Crossed Keys

Chapter Thirteen - Dash

"You're an idiot."

Banks voice ran through my head as I stretched out on my back on the swaying boat.

"Do you know what I would give to have Bright look at me the way Strike looks at you?" Bank had frowned at me. "You have this man who's been in love with you. And you're going to just throw it away."

"I'm not throwing it away!" I'd replied. "This man is better for him."

"If this man was better for P'Strike, he would have been with this man instead of here with you." Bank began gathering his stuff. "You're throwing it away. You're a coward."

I squeezed my eyes tightly then, feeling the pain of that one word stabbing into the center of my chest. Wincing didn't stop the pain. No matter how much I shifted to get comfortable again, that pain still vibrated through me like the greatest hurt any man had ever felt.

You're a coward.

Coward.

I sat up as the boat swayed dangerously under my shifting weight. 

Letting go all thoughts if Strike, I focused on my final haul for the day. Once everything was set, I headed back toward the shore. I'd been coming out earlier than before.

Staying at home was quiet and lonely, and I could still kind of smell Strike on my bed, on my clothes, in the kitchen.

I knew it was in my head.

I'd changed the sheets and cleaned the house from top to bottom to get rid of all traces of him and Film, but I couldn't rid him from my thoughts.

My imagination.

Setting up at the market took some time. It wasn't that I wasn't used to the work anymore.

I was more than used to it.

The problem was, I missed Strike and my heart just wasn't into it.

Other vendors greeted me as usual. And whereas I would call out to them, I barely offered them a return wave. By the time the regulars arrived, I was just over the day.

Still, I pretended to be okay.

I smiled and carried on conversations with them like I normally did. Though my heart hurt and the weight of the world sat on my shoulders, I acted for them, so they wouldn't see just how broken I'd become.

When they asked for Strike, I answered—fighting to hide my agitation at them bringing him up.

Each time someone did, I could see him grinning at customers as he received payments, or as he sprinkled spices on what he'd been cooking. I saw the way he moved around, the feel of his body brushing mine as he passed by me to get something.

I remembered it all.

Luckily, I'd sold everything by lunch. And after cleaning up, I left early, climbed onto my bike and pedalled down to the ferry. Though I smelled like fish, I didn't care. I took the ferry another half an hour to arrived, but I paid my passage and sat in a corner by myself, with my phone open, staring at the picture I'd taken of myself and Strike.

He looked so good in that suit.

And the smile on his face threatened to swallow him whole.

"Saksai Rattanonpon." I whispered, tracing a finger across his forehead. "I want you so bad. Why am I such an idiot?"

But the picture had no reply for me. The longer I sat there, staring at his face, the more I realized Bank had been right. I was a coward, and I wasn't even sure where I got that from. My father had chased my mother from the very first day he laid eyes on her.