Tangled In Time

Bound By History

After dinner, Blake excused himself, citing exhaustion from the day's events. I watched him leave the room, a nagging worry gnawing at the back of my mind. I wasn't sure where he went, but I felt at a loose end, uncertain what to do with myself.

I wandered the halls aimlessly until I found myself in the library. The warm scent of aged paper and leather greeted me, and the flicker of firelight danced across the spines of books that stretched toward the ceiling. My fingers trailed along the shelves as I roamed the aisles, letting the silence of the room surround me.

My thoughts drifted back to Blake and the mysterious phone call from Charlotte. They must have argued, I thought. Why else would he retreat so abruptly? He had told me before that theirs wasn't a love match, but I hadn't realised how deeply that disconnect might run.

Lost in my own musings, I rounded the corner, nearly jumping out of my skin when a calm voice broke the silence.

"Boo," Blake said, his tone light but deliberate.

I gasped, turning sharply to find him stretched out on the chaise longue. My heart raced as I took in the sight of him, relaxed and seemingly at ease, a glass of amber liquid in one hand and a bottle resting on the floor by his feet.

"Have you been there this entire time?" I asked, pressing a hand to my chest.

"I have indeed," he replied, taking a slow sip. The word "indeed" was faintly slurred, though his voice remained calm and composed.

I hesitated, unsure whether to stay or go. "I didn't mean to intrude... I'll just—"

"Don't go," he interrupted, sitting up slightly and setting his glass on the small table beside him. His movements were steady, but there was a looseness to them, a slight shift from his usual precision. "Why don't you join me?"

"Are you sure?" I asked softly.

"Positive," he said, gesturing toward the chair. "Unless you've got better plans."

I smiled faintly at his dry tone and sat down in the chair opposite him. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting warm light across his face and softening the edges of his usually guarded features.

"Care for a drink?" he asked, lifting the bottle with a faint smirk.

I shook my head. "No, thanks. I'm alright."

He raised an eyebrow but didn't push, pouring himself another glass before leaning back into the chaise. For a moment, we sat in silence, the quiet broken only by the occasional crackle of the flames.

"You alright?" I asked finally, breaking the stillness.

Blake turned his head toward me, his expression unreadable. "I'm fine," he said, but the way his fingers tightened around the glass told a different story.

"Doesn't seem like it," I said softly, unable to stop myself.

He let out a low, humourless laugh and shook his head. "You're persistent, I'll give you that."

I shrugged, trying to play it off. "Maybe I just care."

His gaze flicked to mine, and for a moment, I thought I saw something—surprise, perhaps, or something softer. But then he looked away, raising his glass to his lips.

"Don't waste your energy," he said quietly. "There's nothing worth caring about."

The words stung, even though I knew they weren't directed at me. I studied him for a moment, debating whether to push further or let it go. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes carried the weight of something unspoken.