The Contradiction of Solitude(34)

“Elian,” Layna murmured, interrupting the old woman.

I stepped forward, away from Chloe and her overly familiar eyes. I pushed past a surprised Mrs. Statham, who seemed unused to this less patient side of her sweet neighbor.

Layna held the door open, giving me room to come inside, and then she turned to her unwelcome intruders. Her eyes on Chloe, not her grandmother. “He’s here to see me.”

There was a warning there. Low and threatening. I didn’t miss it. And neither did Chloe. Her eyes went wide and she quickly looked away.

“Of course he is dear. I recognized him immediately,” Mrs. Statham filled in, not seeing the territorial pissing that was occurring in front of her.

I grinned. I couldn’t help it. Layna had laid claim to me. I knew it was in my genetic make-up to drag her back to my cave. To rip and shred any perceived threat. But I found it unbelievably sexy to watch her cut another woman down with only her lethal eyes. Just because she wanted me for her own.

I shouldn’t have let anything get in the way of being with her last night. A woman like Layna was too easily loved and lost. Too easy to slip through unsuspecting fingers.

I had to hold on and hold down while I could.

Before it was too late.

“Thank you for the brownies,” Layna said, giving her elderly neighbor a smile that never reached her eyes. Eyes still trained on Chloe who wasn’t casting flirting glances anywhere anymore.

“You’re welcome. If you have time, you could come up and have something to eat later. I made chicken salad this morning. It’s Chloe’s favorite.” Mrs. Statham beamed at her shrunken granddaughter.

Layna, still staring at the increasingly uneasy Chloe, bared her teeth, more of a sneer than a grin. “Thanks, but we’ll be busy.” Again, those words were meant as a brand. For me. For this stranger who dared to step on what was hers.

Then Layna closed the door, carefully putting the plate of brownies on the table just inside the entryway. She walked past me and into her living room, turning on lights as she went, even though the sun streamed through the windows.

“I waited for you,” she said without preamble. My moment of reckoning had come.

“I’m—” I couldn’t say sorry. She would never accept the apology. What could I tell her that she would understand?

“I had a rough night,” I admitted, settling on the honest truth.

Layna nodded and folded herself into an overstuffed armchair. She looked small, vulnerable even, enveloped in cushions and pillows.

“I should have called.”

“You didn’t.”

She sounded pained. And I thrilled at making her feel that way. That pain was mine. All mine.

“I couldn’t.” It was the truth. It was an excuse.

“Tell me,” she said, looking up at me. And I fell. Fell. Into coal black eyes and the hint of fire still flaming bright.

“I can’t.” More excuses. Tongue-tied lies strangling in my throat.

My eyes flittered around the room, landing again on the line of framed pictures on the windowsill.

I walked towards them, shielding my eyes from the glaring sun. Blinding me. I couldn’t see.

She still sat in her chair, watching me. Closely. Like an insect under glass. Examining. Careful.

I picked up the third framed picture. I had looked at the first two before.

A pretty dark-haired girl wearing glasses. A scar on her cheek and a crooked nose. A photograph taken outdoors by a picnic table. The girl was looking off towards something I couldn’t see. She didn’t look happy.

She looked…lost.

I held up the frame. “Who is this?”

“Family.” The same, vague answer. I looked closer at the girl in the picture, trying to see a resemblance.

There was none.

I put it back and looked again at the other two girls I had noticed last time I had visited. The redhead and the blonde.

They were her family too. But they looked nothing alike.

“Family is more than blood. It’s an unbreakable bond between people…sometimes complete strangers.” She sounded angry. Hateful. Bitter. She didn’t want to talk about the girls in the photographs. That was obvious.

But my curiosity was getting the better of me. I couldn’t help it. This complicated girl was an enigma. I didn’t understand her at all. A small yet powerful voice deep inside told me that I probably shouldn’t try.

“Are they strangers? Your family?” I asked her, repositioning the photograph I had picked up back in its spot on the ledge.

“Aren’t all families?”

“I suppose so,” I agreed, sitting down on the couch, facing her. Her apartment was so cold. The air conditioner was apparently turned on high. Goose bumps broke out along my skin and I rubbed my arms. Layna was unconcerned with the temperature. It seemed to suit her.

“I should have come to you last night.” I ran my hands through my hair, feeling like an idiot. I had lost my head. And over what? The voice from my past? A voice I shouldn’t hear at all?

“Tell me,” she repeated and this time I could only comply.

“I’m not who you think I am,” I began. I couldn’t look at her. I was afraid. I was giving her a small piece of who I was. Not enough, I was sure. But it was all I could give right now.

“Who are you, Elian Beyer?”