Tempest - Book 1

- 22 -

Imelda burst through my door, a wild look of panic streaking through her.

"Yelena? Yelena are you alright?! I heard screaming."

I turned to her, hot tears streaming violently down my face. The sickening smell of Gucci bamboo held us, the aroma taking us captive.

She glanced at the shattered bottle by my feet, the storm torn closet. Her eyes softened as they came back to me, a saddened touching them.

She sat delicately on the edge of my bed, waiting for me.

"What happened?"

I shook my head, wiping roughly at my face. Her brow furrowed.

"Don't do that, you'll hurt your skin."

She held out her hand for me, and I took it, sitting beside her.

"I dropped it."

I lied, my eyes cast down into my hands. Her soft hand lifted my face, the tickle of gentle cotton shipped under my eyes. She blotted my tears, studying me.

"From where, the top of Monte Faito?"

I winced at her jibe, I knew that she could see through my lie.

"I was angry."

I whispered.

"With who?"

She whispered back.

"Myself."

A new spring of tears trailed down my face, looking to her for a sense of guidance. Her brow was set carefully, lips pursed silently.

"What did I do wrong."

I pleaded silently. I felt her hand enclose mine, and a deep steady breath resonate in my chest.

"I know that he is a lot."

She said bluntly.

"I've known him for many, many years and sadly he hasn't changed too terribly much."

She stood, smoothing her dress.

"This is, unfortunately, the way that he is. Yelena, believe me. He is trying. Far more than he ever has."

I scoffed, crossing my arms.

"Trying to drive me mad surely."

She tended to my wrecked closet, scrapping clothes up to delicately fold them back into their place.

"He is struggling too."

"It seems he is."

I snipped.

She sighed.

"You can't see it. He is very good at pretending. It's what he's had to do for so very long."

I rolled my eyes. She was indeed correct, he was very good a pretending.

Pretending to care. Pretending to like me. Pretending that I was my own person.

"I heard what happened,"

She said softly. Normally, it would have brought a shy wash of color to my cheeks. This time it only left me with a roil of sickness pulling tightly in my stomach.

"Unfortunately."

She turned to me sharply, clutching a sequined dress.

"I know you don't mean it in that way."

I stood, coming to join her.

"You're right. It was...indescribable. But, he is acting as if I don't even stand in front of him. You have to pardon me, but that is excruciatingly different to how I've been treated prior."

"You have to think of it from his perspective."

I stared at her, floored. His perspective? What the fuck could she mean by that.

"Most girls, they fall into his charm like bee's to honey. There is no chase, no waiting. He uses and then disposes - much to my vying disapproval - whomever he pleases. You're different."

"He still got what he wanted."

She sighed.

"I've been around long enough to know that questions aren't meant to be asked. With him, the blinder the faith, the better the sheep. But I know, Yelena. I know that you're different. More so than anyone or thing that he's ever possessed. The fire that surrounds you is a heat that he so desperately craves."

He must be suffering from hypothermia with the distance he had put between us.

"I know it's not favorable. but please. Don't give up on him."

"Oh, I won't."

I breathed.

Imelda clasped her hands against my shoulders.

"He's in his study."

It was an open invitation, one extended for me to take. I took a deep breath and smiled, forced for her amusement. I gave a tight nod and she grinned warmly.

I let her lead me blindly down the hall, winding in the darkness.

We arrived in front of the door, ambient light spilling from below. Imelda turned away from me now, drifting silently down the hall.

I wasn't sure that I was prepared to see what loomed on the other side. I pushed though, holding my breath.

He sat at his desk, neck bent over a mountain of papers. Shirt unbuttoned, decanter nearly empty. He looked tired, deeply perturbed.

He didn't look as I came to his side. He greeted me with an absent flick of his hand.

I reached out, my fingers lightly tracing over his shoulder. He was warm, heat radiating nicely beneath my finger tips.

This drew his attention, and he glanced at me.

"Hi,"

I whispered, letting my touch trail down his arm. He stiffened, a harsh sigh vacating his mouth. He turned, eyes hard set on my face.

"Do you need something?"

He said, voice dead panned. I was taken aback, hand returning to my side.

"I was wondering if we could...talk?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose, breathing hard.

"Not now Yelena, i'm trying to prepare for New York tomorrow. I can't deal with you."

I winced at the pinch of my cheek between my teeth, staunching a wave of tears.

"I'm not packed for our trip, what time are we leaving?"

I said quietly, keeping my voice low to avoid a warble.

He let out a sharp laugh.

"I am leaving at 6AM, you are staying here."

A fat tear rolled down my cheek.

"Oh."

He was turned back now, intent on his documents.

"Now please, I'm busy."

I blinked a few times, tears blearing my vision.

With his silence, I retreated, chest heaving at the crushing rejection.

The house was deathly quiet, not even the calm crash of the navy sea could be heard over the stifling soundlessness.

I need to talk, but to who I wasn't sure. I felt utterly alone, my heart beating with meek strength. For the second time in my life, I was watching helplessly as everything that I loved came crashing down with nothing left but the smoke.