Page 48 of Beyond The Maples
I hope my question doesn't come off as accusatory. I'm actually impressed. I've always prided myself on being overly aware of people, but Tarius puts me to shame.
"People tend to not notice me... they also speak loudly." He shrugs, but it looks a little pained. I'd imagine it doesn't feel great to be completely invisible.
When I'd blended in at home, it was a choice. It never stung because I knew I had people to love who loved me back. With Tarius, it seems like he's used to being invisible.
Leo looks at him, impressed.
"Well, I'm glad you're on our crew, Tarius. It's like we have our own personal spy," I say honestly.
I smile at him, and I catch his posture straightening a little. I still wonder about him, he moves differently than the rest of us; I realize. Like perhaps he's from another world. Through chatting I learned Tarius has been alone most of his life. He reminds me of Linden a little––if Linden didn't have an obnoxious and overbearing family. I wonder, if Lind had been left to his own devices, if he would've become a shadow, too.
We finish up eating and I hear Berkley grumble about why a small man-child is being moved to patrol while a former trained officer is washing dishes for a tyrant.?
I’m too excited about my shift at the library to care about Berkley and Leo’s bickering, so I finish and say a quick goodbye before hurrying out.?
I head down through the sterile halls towards the training pit. When the white walls become an earthier brick, my breaths come out a little easier, my steps feeling lighter.?I can’t place it, but the first time I came down here during orientation, I’d felt my muscles loosen. I’ve never loved academia like my family, but there is something undeniably calming about being surrounded by books.?
Reading is one of the few forms of entertainment we’ve kept alive in New Providence. Growing up, I always loved to read, not history or medicine, just stories. Stories about monsters and heroes, about goodand evil.
It reminds me of my family.
I can practically hear Willow’s voice as I’m stacking books, telling me to be careful with the spines and place them gently. I can imagine Linden’s curious, wide eyes when I put a book about muscle functions back on the shelf. I can even let myself imagine my dad’s excitement looking through the aisles. He’d never leave this place if he could help it.?
I’ve sent and received a few letters from home since I’ve been here. It’s comforting to see their writing and hear about what's going on at home, but it all feels… superficial. We knew before I left that officials go through all the mail, so we’re careful with our words.
It makes sense that they go through everything. It's an easy way to stop a rebellion, but it still feels like an intrusion. I’m not about to spill intimate thoughts with my siblings when I know some stranger’s reading them. So we’ve kept things simple.?
A pit forms in the bottom of my stomach if I stop to dwell on how much I miss them.?
I’ve only heard from Deacon once. It was short and... almost awkward, even though it was just a letter. It felt like a letter you'd get from an acquaintance. He'd opened with "The weather's been terrible." No,"Hey sorry we got intimate and then I got weird. This is how I'm feeling". Just a weather report and some weird small talk.
I’ve replayed our last visit over and over in my head since I got to The Centre. I sway between being grateful, confused, and downright annoyed at the whole thing. Grateful that after years of pining, I finally got the opportunity to express that a little. Grateful for his friendship even; often it was the only source of normalcy in my life.?
Still I feel confused because he was so hot and cold. And the more I think about it, the more I've realized that it wasn’t justthatnight he was like that. I keep reliving other interactions that don’t really make sense, now that I have the space to think.?
Like the way he'd scold me for being intimate with someone, but then do the same thing. I always liked when he'd act possessive or overbearing with me. At the time, it had felt like it was a proclamation; I wasn’t the onlyone feeling what I was feeling, but now I’m not so sure. Is possession the same as affection? Or was I just desperate??
Ultimately, I’m always left with more questions than answers, and I decide to lock away all the feelings of uncertainty where I keep everything else that feels too heavy to keep carrying.?
The library is huge, even though it's slightly sunken into the ground. Older brick and wood that seems more worn than the training facility. I can’t put my finger on it, but there's a different feeling in the older parts of the buildings. The air is charged with something other.
The head clerk, Agatha, is sitting at her desk, silently judging the other clerks as she gives them tasks for the afternoon. I walk down the uneven cobbled steps, listening to the quiet rustle of paper and creak of book carts moving through aisles.
She gives me my tasks, filing and more filing. I give her a sincere grin and thanks. She eyes me suspiciously for a moment and then waves a hand, shooing me away.
They were very thorough in my orientation for this place. Intense even. I am not here to read or explore, I’m here to work. Few people seem to have access, besides the higher-ups and academics.?
I’ve been too nervous to venture off my direct path, but every book I return, every aisle I pass, I keep my eyes scanning the books. For what? I’m not even sure. I just want to findsomething. Anything to help make sense of these lingering feelings I have.?
I turn to head back to my cart again, when my face smacks into a hard chest and I stumble backwards.?
Sturdy, calloused fingers wrap around my arms, catching me before I topple backwards. My eyes trace the muscled arms, perusing the thick veins that seem to pulse as they move.?
I look up into deep green eyes.?
I curse, loudly and without hesitation, causing Tane Valo's mouth to uptick into the faintest smirk. Which is rude. It's rude to be this good-looking.?
He’s so close I can smell him. It’s a warm, woody aroma, musky with something underneath that's almost sweet. I can’t put my finger on it, but it smells familiar. I'm temporarily blinded by how different he looks here. How close he is. How he hasn’t let go of my arms, or stepped back. He seems to revel in my momentary paralysis, and I can’t seem to snap out of it.?
