Walking back, I'm trying to calm down. Dimitri is quiet as ever, but this time I'm grateful. My thoughts are so close to the surface, I imagine I can feel them crawling underneath my skin. They're already so loud in my skull that if he even spoke a word I'd implode.
April's glazed eyes staring into mine, imploring, wanting another hit that I can provide. Thoughts of her blood hot and wet on my tongue, choking me. Thoughts of her family, distant though they would be because of the exacting standards of the feeder programme, of how they'll never know what happened to her. Of her slowly, slowly getting the life drained from her, until she's just a husk. The expectations I'm building up again, only to disappoint people. The responsibilities I'm taking on, the way I'm starting to care too much. It feels like I'm losing myself to a hurricane of anxious thoughts.
I'm quickly reaching emotional capacity. It's all so overwhelming, sapping the last of my mental energy. I need an escape, an outlet. I need to not be me for a few precious minutes, to just slow down and dissociate in peace. And it would be great to get away from the ever present shadow at my side, dragging along the burden of my confusing feelings, unbeknownst to him.
My mind switches tack, just because I'm in that headspace where my thoughts are erratic butterflies inside my skull. Abstractly I can recognise that I'm just amplifying my problems, and that if I could just cool down for a couple of hours things wouldn't be so bad.
But he's on my mind as we pass the wall where he caught me that first day, his arms so strong and warm around me, with that scent of leather and aftershave that I somehow already associate with home. Sometimes I think I catch a glimpse of affection from him, but I know deep down that I'm imagining it. And it's exhausting to have these thoughts about him constantly, to always be gnawing away at the conundrum I can't solve. It's so frustrating, I'm minutes away from throwing caution to the wind just to know for sure, one way or the other.
My heart seems to ache tangibly, and I have to use the last of my willpower to hold back tears. I'm sick of feeling like this. I'm sick of not knowing. But kissing him like this, out of recklessness and frustration, would not be a good idea.
It takes me a minute to realise that we aren't moving, because I'm so wrapped up in my thoughts. I must have been the one to stop, because he's looking at me with concern. Which is a problem because it almost looks like he cares about me.
"Sorry. Lost in my thoughts I guess."
"I see that. Is everything okay?"
"Oh, yeah," I hedge, "I'm just uh. Thinking."
He raises an eyebrow. "Right. That sounds dangerous."
Despite myself, my mouth twitches up into a smile. "You never know. Can I meet you back at the house?"
My request seems to have taken him by surprise, which isn't exactly promising.
"I don't know," he says carefully. "You're clearly upset. I don't think I should leave you alone."
My heart beats a little faster, like his sentence actually means what I want it to. And despite wanting to escape, wanting to forget, wanting some time on my own to try to untangle the knots of this relationship; the thought that he might care if I'm upset makes me giddy.
"Well you can come with," I find myself saying. "I'm just not sure you're going to approve."
His eyes narrow.
I can feel his concern more than I can see it, but my own thoughts overwhelm most of the desire to see how far I can shift that stone faced guardian mask. I'm far more vulnerable than he is, and for the hundredth time I wonder why I trust him so much, why I'm taking him here, why I want to be on my own, but I want to be with him too. It's terrifying, like a collision of worlds. I know I get like this sometimes, and in a way that's comforting. My thoughts scream and ricochet around inside my head, stamping down inside my stomach filled with April's blood, squeezing until I don't want to be in my own skin. I want to sort it out and prepare my face again for the rest of the world. And now I'm letting part of that world in, by letting him see me. Like this. All crazy. I feel like I owe him an explanation. Even though I know that I won't explain it right.
"I'm sorry," I say. My voice sounds strange, like it's coming from far away. "This happens sometimes."
He definitely looks concerned as he follows me down the trail a little ways, but he doesn't speak, for which I'm grateful. I try unsuccessfully to forget he's there as I reach the fallen tree and rummage through the pockets in my bag, mostly encountering random bits of paper before my fingers close around the box.
Despite myself, I notice that he raises an eyebrow as I pull the cigarette out.
"That's a bad habit."
One of many. I can't hold back my smile, but the second I reveal my teeth I remember that there's probably still blood on them.
"I know."
But that look of his doesn't stop me from raising the cigarette to my lips.
"What, no light?"
I roll my eyes and touch my index finger to the end. Seconds later it glows orange.
That first drag is ecstasy. My eyelids drift closed as I let it wash through me. It's a lifeline, a caress. It smothers the metallic red taste on my tongue, and tethers me back in place by allowing me to forget everything for a moment. I am fire and air and fumes, and I float away on the wind.
When I open my eyes again, he's there, looking gorgeous and disapproving at the same time. I still want to kiss him, but there's blood in my mouth. So I take another pull and watch the tiny flames nibbling on the end of the cigarette.
My eye is drawn back to him when he extends his hand as a silent request. I roll my eyes, feeling little more like myself.
"You can't just waltz in here and take away all my vices, Comrade."
He smiles. "Maybe, Printsessa. But then again, you've never seen me dance."
"What, you think it doesn't count if it's in Russian?" I have to lay the sarcasm on thick to hide the gallop of my heartbeat. But I do wistfully hand him the cigarette.
And almost choke when he lifts it to his own mouth.
"That's a bad habit," I say weakly.
He shoots me a grin that almost knocks me over. And I watch him place his lips where mine just were as he inhales. It feels so intimate, like I'm the smoke that's swirling into his lungs. Like his lips are on my own.
"It's not like it's going to kill me," he replies, holding the cigarette out for me to take.
I hesitate. "What do you mean?"
He looks off into the trees around us, gathering his thoughts. "The odds are much higher that I'll go down fighting."
Oh god. He's right of course; the average guardian life expectancy isn't very high. But still, for him to just casually say it makes my blood run cold, thoroughly distracting me from my contemplation of his lips. It's that "they come first" bullshit all over again.
Automatically, I reach out to take the proffered cigarette, taking another pull to steady myself.
"Rose."
"Huh?"
He's looking at me, face like a stormcloud and an icy voice to match.
Shit. What did I do?
"What's on your hands?"
My eyes are wide. Then I glance down at the tiny pink circles on my palm.
For a second I think he's going to slap me. Why did he have to notice? Nobody else does.
"It's not what you think," I tell him.
His eyebrow twitches and he gently takes my hands in his, removing the cigarette and grinding it into the dirt to extinguish it.
My breath hitches in my throat at the sensation of his large hands cradling mine.
"So these aren't burns?"
"No," I reply. "I mean. Yes, they are. But it's not to like punish myself or something."
"So you think that makes it okay?"
I want to step forward and lean into him, and cry into his coat. Why does he have to push me like this? Can't he see I'm already trying? How can he think he knows everything about me?
"I'm dealing with stuff. Okay?" I try to keep my tone even, but if I don't get angry I'm going to break down. My voice shakes a little, but it holds firm.
He rubs one calloused thumb over the tiny red circles on my left palm, making them throb dully.
"This isn't 'dealing with stuff'," he says. "This is fighting yourself."
I roll my eyes, to quell my rising panic. He sees me, despite everything I do to hide it from everyone.
"Sure, Sensei," I scoff. "Has it occurred to you that you don't know everything about me?"
"I know enough."
I want to yell. Where does he get off, walking into my life for all of a week, expecting so much of me? How dare he make me want to be better? He's got some nerve telling me things I don't want to hear. I want to rip my hands away from the warmth of his, but I don't.
Because despite how much he's pissing me off, some dumb part of me still wants to savour the moment for just a little bit longer.
He gives me a look telling me that he knows that I know he's right. It goes right through me. And somehow I realise in that instant that despite how little time we've known each other, there is a genuine understanding there. On both our parts.
"Was it Ivan?"
I've caught him off guard. "What?"
"You can tell because you've experienced the same thing for a different reason," I explain. "That I'm fighting myself, I mean."
"I..." he looks into my eyes, then drops his gaze to his fingers which are now playing across my own. I don't think he's even aware of what he's doing. "Yes."
Slowly, I stroke my thumb over his fingers. They're full of callouses, but the current contrast to the uncharacteristic display of vulnerability melts my heart. I wish I could comfort him, but I don't think he'd let me. So I settle for keeping him talking.
"Is that why you came here?"
He looks into my eyes, searching for something. "Maybe. A change of pace, I guess." Then he smiles. "Plus the available post for a bratty princess sounded a lot less stressful and my superiors thought it would be good for me."
His smile makes me smile. "Little did they know it would place even more stress on your poor old heart."
A strange expression crosses his face. "I suppose you could say that."
He suddenly seems to realise that his fingers are playing delicately across my own. After one final slight amount of pressure on my hands, he withdraws his own, so that they're by his sides once more.
I feel a pang of emotion, but make sure to keep my expression in check. For whatever reason, he's been vulnerable with me today. And I don't want to push that privilege too far.
"Thank you," I smile, "for keeping me company."
He nods. "Thank you for the same."
It's an unspoken signal to turn and head back to the house. But I have plenty of time to ruminate as our feet fall silently on the sandy path; of the way his warm, rough hands felt in mine, and of that faraway look in his gorgeous brown eyes.
Somehow, inexplicably, he's become important to me. My respect for him grows daily, and it's beyond a schoolgirl crush. He's a good person. And I'm glad he's trusting me with the opportunity to get to know him more.
So I make a resolution as I return to my room with a slight smile tossed over my shoulder.
I won't do anything to jeopardize this friendship.
Author's Note
Thank you so much for reading! If you liked it, or if you didn't, please share your thoughts by leaving a review. It's always fantastic to hear from you. Also, if you'd like to follow and favourite, please feel free! I post a lot less often nowadays, and it's a good way to keep in the loop.
I hope you've all had a good festive season. Really struggled with this chapter for some reason, do hopefully it reads okay. Thank you so much for all the support, you guys really do make me smile. Also sorry for any mistakes, this fic is unBeta'd.
The VA universe and the characters therein are the intellectual property of Richelle Mead.