Rare Blood

Chapter Fifty-One: A Prophecy Fulfilled

Cyrus had forgotten about the disastrous condition in which he left the cabin. The dining room was destroyed. He'd smashed all of the chairs, putting a few holes in the drywall in the process. He knocked some stuff around in the office, and the bedroom floor was going to be covered in more of the dried, brown flower petals littering the stairs.

"What is this," Faye questioned, confused by the trail of decay.

"It was... I..." he faltered then stopped, unsure how to tell her what his intentions had been, where that trail had led. He wasn't ready and shook his head trying not to feel too much, knowing she would catch the vibe. He didn't want to talk about the night she left, and said, "You know what... it doesn't matter right now. Why don't you have a seat on the couch, give me a minute to clean up, and then you can have that shower."

Faye could feel Cyrus practically pleading with her to let it go, and though she didn't want to, it was the least she could do. He deserved the privacy he was silently asking for. She smiled half-heartedly and agreed, "Sure."

He leaned down and kissed the top of her head saying, "Thank you," and then he was moving at a speed that was still too fast for her to see clearly. It was like watching a Cyrus shaped tornado, only his whirlwind created order instead of destruction.  She could hear him bringing things out the back door, and a minute later he was coming back into the living room looking guilty, saying, "I have something to tell you... I've ruined the dining room."

That was unexpected and she said, "Um... Ok..." confused why he seemed like he was expecting her to be angry at the confession. It was his stuff; he could do what he wanted with it.

"I'll have to patch some holes and paint," he added, making sure she understood the gravity of the mess.

"Do you want to tell me what happened," she asked, a little concerned, but definitely curious.

"I may have taken some of my frustrations out on the furniture," he admitted with a wince and tucked his hair behind his ears, before adding, "But on the plus side, you can pick out a new table and chairs if you want, the paint too."

The frustrations he spoke of were a result of her deception and she said, "I'm sorry."

He held his hand up stopping her from saying anything else, "Don't, I'm the one that did it.   And now that I'm thinking about you picking out a table, I want you to redo the whole place, make it yours."

This was a distraction, from the mess, from talking about that night, she knew, but let it be, and said, "I might've agreed had you said ours..."

He smiled, but shook his head no, saying, "I want to exist in a space that you created. I want to feel you in everything, in the colors and finishes, and furniture. Will you do this for me?"

She laughed, "You live in classy neutral land, I like jewel tones.  You're gonna hate it."

"Impossible."

"You say that now..." she cautioned.

"But I'll mean it forever," and he moved at his super speed, taking hold of her chin, kissing her with the softest press of his lips, then he was standing there in front of her as if it never happened. Only it had, his touch always lingered, even the feathery light ones.

"Can you teach me how to do that," she asked brushing her fingertips across her lips, and he teased, "I think you've mastered it."

"Cyrus," she said shoving playfully at his hand, which he extended to help her up.

"I'm serious, how do I move like you?"

He nodded and warned, "Promise you won't get discouraged if you can't do it right away..."