Visions of Fate

7. THE PLOT THICKENS

I stared at Ethan's side posture about an hour later. His soft jawline clenched in anger. One I assumed was directed more at himself than anyone else in his life. His fingers were linked together, resting atop his knees which bounced in agitation as he interrogated the ground with his stare.

He hadn't spoken a word since his arrival, hadn't even accepted the hug I'd offered him. He had just slumped onto the sofa, bouncing his knees in unrhymed movements, a position he retained for the entire five minutes of his presence in the house.

He looked like the personification of a mess with his dark brown hair, previously washed and disheveled in a romantic lead character type of way, now laid haphazardly on top his head, reeking of smoke and damp soil and grass. His denim jacket stretched out across his broad shoulders, falling limply over his back. Slim fit jeans that had previously heightened his sexy appearance now looked too tight and too baggy on him all at once.

The thick barrier I had built up for myself instantly crumbled down as I took in his appearance. Maybe it was his fault for doubting my warnings, but that didn't make him anymore worthy of such an unfavourable incident.

I reached my hand out to wrap around his jacket-clad arm, but he didn't even flinch. Almost as if he hadn't felt my touch. My hand still around his muscular arm, I edged closer to him on the couch and wrapped my other arm around his shoulder. Still he didn't budge.

"Ethan," I tried again. This time my attempt was successful, and I watched as he rose his head up to meet my eyes. But with the walls already crumbled, my heart sank upon the sight of his murky blue eyes. Those midnight blue eyes were now overshadowed by tears that lined thick streams down his cheek. I found myself draping my arms tightly around him, pulling him closer. An action that replicated his only hours ago, except now mine was filled with sincerity, solace and subtlety.

Ethan never cried. The ten years of our relationship, both friendship and intimate, taught me that. The only time I had seen him cry was when he had lost his pet goldfish whom he considered his second best friend as a child, and that was only because the pain and shock were so overwhelming. Now the person bundled up in my embrace was a stark contrast. He was breaking down his walls in front of me, displaying his vulnerable side. And I, on the other hand, was willing to pick up every piece after him. Because I knew, whether right or wrong, that that was my duty as his girlfriend.

Ethan also held unto me, though he hadn't broken into a fit of sobs like I imagined. So we just sat there, holding unto each other tightly, until the weight of the pain finally dissipated. Until we learnt to absorb our grief, leaving behind a state of numbness.

Ethan pulled away first, revealing the weary look on his face. The stream of tears on his cheeks had faded into dry traces instead, which clearly defined the creases that fell across his forehead. Gently, I used my thumbs to caress his cheeks as I stared up at him, unsure of what to say. Unsure of how to act.

"I'm sorry," Ethan's voice was hoarse and flaky, like he had spent the last five hours screaming on top his lungs. I dismissed his apologies with a head shake, but he spoke up withstanding. "This is all because of me. I should have listened to you, I should have believed you. I could have–"

"Shh, it's okay baby," I silenced his self-pity, brushing my hand up and down his arm as I bundled him in my arms. "Anyone would have easily reacted the way you did, it's not your fault." But that was a blatant lie. Well, the other half part of it was. Being my other half for the last four years, Ethan had well passed the stage of skepticism. Although I knew it was his fault for not investing his faith in me like I did him, I refused to vocalize my approach. Still, I  had one question that itched the back of my mind. "What happened to him?" I couldn't veil my curiosity.