Total pages in book: 191
Estimated words: 188966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 945(@200wpm)___ 756(@250wpm)___ 630(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 188966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 945(@200wpm)___ 756(@250wpm)___ 630(@300wpm)
I held up my hand, my heart pinching at her question. “I think we should take a little break, don’t you?”
Her eyes glittered. “Please tell me your love story has a happy ending...”
I didn’t answer her.
Happy wasn’t the word I’d use. But neither was tragic or hard or awful.
It was us.
Quintessentially us and no one else’s.
Margot kept me pinned in her stare, and Dylan hung on my every sentence. The mention of a break didn’t seem to entice them so...I gave them the only words I could. The words that came next.
“The rest of that camping trip went as well as you’d expect. Aslan kept his distance from me, yet his eyes tracked me wherever I went. Joel tried to kiss me again, but I declined and said I’d changed my mind. Rita and Molly attempted to have their dirty way with Aslan the next night, but he firmly told them it would never happen. We did our best to stay busy with local tours into the rainforest, a bush-educational walk, and took turns cooking bare essentials and learning how to use the barbecue in the campground.
“By the time the three days were over, I’d never been more grateful to get home. Even if my father asked a million questions and my mother flinched when she looked into my eyes, most likely seeing the cracks left in my heart by the boy who lived in our garden.
“Aslan didn’t act any differently toward me in their company. He still hugged me, smiled at me, spoke to me, and watched out for me. He didn’t tell my parents that I’d lied about being supervised out there. He didn’t tell them what’d happened between us or about Joel kissing me.
“He kept my secrets and I kept his, and by the time a few months had passed, we slipped into an understanding that no matter what we felt or how much we wanted, we would never speak of it again.
“That was...until I went and did something that made Aslan well and truly snap.”
“What did you do?” Margot asked.
“I tried to replace him.”
“Replace him?” Dylan frowned.
“I couldn’t have him. Therefore, I had to find someone I could.” I sighed. “Needless to say, it did not end well.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
*
Nerida
*
AGE: 16 YRS OLD
*
(Sea in Japanese: Umi)
“HEY.”
Aslan groaned and pulled the pillow over his head. “Neri, go back to bed.”
“I will, don’t worry. No one saw me, and I won’t be long.” Closing his door on the solar lights flickering in the garden, I tiptoed through the dark and sat on the end of his bed.
He moved his long legs to give me room, his lips thin and wary.
Four years he’d lived with us, yet he never changed this sala-bedroom.
Never spent the money my parents paid him.
Never complained that for four years, his routine of hanging with us, working for my parents, and keeping to himself had become a rut.
He didn’t have friends because he didn’t trust anyone to get close to him.
He didn’t have a girlfriend to ease whatever urges he felt because...well, same problem.
On the rare instances when I’d catch him deep in thought and ask him how he truly was, he’d smile, pat my hand, and assure me that he was fine. Better than fine. He found enjoyment in his work. He found peace in his puzzle books. He found contentment with us.
But I worried he lied.
I worried he wanted more. Needed more. And eventually, he’d look for more.
He was twenty, after all.
All the guys I knew had fucked multiple girls and been in numerous relationships.
Yet on the nights when I couldn’t sleep and I sat leaning against my windowsill, panicked at the thought of Aslan sneaking out to find someone who wasn’t me, I always sighed in relief when he didn’t.
He’d never flirted with anyone when he drove me around town or picked me up from school or completed chores for my father.
It was as if he ignored that part of his humanity.
I’d have almost believed he didn’t need anyone to touch him or love him if I didn’t catch the fire in his gaze whenever he dropped his guard. The last time it happened—when we were watching a movie as a family last week, and I’d laughed at something silly and turned to Aslan to see if he laughed too, I’d been struck breathless at the smouldering, deep, black heat in his stare. With the TV flickering over his face, he looked as if he battled every feral instinct not to snatch me, savage me, and tear me into well-fucked pieces.
But then my mum had turned to see what made me tremble.
And Aslan had blinked.
His throat had worked, and his fists had clenched, and by the time he opened his eyes again, the inferno within him was replaced with bored humour, successfully smothered before my parents could notice.