“I’ve been back in Birmingham two years. I—” I stopped talking, unable to share the secrets that followed such a statement. “I...”
He closed his eyes, shutting me out as if battling something deep within him. Deliberately, he took a step back, his chin coming up, his coldness settling into ice.
The silence that’d chased us in our fledgling romance returned, thick and heavy.
My back prickled. My mouth turned dry.
Too much distance existed between us, swelling with memory of how things had ended, why we were strangers now, and just how much heartbreak had been left behind.
Along with silence came shadows, creeping over Gil’s expression, shutting down any remaining signs of his shock and gratefulness at seeing me. Heartbeat by heartbeat, he hid any sign that my visit was a welcome one.
I struggled, not knowing what to say.
His gaze no longer held happiness, just aching emptiness and suspicion. “How did you find me?” He didn’t give me chance to reply. “You can’t be here, Olin. You need to leave. I don’t want you anywhere near me.”
What?
Ice water gushed down my spine. “I...what are you talking about?”
“I just told you. You need to go. Just turn around and walk out the same way you walked in.” He narrowed his weaponized eyes, ready to scold me, scare me, and ruin, not just my chance at employment, but any hope of closure from the past. “You’re not welcome here.”
His words were daggers but his voice quavered with dismay.
My heart kicked. “What do you mean?”
“Are you deaf?” He shook his head, his body seething with anger so brutal and out-of-nowhere it seemed fake. “Why the hell are you here, huh? What made you think I’d want you here?” His gaze flickered behind me, locking onto the door as if something evil would waltz right through it. “Goddammit, I don’t have time for this.”
“Time for what?”
“You!”
I stumbled backward just as he tripped to the side, a wince and gasp escaping through gritted teeth. “Fuck.”
“Gil.” My concern overrode emotional agony. I flew to him, following old patterns of caring for him, protecting him, ready to be everything he needed because that was how it’d been between us.
A partnership.
A vow that we would always, always look after the other.
“Are you okay?” I managed to touch his shoulder, just once. A single caress before he reared back as if I’d hurt him worse than anyone. He swallowed a groan, squeezed his eyes, trembled with pain that I knew didn’t have anything to do with his physical injuries but everything to do with us.
Us.
There is no more us.
Remember?
“Don’t touch me,” he snarled.
“But you’re hurt.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not. Let me help—”
“Fuck, Olin.” His head tipped downward, unable to look at me. Unable to fight the draw that still hummed between us. “I need you to leave. I can’t...I can’t do this.”
My heart fell to the floor.
He sounded exhausted.
Cross.
Confused.
“Tell me who did this to you.”
He laughed coldly. “It’s nothing I don’t deserve.”
I reached for him again, my fingertips begging to touch. “Gil...”
“Stop. Just...fuck!” He growled with rage and backed away. His thick eyelashes framed impossible pain. A blue streak of paint mixed with the red blood on his cheek.
Straightening his spine, any lingering sign of weakness or historical affection vanished, slipping into irritable stranger, placing a mask of snow upon his features. “I don’t know why you’re here, but you need to go. I don’t want you here. I asked you politely to leave.” His body tensed, bracing himself to be cruel. “There’s the goddamn door. Use it.”
Gil had always been a conundrum. A loner at school. Sweet with me. Horrible to me.
No matter how he’d treated me, I’d always tended his wounds.
Today is no different.
Squaring my shoulders, I said, “I can’t leave you in this state.”
“You don’t have a choice.” Our eyes collided and tangled.
In one stare, every gate and wall I’d built from him hurting me came tumbling down. “Gil, I...where have you been? I’ve wondered so many times—”
“Don’t.” He tore his gaze away, struggling with the familiarity between us. The sensation of homecoming. The connection that refused to break, no matter how much time had passed.
“I just want to understand.” I stepped closer.
He backed up, succeeding in shutting away his emotions and staring at me with heavy disgust and belittling dislike.
The wind that’d shot inside uninvited, swirled around my legs and up my skirt with icy fingers. I shivered, partly from the draft and partly from the frost now glittering on his face.
“Get out.” He bared his teeth. “Now.”
“But...I came for the interview.”
“Interview?” His eyebrows shot skyward. “You think I’d interview you?” His laugh was a vicious thing. Forced and brittle, cruel and callous. “You’ve wasted your time. There’s nothing for you here.”
I winced. I couldn’t help it.
He was here.
As long as he was here, there were a million reasons why I should stay.
Us.
There is no more us.
Remember!?
“I-I didn’t know it was you.” I swallowed. “The job opportunity. I didn’t know you—”
“And I didn’t know it was you. Otherwise, the offer to be interviewed would never have been given. Your email address wasn’t in your name.”
“I know. I don’t like to advertise my personal info. Wait—” I shook my head, doing my best to keep him talking. The longer he spoke, the more his anger cracked. “How did you become a body painter? I mean you were amazing at art in school, but—”
“Stop it.” He winced, licking his lip where a split oozed and swelled. “Enough, Olin. This is over.”
“Why do you get to decide it’s over?” I kept my attention on his hands, unable to meet his stare. “Why did you get to decide it was over seven years ago?” My question sliced my throat on its way out. Spiky and poisonous, something that I’d wanted to ask since he disappeared.
“Stop.” He swallowed hard, washing back excuses, answers, maybe even pleas for forgiveness. Any sign of regret at breaking my heart remained hidden as his green eyes turned lethally black. “Get out. You’ve been here too long already. I want you gone, do you hear me?”
I stepped backward, my legs obeying the bitten command.
I’d always looked up to Gil. Always been terribly dazzled. Always been hopelessly besotted.
He thought I hadn’t noticed him before that day in the corridor, but I had. I’d been blisteringly aware of him sitting behind me. Of the way he chewed his pencil when solving questions. Of the way his hands transformed mundane into magic.
I should’ve known he’d choose art.
Someone with his talent would always be recognised.
But despite his fury, despite my desire to scurry out of his vicinity to nurse the hot wash of tears, undeniable questions swirled in my mind.