Page 70 of Firethorne
And so, we ate the rest of the meal in silence. Maya consumed by thoughts of what her future looked like, and me, desperate to get online and check the CCTV, feeling like I wanted to take my steak knife and stab it into the nearest wall. She was hurting, and that made me feral.
My father’s day of reckoning couldn’t come soon enough.
After the meal had been eaten and everything was tidied away, I checked my cameras. I saw Maya in the living room, and I watched the flash of lightning illuminate the apartment as she spun around, but there was no one there. No dark figures. Only Maya.
I sat with her on the sofa as she spoke about her fears at night, how she struggled when she was alone. We tried to watch a movie, but her heart wasn’t in it.
“You don’t have to watch this,” I told her. “I can put something else on.”
“I don’t mind what’s on the TV,” she replied with no conviction, no enthusiasm. It worried me that she seemed to have lost some of her fight.
“What are you reading at the moment?” I asked, and instantly she brightened a little.
“The Handmaid’s Tale. I’ve read it before,” she replied, gesturing to where the book was on the table in front of us.
I reached forward and picked it up, opening to the place in the story that she’d bookmarked with a scrap of paper. And then I turned the TV off and sat back, and I started to read to her.
As I read, she seemed to settle more on the sofa, her eyes drifting closed as she imagined the world I was painting with my words. A dystopian world, not a million miles away from the kind of ideals my own father held, but a million miles away from mine.
I got lost in the story, too, reading chapter upon chapter until I stopped to ask her thoughts on something, and as I turned to face her, I saw that she was fast asleep next to me. I didn’t know when she’d drifted off. Maybe it was a few seconds ago, maybe minutes, could be an hour. I had no idea. But the sight of her lying still, at peace, with her mouth slightly open, letting out short, gentle breaths made warmth bloom in my chest.
The book had soothed her.
My voice had soothed her.
And now, she was getting the rest she so desperately needed.
I stood slowly, careful not to wake her, and walked over to the corner of the room to fetch a throw to cover her and keep her warm. But as I draped it over her, I realised I wasn’t going to be leaving her tonight. Even if my absence raised suspicion back at Firethorne, I didn’t want to go. She’d fallen asleep with me here; I didn’t want her to wake alone. I wanted to be here when she opened her eyes.
So, I sat back down on the sofa next to her, then I put my arm around her and pulled her towards me, resting her head on my chest as I leaned back, letting her lie down on me as I held her close.
I closed my eyes, breathing in the scent of vanilla and Maya. In many ways, having her close, in my arms, it soothed me, too. And as I listened to the sound of her gentle breathing and felt the rise and fall of her chest as she slept, I fell into a deep sleep, too.
Chapter Thirty-One
Maya
Iwoke up to a rhythmic beat resounding in my ears. The sun was up, but I didn’t open my eyes right away. I let the brightness grace my eyelids as I listened to the sound of breathing, the feel of a chest rising and falling, and the warmth of the soft fabric against my cheek. But it was the distinctive scent of sandalwood that told me exactly where I was. The same scent that’d haunted my dreams since it’d enveloped me on the night of the devils and angels party, when the arms that held that scent had wrapped around me, and the body that exuded it had caged my own. Manly, powerful, almost... familiar. Like home.
It was Damien.
He’d stayed here last night, and I was currently lying on his chest as I roused from my sleep.
I could tell by the way he breathed, steady yet shallow, that he was asleep too. I didn’t want to wake him, but I felt like I should move to my own space before he came around. But as I lifted my head slowly off him, he stirred and glanced down at me with hazy, sleep-misted eyes as I sat up.
“Good morning,” he said, stretching his arms above his head, and then grinning back at me, he asked, “Did you sleep well?”
I didn’t want to tell him it was the best sleep I’d had in weeks. Part of me felt a little embarrassed about falling asleep on him the way I had.
So, I shrugged and told him, “It was okay.” Then added, “Won’t they notice you’re missing?” referring to his family and the fact that he’d stayed out all night to be here, with me.
“They don’t care where I am, and I don’t care enough to tell them. It’s none of their fucking business. As long as I do my job, that’s all my father expects from me. Lysander and Miriam will question it, but I’d never give them a proper answer.”
He stood up and asked me, “Coffee?” but I shook my head. Everything felt a little too relaxed, too familiar, and I wasn’t sure how to process how it made me feel.
I stayed sitting on the sofa, but my eyes tracked him as he stood up, casually walking over to the kitchen, and then I could hear him making himself a coffee and humming quietly.
He wasn’t affected by any of this like I was.
