Page 75 of Scythe & Sparrow
The tears blur my vision. I try my hardest to blink them away. It’s so difficult under his cold, remote stare. “Is this the conversation you wanted to have with me earlier?”
“No. But it’s the one we should have had.”
We stand unmoving, watching each other. If there’s any pain or regret in Fionn, I don’t see it. It’s just a clinical detachment. A decision made, ready to be executed with the precision of a blade.
Don’t you fucking cry, Rose Evans. Not this time.
I force a weak smile that disappears as fast as it comes. “Yeah. You’re probably right. I, um …” My voice cracks and I clear my throat. Even the threat of an impending breakdown doesn’t sway Fionn. He just watches, that hard and unforgiving expression still etched on his face. “I should probably skip town too. Take the mayhem back to the circus, you know? I’ll catch up with Silveria. Time to get back on the road.”
I take a step backward. Then another. “For what it’s worth, Fionn,” I say, and I think I see the tiniest of cracks in his facade before his brow smooths, “I’m very sorry. I’ll miss you. So much. But I understand.”
I don’t wait to see what his reaction might be. I don’t think there’s anything I’d want to see in it anyway.
I stride away, my head lowered, the tears falling freely as soon as my back is turned. When I get to my bedroom, I lean against the door, sliding to the floor. My chest feels like it’s splitting open. Like I’m crumbling apart. Blowing away like ash in the wind.
And I cry.
I don’t stop until long after Fionn goes to his own room. His footfalls slow as they pass my door. But he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t knock or say anything through the wood that separates us. He just continues walking and with a quiettick, he closes his door. It seals us in silence. An apartment that suddenly feels like a tomb.
“I have to get out of here,” I whisper to myself, just to hear something other than the oppressive quiet that surrounds me.
When I rise, I pull my phone from the pocket of my robe and text José.
Hi José. Sorry to text so late. I changed my mind about staying in Boston. I’d like to come home. Can I meet up with you tomorrow and get Dorothy back?
I’m both surprised and relieved when the three dots immediately start flickering with his impending reply.
Of course. We’ll be arriving at Fan Pier about 1PM. See you tomorrow.
And then, a moment later,
Love you, pequeño gorrión.
A fresh wave of tears wells in my eyes. On one hand, I’m grateful for the love. I’m craving the comfort of familiar sights and sounds. I want to be wrapped in José’s hug. I miss Baz’s laugh. I need to fly through the cage with the twins. But on the other hand, I’m already mourning something I wanted but never had. I was just starting to take steps in a new direction. I don’t want to go backward now. But there’s no other choice.
I go through the motions of my nighttime routine and fall into an exhausted sleep that feels like a haze of static gray.
When I wake the next morning, it’s just after seven. My first thoughts are of the pain of the night before. Memories of the hardedge in Fionn’s eyes. I remember how high my heart had soared when he pressed his lips to mine, only to come crashing down a few short hours later.
Hand on my throbbing forehead, I trudge to the en suite and take a shower. I stand in the scalding spray, staring blankly at the white tiles. I’m not even sure how long I’m there before I tear myself away. I’m wrapped in my towel and still dripping wet when I check my phone on the bathroom counter. There’s a text from Lark, a reminder about our plans to meet for coffee later this morning. I groan and press the edge of the phone to my forehead. I’m not really in the mood to meet up with anyone right now, but I can’t just cut and run, not from one of the girls. I thought I’d have all this time to build the foundations of these new friendships into something solid. Something permanent with roots in the ground. I think Sloane and Lark expected it too. It wouldn’t be right to just leave without telling at least one of them why I’m cutting out.
I reply with my confirmation, pack up my toiletries, and head to the dresser. I’m just pulling on my hunting blade and clothes when I hear Fionn speaking to someone on the phone in his room across the hall. I can’t make out the words, only the low tones of his voice. My spine goes rigid. I didn’t think about what it would be like to actually have to face him this morning. I don’t think I can handle scratching at a wound that’s still so raw.
I make out the clipped sound of Fionn’s goodbye. And then, a moment later, I hear the shower turn on.
Five minutes. Ten tops.
I can make it out before he even realizes I’m gone.
I’m a tornado in the room, tossing open drawers to gather my clothes by the armful and shove them into my new backpack. Myfew framed photographs on the dresser are next. My washbag. Fuck the shampoo and conditioner and my worn-out razor. I’ll get new ones. Fuck the beer in the fridge too, dammit. Dirty clothes from the laundry basket in the closet go on top. A little ass-backward, but I’m running against time. In less than five minutes, I’m creeping out of my room, shutting the door behind me just as Fionn’s shower turns off. I throw on my jacket and boots and purse, set the apartment keys on the island, and, with a final glance around the place I’ve called home for the last month, I leave.
When I step outside, I tighten the straps on my backpack and start heading south, bringing up my map to guide the way to Lark’s favorite coffee shop, Trident Café, which will take me a solid thirty minutes on foot. But I keep a good pace. I fend off the chill of the October air through my damp hair. I try to think about all the things I want to say to Lark, and all the things I don’t.
I enter the shop not long before she’s set to arrive. I order a coffee and claim a round table where Lark will be able to spot me as soon as she walks in. I’m taking the first sip of the blessed black liquid when my phone buzzes with a text. Fionn’s contact photo appears on my screen.
Did you leave?
I press my eyes closed. A deep breath does nothing to calm the surge in my pulse. Normally, I’d make some quip about his credentials. I’d have a joke ready or a teasing jab. But today, my response is just a single word.
