Page 52 of Release (Symbols of Love 3)

"It's so dark, like it's new. But you said you had a pendant in the same shape when you were a girl. So, I thought maybe it was older,” he persists.

"No, it's new." My response is brief, devoid of any emotion.

An awkward silence fills the room, and I feel guilty for causing it, but I won’t talk about this.

"Okay," he says slowly. "Well, I got this for you," he says, and his arm reaches over to dangle the bronze carving of the Fawhodie I saw in the Art Center in front of my face. My heart stops for just a second before it jumps into a sprint.

"I told you I didn't want it." I say dully.

"I didn't believe you," he says quietly, and my heart sinks. This isn't how I hoped to spend our last night together. I close my eyes and count to ten. I remind myself who I am, what my life is and swallow down the bitterness that make me want to tell him everything so he’ll stop this. But I can’t. I want him to leave here knowing only the things he’s seen this week. The dancing, our all-night talks, the laughter, the food, the sex.

So, I sit up and face him as I trace the carving with my fingers.

I smile at him and say, "Thank you, it's beautiful," I say quietly, my heart aching.

"Really? Then, why do you sound like I just handed you an urn and told you your mother's inside?" he quips softly.

I put a little more effort into my smile, but move to the edge of the bed "I'm just tired. It's been a long day, and the malaria leaves me feeling tired sometimes."

I swing my legs over the side and look around the room. I see my underwear. But I can't seem to make myself move, and I just sit there staring at it.

"What’s wrong?” his voice is serious, all of the lighthearted ease gone from it. He sits down beside me.

I can’t look at him.

"I have to get back to East Legon. Bambi's mom will have a fit if I'm not there when she wakes up, and I don't want that." I stand up and cross the room to get my panties off the floor. I turn my back to him and step into them.

He sighs in frustration. I hear the pad of his bare feet on the floor as he comes to stand behind me.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

"Nothing." I shake my head, a fast, jerky motion that feels more like a tremor. "You're leaving tomorrow. Let’s end this on a happy note,” I whisper.

"So, that’s it? You’re going to leave now we’ll never see each other again?" He sounds irritated, but I can also hear the hurt there.

He puts his hands on my shoulders and gently turns me to face him. He tilts his head. His mouth is set in a firm line and his eyes wary, as he waits for me to respond.

"That's what we agreed, Harry," I blink up at him in surprise.

"You can't change the rules now," I whisper, not bothering to hide my alarm.

He stalks over to the lamp in the corner of the room and switches it on. The room floods with light, and I snatch my shirt from the floor and pull it over my head.

"Rules?" he says incredulously. I cross my arms over my chest at the anger in his voice. "Are you fucking serious? After the last three weeks, you're still talking to me about rules?"

"Yes," I whisper, my jaw clenched in anger. "Why are you making this harder than it has to be?" I ask, every word deliberate. My voice trembles, but my resolve doesn't waver.

He looks at the ground, rubbing his forehead with his hands before he looks up at me. "Why does that carving upset you?"

I can’t talk about this now, so I don’t acknowledge his question.

“Tomorrow, you'll get on your plane and go home. You won't see me again, you won't talk to me again.”

“Answer my question,” he demands.

“Why do you want to ruin what we’ve had with ugly things?" I feel like pulling my hair out.

"There's nothing ugly about you," he says softly, but his frustration is still there, too.

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