The Collector | 18+

【46】Fight-or-Flight

Waking up more tired than when I'd gone to sleep had always felt like a terrible waste of time. Why spend seven hours stuck doing nothing if there are no benefits to it?

Given how I'd woken with a startle at every sound I'd heard, wondering if it was him, I should have simply abandoned and gone back downstairs to spend some last precious hours in the reserve.

The fact that I'd poorly slept only added to my sour mood when I made my way out of my bedroom on Tuesday, ready for my last breakfast at the Westergaard Estate. I'd packed nearly everything up already, with only my toiletries to take care of and add to my suitcase.

When I arrived in the kitchen, I quickly noticed that the counter had been dressed for only one person. The relief I felt upon realizing that made me blow out a reassured sigh. Ulrik must have been done already, and back to handling his "important email." Part of me was disappointed by his cowardice, but I was also thankful for it. It made things easier.

"Hey Yuko," I greeted her as I sat on the stool.

"Good morning, Miss Mila! How you sleep?"

"Not that well."

"Yes, I can see." She hadn't meant it in a mean way at all, so her bluntness didn't affect me. I'd noticed that my weariness showed, so no need to pretend otherwise. She didn't comment on it more, though, and brought me a plate with two stacked waffles, brown cheese, and sliced apples.

I ate with little appetite, chewing and swallowing on autopilot, only so I wouldn't offend or worry Yuko. I had yet to break it to her that I'd be leaving the estate within the next hour, so that I could catch my plane back to London later in the morning. She'd seemed so happy at the prospect of me staying that I knew she'd be crushed by this ultimate change of plans.

"Did Mr. Ulrik give you trouble?" she asked, completely out of the blue. When I looked up from my plate, I noticed she seemed genuinely concerned.

Disconcerted, I sent a glance behind to where his office was. Had he told her anything about what had happened? Did she know anything? When I focused on her again, she was patiently waiting for my response, but I had no idea what to tell her. No matter what had happened between him and me, he was still her employer, and there was no point slandering his image or painting an unflattering portrait of his actions toward me. She would most likely take his side anyhow, as she'd known him for infinitely longer than me, and her attachment to him surpassed her appreciation of me.

"No, he— Nothing happened," I lied.

Her lips pursed in an unconvinced pout. "Did you give him trouble, then?"

"Maybe we gave each other a bit of trouble," I ended up admitting.

She sighed and shook her head. "He a stubborn man," she fussed. "I told him to talk to you before he leave, but he wouldn't listen."

Well, being just as stubborn as he was, I couldn't quite blame him for it. If I could head to town without crossing his path once, I'd probably do it.

The meaning of her words finally breached through my uneasiness, and I frowned, confused. "Wait, you said he left?"

"He not even tell you?! Mr. Ulrik leave after dinner, to go to New York."

"He isn't here?"

She shook her head, visibly irritated but not at me, and then went to the pantry to fetch something.

It was as though a ball had materialized in my stomach, heavy and dense. Was this relief or disappointment? Why did I feel so conflicted about knowing I wouldn't see him again until I left? Was it not exactly what I'd wanted moments ago?