Tangled In Time

A Time Unravelled

We walked out of Gwen's room and down to the library together in silence. The air between us felt heavier than usual, and I couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss.

I stood in the library with Blake, my curiosity growing as he closed the door behind us. The soft click of the latch seemed louder than it should have been. He seemed different—colder, more distant, as though he'd locked away the warmth he'd shown me the night before.

"I'm going to spend the day with Charlotte. You'll need to go to the cottage by yourself today if you want to carry on reading the journal entries," he said, not looking at me. His voice was steady, almost detached, and I searched his face, trying to meet his gaze.

"Is something wrong?" I asked, my voice softer than I intended. He didn't answer immediately, his hand slipping into his pocket to retrieve the key to the cottage.

As he held the key out to me, I hesitated, my eyes scanning his expression. His jaw was tense, his lips pressed into a thin line, and his gaze fixed on a point somewhere past my shoulder. It was so unlike him that it made my chest tighten. Why wouldn't he look at me?

"Why does something need to be wrong?" he said, his voice sharp, which only confused me further. I had the anxious feeling that I had done something wrong, his entire demeanour had changed from the person he was yesterday.

His fingers gripped the key tightly before he handed it over, as though reluctant to let it go. When our hands brushed, he flinched almost imperceptibly, but it was enough to make my stomach twist. I longed to understand what was going on in his head. "Blake..." I started, unsure of what to say. His shoulders seemed to stiffen at my voice.

The library felt colder somehow, the shadows deeper in the soft morning light. The muted sunlight filtering through the tall windows cast long shadows on the floor, making the room feel more like a cavern than a sanctuary. His distance, the way he was holding himself back, was a stark contrast to the vulnerability he'd shown me last night. I wanted to ask him why he was doing this, but the weight of unspoken words between us held me back.

"Thank you," I said instead, taking the key from him and trying to keep my voice neutral.

For a moment, I thought he might say something more, but he only nodded, his gaze finally meeting mine. There was something fleeting in his eyes—regret, or maybe hesitation—but it was gone almost as quickly as it appeared. Without another word, he turned and left the library, leaving me standing there with the key in my hand and more questions than answers.

Blake turned to open the door, but I reached out, my hand lightly resting on his arm. He paused, his shoulders stiffening under my touch.

"What's wrong?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. I couldn't bear this cold, distant side of him.

He took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on the door instead of me. "Felicity, I need to be honest with you." His tone was measured, but I could sense the turmoil beneath it. "I've realised I've been neglecting Charlotte. She's my fiancée, and our engagement..." He hesitated, his words faltering as if they were painful to say. "It's important. To both of us. I can't keep spending so much time with you and the journals. It's not fair to her."

A knot tightened in my stomach. His words landed heavily, each one cutting deeper than the last. "You're only doing this because you feel obligated," I said softly, but he shook his head.

"I made a commitment. To my family... and to hers" he said firmly, though his gaze remained fixed on the floor.

I swallowed hard, searching for the right words. "Blake, I'm not saying this to hurt you," I began cautiously, trying to steady my voice. "But don't you think your dad's journal entries are a warning?"

His brows furrowed, his head snapping up to meet my gaze. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, his tone sharper now, though confusion flickered in his eyes.

"I mean... what if history is repeating itself?" I said, my voice trembling. "What if you're making the same choices he did, and you—"

"Stop," he interrupted, his voice low but cutting. He stared at me for a long moment, his silence heavy with something I couldn't name. When he finally spoke, his tone was cold and detached, each word deliberate. "I'm not sure what this means in your time, but duty to commitments means something in mine. And you would do well to remember that."

His words hit like a slap, and I instinctively stepped back, my hand falling to my side. The person standing before me felt like a stranger, the warmth and vulnerability he'd shown me the night before completely erased.

"You should head to the cottage," he said, cutting me off. His voice was flat.

I clenched my jaw and swallowed hard, trying to keep the tears from spilling into my voice. "I'm not trying to interfere, Blake," I insisted, my voice tinged with frustration. "But I can't ignore the parallels between your situation and that of your parents. Marrying Charlotte out of obligation, without love, would only repeat the mistakes of the past." As soon as the words left my lips, I knew I had overstepped and pushed him too far.

Blake's gaze hardened, and I could practically feel his anger simmering between us. He stepped closer, his presence looming as his voice lashed out. "You think because you've read a few journal entries of my father's you know anything? You're nothing but a silly, naïve little girl. You don't belong here, and the sooner we find a way for you to leave... the better." His words struck me like a physical blow, the intensity of his rage leaving me momentarily stunned.

But even as the sharpness of his words landed, there was a flicker of something in his expression—a tightening of his jaw, a shift in his gaze that suggested, for the briefest of moments, that he might regret what he had just said. Whatever it was, it vanished almost instantly, replaced by the cold mask he wore so well.

"Understood," I replied after a few moments. The air crackled with tension, thick with the weight of his disdain. My chest ached, not just from the impact of his words but from the undeniable truth that lingered between us: I had no place here.

Blake nodded sharply, his eyes cold and distant as he stepped back toward his desk. "Good. I expect you to stay at the cottage."

I felt my upset transform into seething anger. "And where is it I would go, Blake? If you haven't noticed, I don't know anybody here," I retorted, my voice trembling with suppressed fury.

Blake didn't respond, his back to me now, his hand gripping the edge of the desk. I moved toward the door, my frustration boiling over. As I reached for the handle, my agitation got the better of me, and I fumbled, pulling it the wrong way.

Frustrated, I fought with the stubborn door until it finally swung open. My anger erupted, and I practically kicked it in my haste to leave. The door slammed shut behind me, the sound echoing down the hall and matching the turbulent storm of emotions raging inside me.