Come Away

Chapter 2 - Reuniting

As if swimming to the surface of a pool, I realize that the hand reaching to grab me belongs to someone else—someone who's standing above me, shaking my shoulder in attempts to wake me up. My mind jumps to action, knowing this person is either the keeper of the cemetery grounds, or an authority in the foster care system. Neither of whom I want to get caught by today.

I leap to my feet and into a sprint. The momentum carries me forward until the sleeping bag, still tangled around my legs, sends me falling back to my face.

"There is no reason to fear." The guy calls as I squirm from the bag's hold. "I will not cause you any harm."

With my legs free, I hold the sleeping bag under one arm and comb the bangs from my eyes with the other as I scan over the intruder. He still stands by the tree, his gaze trained on me and his posture mirroring my own. Like someone poised to run incase an alarm goes off.

Which means he's probably not trying to nab me, then.

"Who the heck are you?" I say finally.

A smile flickers over his face, and he holds out a hand despite the yards I've placed between us. "I am Cináed. My deepest apologies for startling you, but I thought you were experiencing a night terror."

Ignoring the hand, I glance him over again. If the accent doesn't peg him as a foreigner, his looks sure do. A head of golden curls sit above a pair of wild, green eyes. And his full lips twitch from the effort it takes not to smile. As if he wants to appear stoic and cautious, but can't.

His exuberant happiness both startles and unnerves me. Besides, what kind of person uses the term "night terror" anyway?

My blank stare finally inspires him to drop his outstretched hand. But doesn't stop him from asking for my name.

While my mind means to tell him to bug off, my tongue responds with a will of its own. "Roisín."

His eyebrows disappear into the blond waves cascading over his forehead. "It's not every day I meet someone from my homeland. Your parents are Irish?"

Biting my chatty tongue, I grunt about not having time for this and march over to gather my gear. He moves aside as I stuff the sleeping bag and food wrappers inside the pack.

"Perhaps later this evening we could grab a drink and discuss our common ancestry?" His voice is hopeful, and my lips open unbidden for the second time to tell him what he wants to hear: Yes, I'd love nothing more than to catch up later.

But I learned my lesson the first time, and I slam my jaw shut while I let what's left of my reason catch up to my unhinged mouth. I mean, he's an attractive foreigner and all, but I know better than to get so easily distracted. I blame sleep deprivation, and also some leftover adrenaline jitters. Yeah, that's what my problem is.

I zip up the pack and swing it over my shoulder. He hands me my canteen as if he's been holding it the entire time.

"Unless, that is, you have previous engagements." His green eyes are resting on me, watching my inner struggle play out across my face.

The fact that he thinks he has a chance—in large part because I haven't trusted my mouth to respond yet—infuriates me more than anything. I snatch the canteen from him and place it into a side pocket on my backpack.

"Look, Cináed, was it? I don't have time to chat it up with you today, or ever." I say, pleased that my cold, pragmatic tone finally decided to show up. "And if you follow me or tell anyone you saw me here, you'll regret ever leaving your homeland." I draw out the last word with a thick accent and extra mockery on top.