And if just thinking about Fletcher’s touch brought me some level of comfort, perhaps the actual thing had the potential to completely heal me.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Thoughts vanquished my exhausted mind in alternating waves of despair and hope. But they all ran scared in the darkness of the early morning when sounds of someone shuffling came from downstairs. Fear ignited in my body as I quickly wiped the tears. Carefully, I inched out of bed and silently crawled to the banister to peer through the railing down into the first floor. My gaze lingered as I tucked my hair behind both of my ears with one hand and held the blanket securely around my naked body with the other.
Standing in front of the kitchen counter on the opposite side of the house stood a tall figure. As my vision sharpened, I recognized Fletcher’s wavy, dark hair, broad shoulders, and thin waist. I watched as he poured himself a shot of alcohol then adjusted thecollar of his loose, black t-shirt that covered most of his biceps.
I watched carefully as he turned, brought the shot glass to the living room table just below me, and took a seat. He slouched, staring at the glass for several moments, turning it on the table like he was deciding on whether to take it or not. Finally, he brought it to his lips and let it slide down his throat in one smooth swallow. He set it back down as his jaw feathered.
Did you want one too, Ripley?Fletcher’s voice infiltrated my mind before his skin beautifully curled in cerulean patterns and his eyes latched onto mine without lifting his chin.
I shook my head and let my fingers wrap around a pole of the railing. Alcohol inhibited my magic, and I didn’t want anything messing with my mental clarity.
I watched carefully as his eyes fell back onto his empty glass. He looked like hell, and instead of exuding darkness, it was sorrow that proliferated the house. Aside from his freshly shaven face, the rest of him still looked weathered, especially when I saw that his eyes had gotten redder. The darkness surrounding his eyes grew more haunting. His wavy hair was knotted and tumbled over his forehead.
In a low, raw tone, I asked, “Are you okay?”
There was a beat of silence before he thought,I just need a minute. I’ll be up soon.
When he didn’t move after a minute, I used the poles of the banister as leverage to get to my feet and crawl back into bed. My body felt like it was made of lead and someone had thrown me into the ocean. I fought the exhaustion though. Because the promise of Fletcher was too close to miss.
Twenty lonely minutes passed in silence. I kept my eyes on the empty room, waiting for him to appear beside me or climb the stairs, but he never did.
Are you still there?
I heard him clear his throat and take a sharp inhale from downstairs.Yeah.
What’s wrong?
I listened to him sigh and the clink of the glass on the table top, like he had picked it up and set it back down.I’m just… very tired.
I scootched myself from the center of the bed to the left side.Come sleep then.
He didn’t answer. Perhaps my magic hadn’t sent it to him, and I couldn’t tell with my hands under the covers. I sat up, swung my feet over the edge of the bed, and stepped to the railing, taking the blanket on the bed with me to cover myself up. My dull brunettehair spilled over my hands as I grasped its corners. I rested my forearms over the banister to look at Fletcher below. He was in the same position as I had last seen him in. “Come sleep.”
He lifted his gaze to me then slowly shook his head once. “Go to bed, Ripley. I’ll be taking the couch tonight.”
I parted my lips, confused. Had he changed his mind during the twenty minutes about coming up? Did he not want to sleep beside me? A ping of something heavy swelled in my chest. Why was he not taking every opportunity to cater to me after what he had done? Both the selfishness of the thought and the truth of it clamped down on my stomach with conflict.
I let my fingers drift across the banister toward the stairs. I held his gaze as I gradually made my way down the steps. Cautiously, I took a seat across from him, the blanket warm against my bare bottom.
He squared his shoulders to me and let his forearms rest on the table.
Seeing him up close was alarming. The scar across his temple looked like an angry infection was taking over, tears glittered on his lower lids, and his breathing was very shallow. Something that still lived between us tugged at my heart. I didn’t like seeinghim this way. I wanted to ease his state of mind, clean the wound, and hold him until that haunted look in his eyes dissipated, but… I couldn’t bring myself to do anything other than stare. Flashes of him hitting that red button halted that instinct. So, I kept my lips pressed together and waited for something to happen.
Fletcher shifted uncomfortably as he parted his lips then closed them, as if he wasn’t sure if he wanted to admit something.
I kept quiet. The pressure of the silence doing its work for me.
Finally, he started slowly, keeping his line of vision down at the table. “I regret everything about my life.” There was a sad lilt in his low, raspy voice that I hated, like he had been crying or screaming or both. He swallowed hard and tears filled his eyes. “I’ve made too many mistakes.” A tear spilled over his cheek, leaving a glistening wet trail. Then another. With his shoulder, he wiped one away. “I… I don’t,” he gulped, “want to be… anymore.”
A hard lump formed in my throat. With the admission, suddenly he looked even worse. My heart sank, and it outweighed the trauma of the cages. My hand instinctively fell across the table beside hisdrink, my palm facing up. This was not a gesture of trust but of kindness.
He looked at my open hand, then the glass, and pondered. He took a deep breath and let his hand lie loosely in mine. “You wanted to run that day in the hills. I should have just let you try.”
I saw it in his eyes. Chaos was exploding, but he tried to keep the façade that he was at least somewhat composed. With one more glance at me, I knew he buried the rest of his thoughts, keeping them hidden in his mind, unwilling to share any more. The things that haunted him were not meant for me, not after what he had put me through. And before I could encourage his openness, he said, “I wish… I wish you could trust me again.”
