Page 67 of A Drop of Anguish
“I’ll take care of it. Go back and rest.”
Jarron clasps Laithe on the shoulder and then beckons me to follow him away from the portals back down the hall. “I can walk you back to Minor Hall if you want. I, of course, wouldn’t mind more company in Elite Hall if you’re willing. But I understand if you don’t want to.”
I start walking, and Jarron skips to catch up. “Why did Laithe tell you to get rest?” Does this have to do with his mysterious illness slash anxiety?
“He’s a worrywart. I’ve been expelling a lot of energy lately. All that darkness doesn’t come from nothing.”
I elbow him. “Then, stop it.”
“I don’t have control over all of it, if I’m honest. My demon is… unhappy.”
Unhappy.A new thought crosses my mind. “Are you in pain?” I blurt out. “Like, real physical pain?”
Silence settles between us for far too long. It’s then that Jarron seems to realize we’ve passed the route to Minor Hall and are headed up the stairs toward Elite Hall. His eyes light up, and his lips curve into a small smile. Almost there.
“You didn’t answer my question,” I say.
“Yes, there is some physical pain. I have to actively fight it back sometimes, and it… carves through me. Much like my bond with Laithe, my demon cannot do true damage to me, but there is pain.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. I wait for any additional questions until we’re inside Elite Hall. “To the speakeasy?” he asks.
I grin, knowing that nickname came from me. “Will we be alone?”
“If you want us to be.”
My stomach squeezes, not altogether an unpleasant feeling, but the implications do make me nervous. “Yes,” I say, hoping he doesn’t read too far into that.
He doesn’t say a word as we walk down the spiral stairs to the speakeasy. It’s still empty, and our mugs are sitting where we left them on the high-top table. I grab mine, only to realize it’s cold already.
Jarron pulls it from my fingers.
“Hey, I could still drink it.”
“No, you can’t. You’ll get a new one and like it.” He dumps my leftover chai into the sink and begins brewing a new one.
I ignore the flutter in my belly. “So, demanding. Why couldn’t I finish it?”
“Because we left them unattended and that’s not a risk I’m willing to take.”
I purse my lips. He does make a good point. When Jarron finishes my fresh, piping-hot chai latte, I lead us to the velvet bench.
I’m not sure why I’m feeling so much more comfortable now than even just thirty minutes ago, but I’ve stopped thinking about all the things that bother me, and instead I’m focused on him.
My friend, who is in pain.
My very sexy friend, whom I’m not supposed to think about that way at all.
Jarron wordlessly sits beside me and takes in a relaxed breath, seeming more at ease than I’ve seen him since… before.
“I’ve missed you,” I tell him honestly.
His fingers still on his copper mug, his eyes remain steady on the steaming liquid. “I’ve missed you, sunshine.”
My stomach flips. Dammit, this is hard.
I turn partially to face him on the bench. “Tell me how it can get better. The anxiety.”
He huffs, like he’s surprised at the question. Maybe it’s a stupid one, but I get the feeling there’s more going on here than he’s willing to admit. When he meets my determined stare, the sadness I swore I’d seen moments ago slips away leaving only ease. “I am quite relaxed currently.”
