Page 25 of As the World Falls

I lead her to the jet and help lift her inside. I fasten her into her seat and notice the way her chest is quickly rising and falling with her rapid breaths and the way her empty gaze is staring past me like she’s looking death straight in the face.

“Breathe, babe,” I murmur as her eyes snap to mine.

“I think I’m doing too much breathing. I feel like my chest is going to explode.”

“It’s just your anxiety. Breathe in through your nose, hold it, and then breathe out through your mouth.” She does what I say, and I watch her shakiness slowly vanish.

It was a strange sight, seeing her in this vulnerable state. Our past encounters were always charged with hostility and defiance, but now, she appeared before me as a person in need—a person with genuine emotions and fears. This unexpected sight stirred a deep longing within me, reminding me of times when I yearned for a companion during such moments, yet I was always alone.

I sit down in the seat beside her and fasten myself in. I glance at her and note how she’s still doing the breathing exercises, but her eyes are squeezed shut. I stretch my arm out and take her hand in mine again, to which she instantly squeezes the hell out of. I’m not sure she even realizes she’s doing it, but I let her because she has a grip on me that only tells me she’ll lose it if she has to let go.

The jet takes off, and I’m confident she’s broken one of my fingers, but I remain quiet as she works through her fear. After thirty minutes in the air, I notice her grip on me lightening, and she slowly opens her eyes, letting them roam around us.

“Oh my gosh, we’re really flying,” she exclaims.

“How are you feeling?” I ask her. She looks over at me like she’s surprised by the question.

“I feel like I could throw up,” she says honestly.

I try not to laugh because, despite her blunt personality that most men would probably find unattractive, I sometimes found it refreshing, as crude as it was sometimes.

“As ladylike as ever, little owl.”

She smiles and turns to look back out the window but quickly faces me again. Her hand still clutches mine, and I wonder if she realizes it. Does she like holding my hand? I don’t know if I’ve ever held hands with a woman before, and I don’t know how I felt about it.

“Is it all right if I just look at you? I think if I look outside, I actually will be sick.”

“If you must,” I relent. But then she just stares, and I find myself feeling utterly exposed in this small space with her penetrating blue eyes on me. “If you’re going to just stare daggers into me, then I’d rather you be sick.”

She giggles, and the sound catches me off guard. My gaze whips to her mouth like I needed to hear the sound escape it once more to believe it came from her. It sounded so light and feminine.

“I’m sorry. You’re …kind of majestic looking,” she admits.

I pinch my brows together as I meet her gaze. “Majestic? I don’t think anyone’s ever described me as majestic.”

She giggles again, and my eyes snap to her mouth once more. Her lips were covered in a sheen of gloss that made them look like the color of pink peaches, and I found myself entranced with their poutiness and the noises she could escape from them.

“You’re different looking from most men. Your hair. Your eyes.”

“Ah yes, my eyes.” They’ll be the death of me. It was all anyone ever noticed about me.

“What? You don’t like them?”

“It’s that the world likes them too much. It’s a condition I’ve had since I was a child called Anisocoria. One of my pupils is larger than the other, causing it to darken my iris. It’s gotten tiring to the point that every time I look at them, I’m reminded that they’re one of the only things that makes someone notice me.” I wasn’t sure why I told her that. I didn’t usually open up about these things to people, but she was holding my hand and leaning so close that it made me feel like a key was shoved into my chest, unlocking something within me. But I wouldn’t tell her just how my eyes came to be this way. That was a story I’d probably keep inside forever.

“You don’t think women like you for you?” she asks.

I really look at her now, keeping my expression bored when I feel anything but when I talk to her. “I know that they don’t.”

“That’s…kind of sad,” she says, even sounding it.

“Don’t get sad on my account, little owl,” I say, turning away from her. “I’m quite happy with my life the way it is.”

I see her roll her eyes in my peripheral, and it makes me feel a little better to see her being fiery again. “Trust me, I’m not feeling anything on your account except pure disdain.”

“Yeah?” I ask, facing her again, unable to help the way my mouth keeps smiling on its own.

“Yup,” she says, popping her lips dramatically.

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