She has always hated the familiarity Clayton, Anderson, and I have, despite her being ten years my junior. Hell, Clayton’s a bloody old man. Does she think he didn’t have a life before she popped into it?
He probably has jeans older than her.
Hadjeans older than her. I guess with no home, none of us have anything now.
Matherson sighs. “Damn it. Don’t cry. You punched me, if anything, I should be crying.”
I swipe at my cheeks, brushing the moisture away. She awkwardly pats my shoulder with one hand, whilst the other holds her still bloody nose.
“Look, if anyone asks, I will deny it, but…” She pauses. “Do you need a hug or something?”
I shake my head, and the look of relief on her face is palpable.
“Not that the guy can’t do with a good one, two, to the face” She accents her words with a quick jab in the air. “Lord knows he deserves it after the attitude he’s been throwing around, but why are you upset with him?”
“Attitude?”
“Yeah, the whole ‘if she dies, I die’ thing he had going on.” She rolls her eyes. “As if none of us are qualified to get an airlock open. One of us would have figured it out eventually.” She laughs nonchalant to the true terror of being the one trapped.
“He said he would die if I died?”
“Yeah–” At my wide eyes, she pauses. “Look, it’s none of my business.” She glances behind herself before turning back to me. “...but Nespoli’s a nice guy, and this Müller seems like–.”
“You’re right.” I cut her off. “It is none of your business.”
I’m not going to get lectured on my love life by someone who has only been legally allowed to drink for a couple years.
She scowls at me, waving her hand. “Forget I said anything. I’ll tell Clayton you survived.” She turns to leave before pausing. “You and Müller deserve eachother.” And she pushes off, heading back up the corridor from where she came.
“What the fuck does that mean?”
Thuds echo off the metal walkway. I see Müller round the corner, frowning as he passes Matherson, before he spots me. “Alex. Wait. Please.”
I turn and carry on, hoping that the crew meeting will at least delay this conversation.
He catches up with me just as I reach the T junction before the entryway to the kitchen area, placing one hand on my arm. I glare at him until he removes it.
“Alex. You want me to apologise.”
“That would be a good start–”
“I won't. I was protecting you. You almost died.”
This arsehole.He hasn’t changed one iota.
I poke him in the chest hard. “Listen, carefully.”
Unexpectedly, he waits, and it catches me off guard, leaving the silence to linger between us.
He watches me, waiting patiently. Earnestly.
“I’m listening, I promise,” he assures.
I narrow my eyes at him.
“Alex, please.”
To my complete surprise, tears leak from his eyes, the beads of moisture collecting in his lashes. My heart lurches at the sight. Reminding me of the one and only time I’ve seen him cry before. The night I left. Like arogue wave, the memories of that night crash over me, dragging me downinto the deep.
