Darling Belle

Eighteen

MAISIE

On the train, when Noah's true intentions were revealed, that he'd sent her back to Maryjane in the hopes that she'd stay forever, it'd devastated her. The haunting notion that he decided to allow harm befall her (as he was no stranger to her mother's brutality)— she decides—hurts more than any physical force. She'd tried to ignore it. To understand where he was coming from once he explained how he'd felt abandoned by his own brother, that he just couldn't fathom why Nereus had gone to her and not them. And that was why she'd gotten stuck in the crossfire, it was nothing personal, he claimed.

It reminded her of what she'd said to him the day in the manor— Is hurting me lighter on your conscience?

It was nauseating how true it felt even in this context.

Someone shouted, intervening with Noah's (essentially apology) speech. And Maisie's disquieting hunch that'd almost had the same effect on her as witnessing gore.

He soldiered on, words cutting through the commotion, delving into murky waters, clarifying that the cause of his previous coldness was due to her ill-timed arrival. Mumbling about something along the lines of it wasn't supposed to be you while one of his legs bounced restlessly on their secluded compartments carpet. She asked him to elaborate, he didn't.

Noah had paused abruptly at one point in their conversation, briefly glancing at the window, then back to her, hesitant. 'Are you... hurt?' He'd forgotten to ask.

Maisie Belle laughed. 'Hurt? Please.' Her faux reaction had slipped out instinctively. As if she had something to hide. In reality, she was absolutely wrecked, it was like a blade had carved through her hysteria but instead of its intended effect of cutting it into smaller, more manageable pieces, it only doubled its intensity.

He raised an incredulous brow but didn't comment further.

•••

Upon entering, the first thing she heard was crying. Her heart constricted in her chest as her eyes fell upon the intimate scene, her grip on Noah's hand tightening as she drew in a small breath. They had finally reached the safe-house.

From across the refuge, by a wall of maps and weapons, Nico had ensnared the sleek, apricot-haired girl in a close embrace.

When Maisie and Noah had entered the building, Nico's ebony eyes had lifted slightly at first, but widened the moment he saw the duet with conjoined hands. His jet black hair was windswept, cheeks slightly flushed, his under-eyes looked as if it'd been lined with kohl, and his attire consisted of his classic leather jacket (which was a bit rumpled) and worn, onyx boots.

His haggard gaze shifted from Maisie, to her hand on Noah's. Saffron (who was presently weeping in Nico's chest) hadn't noticed their abrupt appearance. Her own bleated cries drowned the world out.

On opposite sides of the room, Maisie's and Nico's eyes met again. A bit blurry.

Her lips thinned, her throat became dry, suddenly in need of an oasis to quench her insatiable thirst.

Had he ever held her like that?

Nico stared wordlessly.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

Seven.

She ducked her head, breaking eye contact as well as releasing her hand from Noah's, and rotating herself southeast. She didn't like this.