Witches Burn at Dawn ✔

38. Yaroslava

✧ ✧ ✧

Peace never lasts.

Nights end, even when you don't want them to.

Cinder hissing in the dying fire of the hearth, I lie amidst pillows and blankets on the floor, watching the sun rise from behind the building across the street and peek through our room's window. Mir's arm rests on my side as I count my breaths. One, and two, and three. One, two. Three.

I still can't sleep.

I'm not really alive.

When the sunrays crawl toward our heads, Mir grunts behind my back, stirring awake. He fidgets, trying to find a spot where the sunlight can't disturb him, but fails, and buries his nose into my shoulder, rubbing against my skin like a lazy cat. I don't say anything. Never have I greeted the dawn with a boy's cuddling. This is the part when one of us leaves, right?

Yet Mir doesn't leave. And I guess I am the one who should abandon it all this time. Run before I grow used to the fantasy of being taken care of, escape before the memory of feeling alive hasn't withered, replaced by some harsh words.

Praying for courage, I am about to sneak from under his arm, but I miss the moment.

"I know you don't sleep," Mir says, his voice hoarse and drowsy. "But you eat breakfast, don't you?"

No. Not with someone who wakes up to me after asking to stay forever. Nobody's ever stayed forever with me. This is so comical and pathetic in my mind, I almost laugh. There's no reason to worry--because no promises were given last night--but my past is haunted, warning me to remember that maybe I still don't understand how feelings work. Maybe I don't even know what feelings are. Maybe yesterday I misread every emotion of the boy next to me, imagining what I wanted to, as I did before. I was bold and dauntless, while in reality, I am not.

I simply had nothing to lose.

Maybe Mir is merely acting politely now. Why is it so easy to believe you hate me, yet so much harder to believe you don't, Praejis?

As I still don't reply, Mir sits upright, yawning and stretching. From the corner of my eye, I watch him look around, taking in the mess of pillows and blankets and clothes around us. Fishing his pants out, he begins to dress.

So here is the part we part.

Before exiting the room, though, Mir kneels beside me once again. I squeeze my eyes shut, pretending to rest, pretending not to care. He gives a peck on my shoulder, and this time as he speaks, he doesn't sound sleepy, his voice rich and clear. "I love you too, Yaroslava."

My eyes snap open. The air in my lungs catches, chilling me to my core. Mir gets up, and the door clicks open and closed whereas the world before me tilts, knocked over and sharpened at once. Mir? I must have misheard, I must have misinterpreted the meaning behind the syllables, I must have--

He loves me.

But...too? Oh. Did I say it out loud last night? I swore to myself I'd never say it first again! Yet, I guess it doesn't matter, right? He loves me. The echo of Mir's every touch and kiss and push enter my mind at once, causing soft tingling around my limbs. I throw the blanket over my head, but it's no use. I'm smiling. For the first time since I woke up in the graveyard, I think my smile is real.

Happy.

What a dangerous, fragile state.

Our makeshift bed is empty without his voice now, and regardless of the thick rug, the floor is a poor choice of a place to sleep, especially if you don't sleep. Massaging my stiff neck, I sit up--and wince at the soreness down my belly. I swallow, reaching down, and my fingers find the warm wetness between my legs. As I stand up, I stare at a stain of blood soaked into the fabric of the rug. The reminder of what my happiness cost. Will Polina even want this body to be hers now?