Paper Crowns

CHAPTER 32: NEW YORK

DAY 2: THE TRUTH

Ash knew it was getting harder to pretend that Devon Davies didn't exert his presence in the core of her heart like pouring passion.

A possible rephrase would not be possible: the disarray in her mind could not help but reiterate the rules so she wouldn't forget them. Her thoughts would gravitate back his image, the maze in his brilliant eyes, the time he told her he had fallen for the eight year she had lost to amnesia. It was imminent. Whether she was ready for this dose of confused emotions, they were there. She could trying running, but never escape them. But the voice at the back of her head, it yelled out denial.

Even then, it made nothing better.

She'd tried pretending to be asleep when he came into her room. Tried to ignore him whenever she sat in a crowd. But it was impossible to wash off a tattoo like him. But he'd caught her when there was no way out. Caught her silent and locked into his unreadable eyes. So close to surrendering to their assertion. And if he tried hard enough, he'd be able to hear her heart beating furiously.

"You're up."

Her impenetrable shield broke down.

"Hey," Ash tried to smile.

He didn't sit down. She watched his rigid jaw, his hard eyes, even if he wasn't looking at her. His black shirt had its sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his Adam's apple bobbing as if he was struggling with words.

There's a strain in the easy way they talked and teased, as if their relationship was damaged in a way it never had been that even the clock's ticking hand knew how much it hurt to even look at each other. She was bring unfair to him, she knew. Pretending as if whatever there had been never existed without the explanation he deserved. She tried herself that it was for him, and not her selfishness.

But it was. It was her fear. That she might lose him completely if she told him what she knew.

To her it felt as if a black hole had been casted in her chest. So large and gaping she was hurting him as if any rational thought didn't exist in her dimension or time, as if she was collapsing with the burden of what she was forcing herself to do, and all thoughts at drained away except her selfishness.

He couldn't know. He couldn't.

"Aren't you going sit down?"

"Aren't you going to give any one, broke reason why you did this?"

His voice wasn't angry. Not even close to furious in a way she wanted him to. He was just cold, like blue ice that had gone still over his face, like those fingers that hadn't curled into a ball but were still. By the window, the light helpless when it came to his darkened face, a blend of contrasts. Of toughness against the soft light, everything brewing in his mind never once on his face.

"Were you even going to tell me about it? About the tumour? About the damn engagement? Were you?"

She stared at him with wide eyes. "Why do you care?"

"Why do I care? Why do I fucking care?" He swung his head to look at her incredulously. "You're asking me that?"

"Yes." Her lips pursed. "Why?"

He stormed up and pulled her arm to make her stand in front of him. Entirely at the mercy at the ferocious steely eyes. And she held it with the same anger, but was no match for his breathing passion.

"Goddamn it, Evans! Do you even hear yourself?"

"You know what, I do!" She pulled her arm out of his grasp and folded her arms. "It's my life, it's my choice if I want continue with it or not."