Page 44 of A Breath of Life
Groaning, I dropped my head onto the pillow and narrowly avoided scrubbing a hand over my face. That would have been hell with a busted nose. “Don’t leave the apartment.”
He stopped and lingered at the door for a long moment. I sensed more than saw him staring, likely wondering at the demand. He hadquestions. So many questions, but how was I supposed to answer them? I couldn’t.
“Tallus… please.”
“Yeah. I heard you the first ten times. Relax. I’m just going to the kitchen.” The snap in his tone wasn’t hidden.
Tallus spun, and the soft padding of footsteps marked his retreat. A moment later, sounds of rummaging through cupboards and the crinkle of a box of cereal being opened came from the kitchen.
Echo huffed and readjusted her weight, turning her back and burying her nose under a paw. She was either vocalizing her opinion at having her sleep disturbed or, perhaps, empathizing with Tallus’s irritation.
“What am I supposed to tell him?” I hissed at the dog.
Of course, she offered no help with my dilemma.
Fighting my battered body and pounding head, I rolled from the bed and followed the sound of slurping to the kitchen. Tallus scrolled on his phone while savoring a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, the sugariest cereal in existence. I’d recently learned it was one of his favorites. A good boyfriend noted those things because buying them on grocery day earned points. When you were me and always at risk of putting your foot in your mouth or causing an argument, you needed to accumulate all the points possible to stay afloat.
I squinted at the clock on the microwave. Two sixteen. Christ, it was the middle of the night.
“Can I join you, or are you still mad at me?”
Tallus glanced from his phone with an expression I couldn’t read. Cold eyes behind dark-framed glasses, their color obscure in the dark. “I’m not mad, Diem. I’m worried. You look like you went ten rounds in the ring and lost. Your nose is broken, you have a goose egg the sizeof a cantaloupe on the back of your head, and you’re littered with cuts and bruises you won’t explain.”
I prodded the lump in question at the base of my skull. “It’s not that big. I’ve had worse.”
He huffed and rolled his eyes. “You’ve always had worse. That’s not the point.” Returning to his cereal, he scrolled and ate and scrolled some more.
Still unsure if I was welcome, I grabbed a bowl and spoon and sat at the table, helping myself to cereal. As I added milk, Tallus’s steady scooping and scrolling stopped. He stared at my wrist where the leather pouch dangled not so inconspicuously.
I’d forgotten all about it, which was exactly why I’d tied it there in the first place, so I wouldn’t absently leave it behind. I didn’t know how astute those men were to my location or how closely they monitored the card, but until I could analyze the feasibility of their surveillance with a clearer head, I would keep it attached to my body. They implied disastrous consequences otherwise, and I wasn’t taking chances.
“Why do you have that tied to your arm?”
“Safety,” I said noncommittally.
Tallus scoffed and dropped his spoon with a clatter. “You don’t trust me.”
“No, it’s—” Not pivoting fast enough, still tangled in finding an excuse for the card, I didn’t immediately notice Tallus’s concern shifting elsewhere.
“What the fuck?” He reached across the table and yanked my unadorned wrist toward him. Only then did I notice the cause of his expletive. Angry purple bruises shone on both my wrists. I had been secured so tightly that the indent from the rope fibers was practically tattooed into my skin.
Gaping, Tallus turned my hand one way then the other, tracing a finger over the mark. He glanced at the other wrist, where the drawstring barely covered the matching bruise.
“It’s not—”
“You were tied up.”
I clamped my teeth together and didn’t respond. It wasn’t a question.
Tallus relinquished my hand, shoved his cereal aside, and crossed his arms over his bare chest. I couldn’t tell if he was hurt or angry or frustrated. He didn’t say anything, but the weight of his silence made me want to crawl out of my skin.
I should say something, but what? Half the time, when I found words, they were the wrong words, and it always made things worse. It caused arguments, and the last thing I wanted to do was fight again.
When I didn’t fill in the blank, Tallus’s tension drained. He pouted and glanced at the card. Hurt? Frustrated? He was definitely one of those things, if not both.
I needed to speak before he created his own narrative and convinced himself I didn’t trust him. Why else would I have tied the card to my wrist? The card he’d so adamantly wanted to sell. The card that had caused our initial disagreement and sent me fleeing the other night.
I scrambled but drew a blank.Words. Find fucking words. Don’t ruin this.
