.”
It was then I noticed the silence, the countless eyes panning back and forth between Roxie, Cillian, and me.
My entire body flushed, the weight of their judgmental stares so heavy they might as well have been a brick hung around my neck, dragging me to the ocean depths to drown me.
Breathing became almost impossible, panic setting in.
Something I can touch—something I can touch, something I can—
I darted from the room. Blood pumping in my ears, I flew around the corner, and it was Cillian’s voice that carried after me, not Roxie’s, pleading for me to stop. But I didn’t, the weight in my chest like an oncoming heart attack that could only be cured if I ran from the threat.
So I did.
Roxie’s confrontation was understandable, but I’d never had anybody defend me like that before, let alone publicly. Best friend, she’d called me. God, I’d really botched the whole don’t let anyone close thing, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me smile.
My swollen eyes fell shut, my breathing finally evening out, but all I could think about was that glimmer in the back of Cillian’s stare. That heart-wrenching glance he gave me as if I’d stabbed a knife through his heart. He looked so worn down. What had happened to him?
A light knock at the door pulled me back to reality.
“Hello?” Roxie’s gentle voice carried through the doorframe. “Can we talk?”
I laid there, staring at the ceiling for a second longer before I rolled off the bed, flipped the lock, and crawled back into bed, pulling the blankets over my head. She came in and crawled under the covers next to me, tucking in close and lacing her fingers through mine.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just … I got so angry. You mean so much to me and I-I didn’t mean to embarrass you. Forgive me?”
“Forgiven, but …” I heaved a deep breath, avoiding eye contact. “It wasn’t you and I wasn’t embarrassed. I have an anxiety disorder. Attention like that … it messes with my head.”
I waited for her to get up and leave or patronize me as Glenda and Jack did regarding my mental health struggles. In Jack’s words: Everyone gets nervous at times, it’s not a damn illness.
She reached over, tucking a stray teal curl behind my ear. My stomach fluttered as her gentle eyes homed in on me, like she saw me. Truly saw me.
“I know,” she said gently, “but that doesn’t change who you are: my broody, fun, intelligent, and kind friend. You are perfect just the way you are, and I will gladly kick the crap out of anyone who tells you otherwise.”
That was all it took for the tears to rush back out, though this time they came hand in hand with laughter. “Thank you.”
I realized then that this pull to one another, this ease we’d shared from day one …
it could have been us. Loving her was easy, like my heart had been hardwired for it.
But to be hers? To hold her heart? Few people in this world were worthy of such love.
Being with Roxie would be beautiful and effortless. Safe.
But she deserved nothing short of perfection.
She deserved to be her partner’s entire world, to be worshiped, which I would have gladly given her had it not been for Leeran’s resurgence and our centuries-old love returned.
No, Roxie deserved everything. I brushed my thumb against her cheek, her smile warm as sunshine. Maybe in another life.
In this one, I would be all I could for her: a safe place for her, no matter when or where.
While a best friend had never been part of the plan, Roxie had wiggled her way into my heart nonetheless, and in those quiet moments leading up to rest, I accepted what I hadn’t before: maybe I’d never actually wanted a future of solitude at all.
Maybe I’d simply allowed awful people to convince me it’s what I deserved.