And finally, it was Alastair. There was no colouring book, nor comforting silence. He brought a stiff tension into the cells, one that she reflected in whole. Neither said hello, and for at least an hour, they just sat there.
Until Alastair did something Florence did not expect. He apologized.
"I'm sorry," was all he said. There was no anger, no frustration, no hesitation. Just... honesty. He bit his bottom lip when it was done, peeling off the skin with his front teeth. Florence hadn't realized it, but she was doing it too.
"I'm sorry," she said. And just as he had meant it, so had she.
He said nothing. He only looked at her, and she at him. There was an energy between the two of them, far more potent, much stronger and more live. With Dexter, or Kayla, it was warm, temporary. This didn't just feel warm -- it felt like fire. It burned.
Both waited for the other to say something more, a tension that never waned. They spent the rest of Alastair's watch in silence, interrupted by scarcely a breath.
Florence could see he would be a harder man to know than a man who couldn't even speak.
ВЫ ЧИТАЕТЕ
The Hooded Girl
Короткий рассказ*DUE FOR COMPLETE REWRITE*BOOK 1 OF VAR REVEN SERIES* In one of the oldest Toronto neighbourhoods, lies a hidden community known as the Underworld. Elves, wizards, fairies, and all sorts of supernatural beings live in peace and secrecy, blending in...
