No Place Like Home ✔

Twelve

And now the million dollar question. 

Had he found out?

Yes, he had. 

He had found out in less than a minute. 

I was unaware as to how he had figured it out, and in all honesty, I couldn't be bothered to ask either. Not when he was seated beside me once again, his knees pulled up to his chest whilst he stared ahead, perhaps thinking of what to say in that very moment. 

I had been thinking of whether I should break the ice by apologizing, but every time I opened my mouth to mutter an apology, the words stopped at my throat and my mouth ran dry. It were as if my heart was threatening to leap up and use my mouth as a form of exit so it wouldn't have to deal with the torture anymore.

It hurt. 

I was hurting. 

I felt horrible. But that's what I was. 

"Why did you do it?" he asked, his voice quite shaky. He didn't dare look at me. Not even once. "Because you were having trouble with money?"

I nodded. 

Why was I still lying to him?

"I'm sorry, Adam," I mumbled. "I couldn't think of what to do in the situation. I just panicked."

"Did you do the same thing to the first book?" he queried, ignoring my apology. His voice had a hostile undertone to it, but at the same time it were as if he was trying to be as gentle as possible so as to avoid saying something he didn't mean and hurting my feelings. 

Even then he was being generous. 

"Yeah," I confessed. 

I hadn't lied this time. I was being truthful. 

He let out a bitter laugh, "You could've just told me if you were having trouble with money. I told you I'd give you my paycheck."

I said nothing even when he pulled out an envelope from his pocket and handed it over to me. I couldn't find it in me to read the amount or even attempt to guess how much was in there. But, all I knew in that very moment was that I couldn't accept it.

I handed the envelope back to him, "Keep it."

"Why?" he questioned, still not looking at me or even in my direction at that. 

"I don't deserve it," I professed. "It's not for me. It's for you. I already made enough selling those books."

Saying it out loud hurt much more than the guilt did. 

"I'm sorry," I said yet again. "I'm really-"

"Don't," he sighed. "It's okay."

I watched as he massaged his temples with his pointer and middle fingers, "I shouldn't be upset. I should understand where you're coming from. I understand why you did it, Eden. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snapped."

"You didn't snap," I insisted. "And it's my fault. I shouldn't have lied to you about misplacing the book either. I should have told you then. Stop putting the blame on yourself."

"Why would I blame you?" he scoffed. "I.. I was just excited, y'know?"

"About the book?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Always been my favourite book."

I said nothing. The guilt was eating me alive at that point. 

"Did you even try reading it?" he inquired, looking down at his hands whilst playing with his fingers. "Like.. at least the first chapter? Maybe the introduction? The first page? First word? Did you even read the title?"

"I did," I nodded. "I tried reading the first chapter but.. my attention span is just way too-"

"I get it," he interrupted. "Sorry for interrupting you. Go on."

"No, it's nothing," I said, shaking my head. "Are you mad at me?"

"I'm not mad," he admitted. "Just a little surprised I guess. I never really thought that-.." he cut himself off with a sigh. 

"Maybe we should talk about something else?" I offered. "Until you're ready to talk about this again?"

"No, it's okay. I'm fine."

"You really like the book that much?" I questioned. 

"Yeah," he said after a moment. "My grandfather actually got it for me."

"You could ask him to get you another one," I suggested before slapping myself inwardly. And just like that, I was back to being horrible. When would this cycle ever end?

"I would," he began, letting out a quiet chuckle. "But I don't think dead bodies can do that."

"Oh," was all I said. It was all I could think of saying at that moment. 

I quickly cleared my throat, "I'm sorry for your loss."

So he hadn't bought the book. It was the book his grandfather had bought for him - and I had sold it just like that. I had sold something dear to him for my own gain - and I would never get over that. Ever. 

Guilt. That was all I could feel in that very moment. 

"Enough talk about me. How's your day been?" he questioned, going back to normal at the snap of a finger. 

I would soon come to realize that he was only changing the subject so as to not overwhelm me, put me on the spot or make me feel like I was in the wrong when I actually was. He was trying to make me feel better by changing the topic. 

In that way as well we were so different. 

He was the angel my parents had thought I was. He was so pure, so innocent and everything in between. He was everything I wished I could be and more. He was so gentle and careful with everything he did and said all the right things in all the right moments. He was my little philosopher. 

I, on the other hand, was a mess. A train-wreck. The last person to be noticed in a room of only a dozen people. I was everything my parents had begged me not to become. I was a disaster. I had no purpose in life, no train of thought, no sense of morality, nothing - as if I had been sent from the underworld. 

And if that were the case, it would make quite a lot of sense. 

So we sat and spoke for hours on end about anything and everything. 

The angel and the devil, seated beside each other on the pavement on a warm evening in front of an old store.