The hate between us

Chapter 4: Into the Maze

The reception had slowed to a murmur of voices. Guests lingered, offering last condolences, but my mind was elsewhere. I stood with my back to the room, trying to shake off the lingering effects of that brief touch in the church. The warmth of his hand on mine still burned on my skin, and I hadn't even realized I was staring out the window when his mother's voice broke through my thoughts.

"Where's he gone?" she asked, concern creasing her brow as she looked around the room.

I blinked, glancing back at her, then toward the door where I'd last seen him disappear.

"I'm not sure," I replied softly, my voice betraying a trace of something I wasn't ready to name. "I'll go look for him."

Before she could say more, I excused myself and slipped outside, relieved to escape the stifling atmosphere of the reception. The evening air was cool, a light breeze stirring the leaves in the large garden that sprawled out behind the house. I paused for a moment on the patio, scanning the garden. It was massive, a perfect retreat with a maze-like structure in the center. He had always loved it as a kid—often running off into its winding paths whenever he needed space.

Without thinking, my feet carried me toward the maze.

---

The deeper I ventured into the maze, the more unsettled I became. Tall, dense hedges towered over me on both sides, casting long shadows as dusk began to settle over the garden. I kept walking, taking turn after turn, expecting to find him around each corner. But he wasn't there.

Instead, I found myself growing more and more disoriented. The familiar paths of the maze seemed to stretch out endlessly, each turn leading to yet another dead end. Panic began to gnaw at the edges of my mind as I quickened my pace, my breath coming faster.

It was just a garden maze. I told myself that over and over again. But with each wrong turn, memories I'd buried long ago came flooding back.

I hadn't stepped foot in a maze since I was a little girl, since that terrible day I had gotten lost in one at a friend's party. I had wandered for what felt like hours, crying and screaming, until someone had finally found me, trembling and terrified. The feeling of being trapped, of not knowing how to get out, had stayed with me ever since.

And now, here I was again.

My vision blurred as tears welled up in my eyes, and I stumbled, leaning against the cold, prickly hedge wall. I could barely breathe, my chest tightening as I fought back the panic that clawed at my throat. My legs felt weak, and I could hear the rush of blood in my ears as the maze closed in around me.

*No, no, not again.*

I pressed my palms against the hedge, trying to steady myself, but the world spun. My breathing was shallow, erratic. My mind spiraled back to that day, to the fear, to the feeling of being so utterly alone.

That's when I heard footsteps.

---

I froze, holding my breath. For a split second, I thought I had imagined it, but then I heard them again—quick, purposeful. A shadow rounded the corner, and before I could speak, he was there.

His face was unreadable, but there was no trace of that smug expression that usually irritated me to no end. Instead, his eyes were focused, sharp, as he took in the sight of me leaning against the hedge, my shoulders shaking, tears threatening to spill over.

"You're lost," he said quietly, but there was no mockery in his voice this time, just a calm certainty.

I nodded, swallowing hard, too shaken to speak. I hated that he was seeing me like this—vulnerable, weak. But before I could gather myself, he stepped closer.

"Come on," he said, his voice softer now. "I'll get you out."

Without waiting for my response, he took my hand, and this time, there was no jolt of irritation, no tension that made me want to pull away. Instead, I felt an odd sense of relief wash over me as his fingers closed around mine. His hand was steady, warm, guiding me through the twisting paths as though he had known the way out all along.

We walked in silence, the world around us narrowing to the feeling of his hand in mine, to the soft crunch of gravel beneath our feet. My breathing began to slow, the panic fading little by little. I focused on the steady rhythm of his steps, grounding myself in his presence.

Finally, we emerged from the maze, the open garden stretching out before us, and I exhaled a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

---

I stumbled slightly as we came to a stop, the overwhelming relief making my legs feel weak. He must have noticed, because before I could collapse, he gently guided me to lean against the stone wall of the garden's entrance.

For a long moment, neither of us said a word. I closed my eyes, trying to calm the wild pounding of my heart, trying to steady the trembling in my hands.

But then, I felt his eyes on me.

"Why didn't you just call for help?" he asked quietly, his voice unusually gentle. I looked up at him, surprised. His usual arrogance was gone, replaced by something softer—something I hadn't seen in him before.

I opened my mouth to respond, but my voice caught in my throat. The truth was, I hadn't called for help because I hadn't wanted anyone to see me like this. Not him. Not anyone.

He seemed to understand. His gaze softened further, and without another word, he did something I never would have expected.

He pulled me into his arms.

For a moment, I froze, unsure of how to react. His embrace was warm, solid, and I found myself leaning into him, the last of my resistance crumbling. I hated how safe I felt in his arms, how the familiar scent of him—the scent that used to infuriate me—now brought me a strange sense of comfort.

He didn't say anything as I rested my head against his chest, his hand gently smoothing over my back. And in that moment, I realized that he remembered too. He knew what had happened to me in the maze when we were kids. He knew, and he had come for me anyway.

Tears slipped silently down my cheeks, and I didn't fight them this time.

For the first time in years, I wasn't angry at him. I wasn't trying to push him away.

For the first time, I let myself be vulnerable.

And, against all odds, he was there.