Page 13 of Broken Bonds

“Great,” I say, keeping my voice even and calm. “Have a seat. I’ll prepare you a plate.”

He obediently moves to sit at the table and I turn back to the stove. The fact that I’m so excited that he’s agreed to eat with me is a testament to just how lonely I am. I honestly didn’t think it’d be so hard being here, but the truth is I’ve been so desperate to win him over in part because I really just want someone to interact with. I’m not usually a social person, and actually enjoy being alone, but…these past few weeks have been a whole new level of isolation that I’ve never experienced before.

I prepare two plates of food and take them over to the table. Placing on in front of him, I sit across from him, still doing my best to seem non-plussed about the whole thing. Not that it matters, though. He’s not even looking at me.

“Thanks,” he murmurs before picking up his fork to start in on the food. I frown, a little caught off guard by his demeanor, though I suppose I shouldn’t really be surprised by it. Still, the silence that stretches between us is painfully awkward, and I try to think of anything for us to talk about.

“So, um, where are you from?” I ask. It’s a lame question, but it’s the first question that pops into my mind that isn’t completely invasive of his work.

He still doesn’t look at me, and takes several seconds to actually answer.

When I start to wonder if he’s just going to blatantly ignore me, he says, “I was in New Orleans before I came here.”

That’s not really an answer to my question, because the way he words his response makes it seem as though he isn’t actually from New Orleans, but was just there for a temporary time. Still, I suppose any answer is better than no answer.

“I love New Orleans,” I tell him, keeping my tone chipper. “I’ve visited a few times. It’s such a magical city.”

He gives me one sharp nod, but doesn’t say anything in return.

Frustration begins to well up within me. It’s one thing for him to hide from me, but to act as though he can’t tolerate me when I’m right in front of him is just…rude.

However, I remind myself that he hasn’t been around many people in a long time, and maybe just needs someone to be extra patient with him. So, I try again.

“All right, well…how about family? Do you have any family in New Orleans? Or anywhere else for that matter?”

He shrugs. “Not sure.”

I frown at the strange answer. Not sure? How can he not be sure? Was he not raised by his family? Separated or estranged from them? Maybe he’s adopted?

More questions just keep popping into my head, but I shove them all away. It’s obvious he doesn’t really want to talk to me, and the idea of trying to draw out any other details about his life just seems like an exhausting enterprise.

I put my fork down next to my plate with a little more force than I mean to.

“Did I do something?” I ask, exasperated.

He finally deems to look up at me, his brow furrowed in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

I throw my hands up. “Well, clearly there’s something wrong. You’re upset with me, or don’t like me, but I don’t know what I did to make you feel that way toward me. I’m just trying to be friendly, but…but it’s like you can’t stand being around me. Did I do something wrong?”

He looks confused, which only makes me more frustrated.

“What do you mean?” he scoffs.

I gnash my teeth but force my tone to remain calm and reasonable as I answer, “It’s just…you’ve been so cold to me these last few weeks, and I just can’t understand why. I’ve made an effort to stay out of your way, while doing what I can to be friendly and personable. Yet, you still act as though I’m an inconvenience who’s not worth your time. Why? What did I do to make you dislike me so instantly?”

I can see I’m making him wildly uncomfortable, but I press forward. I feel like we have to have this conversation…at least I do, so I don’t completely lose it.

He clears his throat and shakes his head. “You didn’t do anything. Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s fine.”

His movements are as rushed as his words as he shoots to his feet. He moves toward the door, but I’m not ready to let him go. Not yet. I’m going to get him to tell me why he doesn’t seem to like me, and I don’t care how much he resists.

I push to my feet as well and move to get in his path.

“Hold on,” I tell him, but he seems intent on ignoring me as he goes to steer around me without pausing. “Dr. Pyrrhos!” I’m not about to be deterred, and I reach out to grab his arm and stop him.

As gasp escapes my lips as it feels like electricity shoots up my arm and then sizzles through my whole body. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. My body starts heating up, and I feel moisture pool between my legs. Dr. Pyrrhos stares down at me, and I think he’s feeling something similar by the dark look in his eyes. He squeezes my hand, and my breathing grows short.

I can’t explain what’s happening to me, or why I’m reacting so intensely to his touch, but in that moment, I don’t really care about thewhyof the situation. As that heat continues to rush through me, all I can think about is how badly I want his lips on mine.

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