Playing With Fire

Chapter Forty-One

                                            Recap 

             The tenderness in his gaze is so light that I begin to feel my eyes burn again. I look away and bite my lip, frustrated with my lack of control. Wordlessly, Travis sighs and pulls me forward into his chest. His arms come around my waist, latching onto the polyester feel of my jacket. I remain frozen in that very moment—even my tears halt in their downpour—as he tucks me into his warmth and rests his face on the nape of my neck.

           I wait, figuring that he would let go eventually and go on a rampage that would disconnect the feeling that was forming between us. A few moments of silence pass by—mainly with me trying to understand his sudden shift in mood. When nothing changes, I start to relax, subconsciously melting into his firm hold on me like it is the only thing keeping me up.

               A tear I didn’t know had fallen slips past the curve on my cheek and slides down my chin. I clamp my eyes shut, willing the tears to stop forming, and fist a handful of his hair in my hands.

               As if he can feel the tears dropping on his shirt, Travis begins to rub soothing circles along the small of my back while tucking me impossibly closer into his body. Likewise, I pull him closer to me, hoping that the human interaction will dim the dull pain my mom has forever imprinted in my heart.

              His lips graze my collarbone before finally pressing a barely noticeable kiss.

            “I’m sorry,” He whispers against my skin.

              And in that moment, despite my confusion, I forgive him for anything.

                                    Chapter Forty One

              “So what now?” 

            Somewhere in between hugging in the empty hallway and sitting around in the oddly spacious first floor bathroom, we had managed to eliminate any verbal barriers. It has been two hours since my mellow break down, and in those two hours, Travis has managed to enlighten me on a completely different side to him—one that elaborates his optimism. Whether he faked it or whether he was absolutely truthful about every word he said, his positivity worked. Surprisingly, I had forgotten about the dull pain a while back.

            “I was hoping you would know the answer to that.” I reply at last while readjusting myself in the empty bathtub.

           “Are you stable now?” He asks after giving me a strange stare. Before I can reply, he interrupts, “Oh wait—I’m talking to a girl who enjoys sitting in bathtubs in her free time.”

               I release an exasperated sigh, “Don’t be a jerk.”

            “Sorry.” He offers me a mischievous grin.

           “Did you just apologize?” In light of the situation, I raise an eyebrow in shock.

            “Maybe I did,” He replies, ”Does it make you feel better?”

           I nod my head, “It does actually.”

          “Then I meant it.” He concludes, resting his elbows on his knees splayed out from under the closed toilet lid.

            “You know,” I start, tracing an imaginary line along the rim of the tub, “If you were this nice to me when we first met, you could have saved us from trouble.”

             I stop tracing to observe his expression.

            “Hey.” He narrows his eyes and jerks his head in my direction, “You were a bitch too.”