Devils and Angels

xi. chocolate apologies

s a u d a d e

loved and then lost

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BY THE TIME I RETURNED home, Ayden was far out of my mind. All I could focus on was the chill pulsating through my hand; the ripple of regret that followed shoving Caspian away.

I'd only just got him back in my life, if only temporarily, but if I kept acting out the way I did, he would eventually get sick of forgiving me. Caspian had every right to leave by now, and I wouldn't be able to bring myself to stop him. 

Shit.

I couldn't look more dejected at the thought if I tried―head in my hands, elbows pressed to the kitchen island, watching time tick on with Dyl in the corner of my eye, still stubbornly mute where I was concerned. 

Not everything could be fixed by the snapping of fingers, but if nothing else, I wanted to sort what I'd done to Caspian, because I'd ruined that above all else, and despite everything, it niggled me. I owed at least that to him, because he was consistently there for me, even when I hadn't wanted him to be.

Remaining undisturbed in the kitchen, I scaled the cupboards to collect a recipe book from the top shelf and set it on the island. I flicked through it with haste, biting my lip and hoping the waves of pain that followed would send a surge of invigoration to my mind, inspiring the motivation to bake. 

A list of instructions for chocolate shortbread lay open atop the counter as I searched the kitchen for utensils and ingredients and carelessly stacked them, in a strewn mess across the island. 

Aching nostalgia expelled through my lips as I sighed, remembering long afternoons in Caspian's old kitchen; his older sister supervising as we commandeered the kitchen with eager hands and surges of enthusiasm―fingers snatching for spoons and bowls and ingredients, making messes we were always made to clean up afterwards.

Then, after all was done, we used to collapse on his sofa, pressing fresh-baked shortbread into fond, sticky smiles, while watching mindless cartoons, happy in each other's company. 

My little brother would then call, try to hang out with us while I'd push him away; Primary school days had been picture-perfect, and I wished I could have appreciated it more while it was still around.

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Crouched and impatient, I watched the golden interior of the oven glow. The aroma was beginning to protrude from the crevices of the door in curls of warm air, scented softly with euphoria. 

It was the aching familiarity of being secure; of knowing where you stood within the frameworks of life and being content with such―of living and loving without having to know the weight that each of those worlds held, because you did both so freely and beautifully and instinctively, because you didn't need to be taught what you already knew.

With my mother, I'd always forgotten. It was Caspian who had always reminded me, even to the point where we parted―you should always love your family; they're the ones who taught you what it is, aren't they?―and though I never had agreed and never would, there was something to be said for loving the people that taught you what love was, whether it was family or friends.

Snapping me out of my thoughts, the oven beeped like rapid-fire beside my ear, but still I was encased in safety. Being able to care about the people I loved; that was freedom, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

With warm, silky-sweet air flowing over my head, I reached into the oven with gloved hands and slid the tray out from the gaping interior, setting it over the cold grids of the stove to allow the shortbread to cool, while I grabbed a basket to serve them in.