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P.O.V Nicolas
"W...what?" I asked, my voice shaky with surprise. "What are you talking about? Why not?," I stammered, my confusion evident in my tone.
I understood the reason behind her words all too well, the memory of that day has been stuck with me, and it stung deeply.
Wrapping a hand around my waist she said, "Good because I'm not good at comforting people."
I chuckled, which made her smile.
"I love you."
Her words sliced through my heart with one stab of a knife, and my entire body froze.
"You can't." I replied coldly.
No blade, no gun could inflict a pain as profound as those two simple words. Knives may cut and kill, but words pierce and linger, embedding themselves in our very being like haunting specters we drag along into the future ahead, struggling in vain to extract their haunting remains from our souls.
I swallow, hard.
"Why are you torturing me. One minute you hate me then-"
"I never hated you!" I snap, "how could you even say that! You think if I did you'd be back here. I've tried for a whole year to find you. I spent hours searching and searching for you! I didn't get any sleep for you! I did all this for you! I broke my rules for you, isn't that enough?"
The words poured out, a torrent of pent-up feelings and efforts laid bare in a desperate plea for understanding.
"Yet I'm trapped here. More trapped than ever," she whispered, her voice heavy with emotion, "You can't have me here forever. I won't stay here forever. You act like you're doing a good thing having me trapped here, having ten people watch me when I'm in the garden, I feel..." her voice trail off, "suffocated."
Her words hang in the air. Silencing me.
I never thought of it that way. I only hired extra men because of what happened last time. Only two men were on shift that day and I blamed myself for it. So when I knew she was coming back I figured I had to do something about the lack of men I had, but I never thought it make her feel that way.
She looked at me with glossy eyes and I hoped she wasn't going to cry, not again, not because of me.
Her collapsing in my chest only three days was enough damage, a reminder of the hurt I never wanted to cause her.
"I'm sorry." I said my words soft.
She opened her mouth to say something but closed it again, then stared at me, hesitated then said, "It's okay."
As she turned to leave I caught her by the arm, making sure not to hurt her.
"Come eat breakfast with us tomorrow." I didn't know if I was asking her to come or telling her to come, either way I hoped she showed up.
She didn't reply, instead she pulled away her hand and went back upstairs.
~~~
We were both lying down on the bed after she finished cleaned my gun shot wound. We both didn't know what to say, after she told me about the fire, I was... shocked.
I didn't expect her to actually open up to me. She was a stubborn girl, so I only asked out of curiosity, thinking she would just ignore me. But when she started to tell me everything, I couldn't help but just listen.
I could feel her warmth beside me, her blonde hair gently brushing against my shoulder. Despite my attempts to push away these feelings, her presence next to me stirred emotions I tried to suppress. It was a delicate balance between longing and restraint, a silent battle of the heart and mind as I lay there, grappling with the feeling I dared not acknowledge.
In an instant, a realization washed over me. Bringing a girl into my room was a foreign concept, yet here she was, turning this space into her own. This girl has slept in my bed, used my shower, used my sink and used me. This room, once mine alone, now held a piece of her essence, making it feel like her presence lingered in every corner, rewriting the very fabric of my space and my heart.
Suddenly I am aware of what this girl is doing to me. I'd never bought a girl into my room, and right now this is her room. This is our room.
"Holy shit." Her voice broke me out of my thoughts.
She's sat up on the bed, watching me with frantic eyes.
"I didn't take the bullet out." She says her eyes wide, suddenly remembering.
I laughed at her.
"What's funny?"
I pull her on top of me, completely ignoring the wound on my hand.
"I pulled it out already." I admit.
On my way up the stairs, I dug in the wound and pulled out the bullet, it wasn't my first time anyway. It still hurt, but I knew I had to forget about it to make sure Angelina was okay.
"You're crazy." She says laughing.
Crazy for you. Is what I don't tell. Instead, she just laid in my arms, and eventually we fell asleep,
together.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Random question: What's your favorite color?
