How the Mighty Fall

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Although they were past the pleasantries, Astraea still felt self conscious as she left her room in a wrinkled pajama set and a nest of dry frizzy hair. She wouldn't stoop by rationalizing insecurity in the company of Phrixus's stunning guest, however true it might have partially been. She was not vying for his attention. Whether she wanted it or not, they were already involved in other complicated ways and anything else would instantly turn them lethal.

Being wrapped up in her head turned attention away from sensing the tense air until it was engulfing. Similar to the morning she woke up in blood which she still couldn't be sure of who it came from, his body language was rigid and almost robotic.

When Astraea reached out to touch his arm, he recoiled. Shit. This wasn't the look of someone who had their emotions in check. His eyes had a menacing, dark essence, the kind you didn't come back from.

"Phrixus," she whispered, his warning about names flashing to mind a second too late.

Not that she would be able to tell if it was good or not, Phrixus didn't move away. "My dad called." He had a family? Like a normal one? "Said my mom's been admitted to the hospital, that she doesn't have much time left, and they were advised to get their affairs in order, gather family from out of state to say goodbye, the whole nine yards-" his voice broke then. Astraea reckoned it best they didn't both fall apart here.

"What do you need?" She suspected that any attempt to comfort him would be in vain.

"We have to go," he answered matter of factly, as if it wasn't a legitimate question. His stare didn't falter. It took her another second to realize that she had started leaning in.

Wait, we? "Phrixus, I don't think that is a good idea-"

"We can't be separated overnight, Astraea. Not when we're both emotional and stronger together if attacked." His eyes and words sharpened. "And nothing could stop me from seeing her alive one more time, for the last time. It is a waste to argue against the trip. Besides," he walked toward the hall closet, flung it open and started rummaging around behind the hanging clothes, "it's about time we travel to throw off the hunters so we don't have to formally relocate." He pulled out a suitcase and held it out to her. "I noticed you don't have one. You can borrow it."

Getting used to more questions than answers felt even more impossible in the moment. For once, Astraea didn't react impulsively. She knew she could be helpful or hurtful here. Phrixus was on the verge of grieving. Now was certainly not the time to be selfish, she could admit that. She slowly reached out to take the travel bag from him. "Where do your parents live?"

Whether he expected her to be irritable or not, he showed no sign of it as he busied himself with packing food into a bag. "Just a few hours' drive across the stateline north. I already made all of the preparations." He stopped to look at her. "You don't know how much this means to me, but it's not something I'll forget."

That proved it was a good choice to not fight. Astraea found herself nodding. "Right. I will start packing then." Maybe she would fare better to automatically adjust her body language to mirror his, especially if it meant avoiding his wrath every time.

With the open luggage lying at the foot of her bed, she stood there as an identity crisis decidedly made itself known. The flattened carpet under her feet was the only discernible indicator of the time she spent unmoving. Instant recall pinned snapshots that proved the extent she had taken the backseat to her own life lately. In most seconds now, she chose according to what fit the short list Phrixus wanted her to comply with. Whether intentional or not, she had no say. Because she was bitter, her number one response was complaining. Maybe that was reasonable the first couple days of adjusting to the transition period. But today should have been about more than wondering what was going to change next. She started loading the bag with clothing items in no particular category or coordination.