Page 15 of Digit's Deflection
For long, long, moments we stand frozen in this bizarre scene as if we were actors on a movie set waiting for the director to call “cut”. Unexpectedly, Treven whirls around, his face a mask of fury.
“Where – what – where’ve … Jesus.” The emotion – the venom – in his voice works as an activator.
The world, which had faded to silence, grey and barely moving, as if in slow motion, suddenly rushes back in full force. And still, I cannot utter a word. Never have I experienced a situation like this, as if my voice were paralyzed even though my body no longer is.
His chest expands as he takes a deep breath, and I hold my own as I wait for him to speak again. “I don’t understand. How are you here?” As if, by managing to get a full sentence out, he’s freed the grip shock has on his tongue, the questions come flooding out. “Where the hell have you been? Why did you disappear?Wheredid you disappear to? Why the fuck did you run from me in the first place?”
The word vomit stops, and Treven’s chest heaves as if he’s run a marathon. His wild-eyed gaze travels up and down my body, and my heart breaks when I see a look of disgust enter the beautiful hazel orbs, as if he can’t stand the sight of me.
Honestly? I wouldn’t blame him if he couldn’t.
It took me time, but eventually I realized that I’d overreacted to the situation I found myself in. To be fair, it wasn’t something I could control. I was young, traumatized, and in a situation I had no idea how to handle. But Treven didn’t know that. And that was on me.
For all that we shared, the full reality of my home life was something I could never bring myself to share. Ever. Until many years later. I believed it was my shame to bear alone.
“Treven, I …” Finding my voice – rusty, sounding as it is, only for it to die away, I’m not even sure what I wanted to say. I just want that look to go away.
He turns away, and I watch helplessly as he yanks a button-up shirt on. He buttons it, his motion choppy and his fingers clumsy. When he’s done with his shirt, he dons socks and sneakers. Finally, he repacks the few items he’d unpacked onto the table back into the bag resting on its glossy surface.
“Go get your things. I’ll meet you at the front door.”
“I don’t think—” I begin.
“I didn’t tell you to think, I told you to go get your things and meet me by the front door. I’ve told you once already, princess. Don’t make me tell you again.”
The tears that I’ve managed to hold at bay until now finally break free. They scald a path down my face as I yank the door open and run for the change rooms. Hearing him call me by his nickname for me in that tone of voice is absolutely awful. I think it would have hurt a million times less if he’d simply yanked my beating heart out of my chest and stomped on it.
Locking myself in a stall I give in to the flood, trying my damnedest to be quiet as I give in to the misery burning my soul like acid rain.
I have no idea how long I’m in there, but I’m standing at the handbasin washing my flushed and blotchy face when Myra comes hurrying into the room. One look at my face has her holding her arms out to me.
I find myself crying like my life is over, for the second time in a short space of time.
“I don’t know what’s happened, but I’ve never seen Master Treven in such a state. He asked me to come check on you, said you needed a friend.” She rubs a comforting hand up and down my back, and I cling to her like a burr. “Whatever it is, it’ll be okay. I promise. I know Sir. He’ll make it okay if you give him a chance.”
“It’s not – his – fault.” I hiccup my way through the sentence. “It’s – mine. And I don’t – know – how to – fix it.”
“You’ll figure it out. I have faith in you.”
Shaking my head, I hiccup my way through more words. “I – don’t think – I can – this time.”
“You’ll find a way. Sir is a kind, compassionate man. One of the best I know. And you have a beautiful heart. Surely it can’tbe that bad, can it? I just know the two of you can figure out whatever went wrong in the room. So dry your pretty face and go talk to him. Okay?”
Not nearly as sure as Myra that this can be fixed, I nod anyway. She has no way of knowing how badly I fucked up. And I have no intention of telling her. All I can do is pray she’s right and that even a shadow of the Treven I once knew is still there, and that he’ll give me a chance to explain.
9
DIGIT
To say I’ve had my world well and truly rocked, and not in the best way either, is a gross understatement. I have to grip the table behind me as I watch Liora flee the room, tears streaming down her face.
I have no idea what emotion to deal with first. Remorse for making her cry – yeah, after all these years I can truly say it still makes me feel bad. Profound shock to actually have found her. Or, rather, to have her fall in my lap, so to speak. Or the uncertainty of what happens next. Or a million other things I can’t quite put words to.
Yes, I’ve dreamed of moments where I’ll find her, and we’ll be reunited. My fantasies, I can tell you with great insight, are a thousand percent better than the reality of the moment. Now that fantasy has become reality – in a way I could not have foreseen – I have zero idea of how to deal with it.
It’s only when I become aware that my fingers are aching that I realize I still have the tabletop in a death grip. Easing up, I let the table go and flex my fingers to get circulation going again.
Well, fuck me.
