Page 148 of The Order

“Why not? If I have the means to do something about it-”

“Your abilities are not something to be thrown around on a whim. Do you have any idea what would happen if someone found out what we are?” he questions, scolding me like a child.

“You don't think I could stop someone from harming me?” I question.

He moves to me, swiping his leg toward my feet. I step back from the motion, only to be met with his hand pulling my front, dragging me into him. Wrapping his arm around my front, he forces my back to his chest. Unsheathing his blade, he holds the weapon to my neck.

“I have my doubts,” he whispers, the sharp edge of the blade pointed away from my skin.

Grabbing his arm, I try to look into his mind, meeting nothing but that infuriating wall meant to keep me out. Frustrations high, I focus on his blade, bending the metal at my will, watching it fall to pieces at his feet. Forcing my head up with his hand, he looks down at me, giving me a long look of approval before finally releasing me.

“That's new,” he says, grabbing the broken pieces. “When did you start taking an interest in destroying things?” he questions, unamused with my handiwork.

“I'll answer that when you stop shutting me out,” I mutter, his eyes darting to me.

“Last time I checked, you’re keeping me out as well.”

“Wonder why,”It scoffs.

My thoughts exactly.

Fallan tosses the pieces of his blade into his bag, pausing as he stares down into its opening. He reaches down and pulls out my sketchbook, his hands careful with its worn front. The last place I’d seen this was under his bed, but I was too busy trying not to get discovered by Officials to question why he had it. Running his hand along the cover, he extends his arm toward me, holding it out in the air between us.

“I didn't know art was your thing,” I say sarcastically, meeting the surface of the sketchbook with my fingertips. He holds on to the cover, almost as if he’s not ready to let it go.

“I told myself I’d use it when the time came to get you in hot water with an Official. Given your name on the cover, it seemed like a perfect way to blame you for sharing supplies with an Unfortunate like me,” he shrugs, closing the space between us so I can take the sketchbook.

“Why didn’t you?” I question, looking up to him. “Why didn't you just turn me in? You would have saved yourself a great deal of trouble had you just made up some story and turned me in. My scorecard is almost red. They would have punished me severely.”

He frowns and then unexpectedly moves to touch my cheek, grazing his thumb along the soft above my jaw. His front is brushed against mine as my shaky hands take the sketchbook from him.

“I would have ripped out their throats before they could have even thought of harming you,” he mutters, his thumb moving to trail along my lower lip. I lean a little closer, my breath uneven with anticipation. “No one will ever hurt you again as long as I’m around.”

He backs away, my body stumbling forward at the sudden space between us. I steady myself, noticing a page poking out from the sketchbook. I open the cover to find an array of new artwork.

Countless graphite drawings of me from numerous angles consume the pages. Each one showed a moment I didn't know I was being watched. I hover my finger above my smile, feeling how well the observer captured moments when I felt peace.

“You wondered all that time ago what I was working on… what inspired me,” Fallan says, turning away to hide his face. I think of that day in the art room, his hidden canvas shielded from everyone.

“Your smile has haunted me for longer than you know. Drawing it adds to the pain of knowing none of those smiles were meant for me. But when I look at these pictures, sometimes I pretend it’s me you’re smiling at.”

I feel his pain. It's the same pain I keep bottled up.

“I drew you for the same reason,” I begin, ready to show him the few drawings I’d made of him before losing the work.

“I saw them,” he starts, turning on his heels, “I made you believe I wanted you dead when you made those,” he continues, moving back toward me. “Why the hell would you have drawn me like I’m anything short of a vile 'bottom feeder?'” he questions, throwing my wording back at me.

I shake my head at him, reflecting on the images I had captured through stolen glances of him. I think of that night at the bonfire and the moment we shared as children.

“We've met before, not in passing, not for a moment. We've met. There’s history between us,” I begin, taking a step towards him. He takes one back, unwilling to explore this topic.

“Forest-”

“You don't get to avoid this anymore,” I snap, toying with the necklace around my neck. “You gave this to me, and ever since then, I’ve never taken it off. I remember what it felt like to have your hands on me,” I push, no longer able to avoid this. “Your presence intoxicates me to the point where I feel like I’m going mad. Feeling this connection is so natural.”

He stands still, his eyes dead set on me.

“What are you so afraid of?”

---