Forest

Chapter Eighteen

A frustrated sigh escapes my mouth. After the job I got from Zayn, I headed back home. But instead of driving to my apartment, I'm still sitting in the car in front of the building. I'm frustrated, lost, and maybe even angry.

She keeps haunting my mind. Her strawberry-blond hair falling over her shoulders, her green eyes that speak volumes, but she doesn't say a word. The way her tongue sticks out when she's concentrating on her drawing. And now, now I'm frustrated because I don't know anything about her. Not her age, where she's from, and what frustrates me the most: her name. I can't call her by her name, and it feels like she doesn't want to tell me either. I hit the steering wheel a few times, causing the horn to honk.

The last few days, I haven't been angry about this, I haven't let it bother me, but now it's really starting to get on my nerves. I just want to know something about her. Or better yet, just be able to call her by her name. It would make communication from my side so much easier, even though she doesn't say a word to me.

By now, I'm standing at the door of my house, a shadow of doubt undermining my usually confident posture. My hand rests on the door handle as my thoughts swirl in my head like a storm. I need an answer. And even though I promised myself not to show any anger toward her to avoid panic attacks, today I demand answers. No more silences. No more escapes.

The creak of the door breaks the silence as I step inside. The house feels cold and empty, even though I know she's in the bedroom, sitting on the bed, wrapped in a blanket with her sketchbook in her hands. Focused on drawing, probably, hopefully not realizing that I've come back in.

I close the door gently and lean against it for a few minutes. I need to get my anger under control. Somehow, I always lose my temper more with her than I would like. And even though I just told myself it wouldn't matter if she had another panic attack or not, I doubt that now. The panic I saw in her eyes last time, and the scream that cut through me, were not nothing. When I have my anger under control a bit, I take off my boots, hang up my coat, and walk to my bedroom. The door is still open, just like I left it when I went out. I step inside, expecting to see her sitting there, safely curled up in the corner of the bed. But she's not there.

Panic shoots through my body, and I feel my eyes widen. In all the days she's been here, she's only left the room once, and that was out of panic. She had fled, out of my apartment. I sigh. She couldn't have left the apartment, because what I didn't do last time, I've done now: the door was locked, so she couldn't escape.

I check the space one more time. The blanket on the bed is pushed to one side, and there are several drawings scattered on the bed. I run my hand through my hair in frustration before searching for her.

My first thought is the living room. Despite the fact that she's never been there, it's one of the first places that comes to mind. With firm steps, I storm into the living room.

My gaze immediately falls on her. She's sitting on the long part of the sectional couch, curled up in a green blanket that was lying there, her sketchbook on her lap. Her eyes are wide with shock and fear. On the table is a cup, from which a warm steam rises.

I stand still, looking at the scene in front of me. I see her move, making a gesture to stand up.

"No, stay," my voice comes out much louder than I intend. "I thought I lost you, and I didn't know you'd go into the living room. You've never left the bedroom these past few days, and I didn't know you'd do that now." My voice softens. She nods and shifts back on the couch.

I sit down on the other corner of the couch and look at her. Her gaze is now averted from me, and she's staring out the large window. Then, she turns back to her drawing. I try to see more clearly what she's drawing. She's drawn a forest, the same forest visible from the window. In the middle of the drawing, and in the center of the forest, she's drawing a girl. The girl looks a lot like her. I realize I'm staring at the drawing, and I know she notices because she stops drawing. I take one last look at the drawing before I look away. Soon, I hear the pencil moving across the paper again, signaling that she's refocusing on her drawing.

"I really hate that you don't say anything to me, that you don't share anything about yourself. I don't know your name, and because of that, it's hard to start a conversation with you." My voice unknowingly sounds harsh and relentless. I cross my arms before walking to the wall opposite me. "You know this can't go on. You have to say something. Your name, anything." I lean against the wall with my back.

No response. The only sound is the soft scraping of the pencil on the paper. I sigh in frustration. "So far, you haven't shown up in the news, there are no police reports telling me you're missing. I can't find anything about you online." I stare at her intently. She freezes. Her fingers tighten around the pencil, but she says nothing. Frustrated, I throw my hands in the air.

"I'm trying to get to know you and make sure you're okay, but it feels like I'm talking to a wall." For a moment, I throw my head back before walking back to the couch. This time, I sit closer to her. The drawing has stopped, and her eyes are focused on her hands, which are now fiddling with the blanket around her body instead of holding the pencil. I press my hand somewhat roughly under her chin and force her to look at me, before realizing what I'm doing. "Shit, sorry." I immediately release her chin. Her eyes are filled with fear, and she continues to look at me.

Her green eyes are locked on mine, and for a moment, it feels like I've gotten lost in a forest, a forest full of mysteries. I shake my head before staring at her again. She doesn't say anything, but her eyes speak volumes. Her green eyes stay sharp and intense in mine, and for a moment, it seems like the world has stopped. She had looked at me before, but this... this was different.

Slowly, I shift back a bit, unsure of myself. "Green," I mumble to myself. "Your eyes. They're... like a forest." I chuckle awkwardly, but it sounds bitter. "Bright, wild, and yet... incredibly mysterious. Incomprehensible."

Our eyes don't leave each other. The frustration, the anger, the confusion—all of it flows together in my chest. I wanted to confront her, break her down like I had said to myself earlier in the car, to get all the answers I needed from her, even if it caused panic. But it still felt like that direction was a wall I couldn't get through. A wall where I wouldn't get any answers. Despite everything, the silence told me more than I thought.

"Forest," my voice suddenly sounds. My eyes don't leave hers, and hers don't leave mine. "I can't talk to you, ask you questions, if I don't even know your name. And since my goal is not to make you more afraid than you already are, because clearly, you're not ready to tell me your name, I'll just give you one. A name that I hope will give me a little more clarity. Forest."

She stares at me, but her face is unreadable. Her fidgeting stops for a moment, and for a brief second, it seems like she wants to say something, but no sound comes from her lips. Instead, she just looks at me, maybe longer than she ever has. Maybe it's a sign of resistance, or maybe... maybe it's something else.

"Go ahead and keep drawing," I say, my gaze still on her, while hers never leaves mine. "If you're looking for me, I'll be in my office. I still have some work to finish. Forest." I break eye contact and leave the room, but I can feel her gaze burning into my back as I leave the living room with heavy steps.