Page 56 of Cruel King
“Why do you treat me like you hate me?”
“Because I do. Now answer my question.”
“Why do you hate me? I thought after the time we spent together during the blizzard—”
I interrupt her. “You thought wrong.”
Expecting her to ask me something else about those days or probably break down and cry, I wait as she stares up into my eyes. She doesn’t speak for so long that I wonder if I’m just wasting my time standing here talking to her when I could just ask my father what he said to her.
Finally, she steps toward me so our bodies are practically touching and says in a soft voice that hits me square in the chest, “You’re lying. I don’t know why you’re acting like this, but you’re lying. You don’t hate me.”
I lower my head so I’m at her eye level and stare into those brown eyes so full of confidence right now. “You don’t know me. You have no idea what I’m feeling. You’re just some stupid girl who can’t seem to remember her place.”
Tears fill her eyes, and a twinge of guilt stabs at me for being so cruel to her. I push that down to that place inside me where all my memories of that time we spent together exist, refusing to let myself feel anything for her even now.
Wiping the tears as they roll down her cheeks, she pushes past me as she sobs, “I hate you, Matthias King.”
The sound of her trembling voice makes me wince even more than the words she says. I deserve for her to hate me for all I’ve said to her. I accept that. What’s harder to take is how hurt she sounds right now.
I won’t feel bad for that, though. I can stack up the hours and days and months I spent questioning why she never even tried to contact me after our time together against her hurt feelings over my unkind words, and I’d win hands down.
Stepping out into the hallway, I watch her run away toward the stairs. Good. Run from me, little Ava. That’s what you do. You’re actually pretty good at it.
But then she stops and glances back at me, and the look in her eyes makes my heart skip a beat. All that hurt in them, and it’s all because of me. I shouldn’t fucking care. I’m not the one who left and never even bothered to text or anything. That was her.
Still, I can’t seem to stop myself from feeling bad about how I’ve treated her.
“I hate you. Why do you have to be like this?” she softly asks before turning around and hurrying downstairs.
I don’t have an answer for her.
Walking back into my room, I slam the door shut. She might hate me, but I hate how she somehow has this power to make me forget all those nights I stared up at the ceiling wondering why she never even tried to get in touch with me. I know she’s kept talking to Theo all these years, and not once could she tell him to give me a message. Yes, I know we were supposed to be keeping things secret, but a fucking message to say hi was too much?
Almost like I’m on autopilot, I sit down on the edge of my bed and open the top drawer of my nightstand to get my sketchbook. I know exactly what page her picture is on—the last one I ever drew.
I stare at it almost as if looking at her this way will make things better between us. I don’t want to be so cruel to her, but every time I see Ava, all I can think of is that moment when Theo told me she was always in touch with him after she left.
Ava’s good like that. If she’s thinking about someone, she makes sure they know about it. That’s how you can tell if she cares. She’s all about the calling and texting.
And then all the moments after where she entered my mind even though I didn’t want her to, crowding out every chance I could ever feel anything for another woman.
Somehow, in this sketch, she’s not that person who walked away and never looked back. She’s just Ava, the only person who ever made my heart soar. I get lost in her picture, loving the intimacy she offered simply by letting me draw her. I don’t know how I captured that along with the hesitation I knew she felt the whole time, but it’s there as clear as day in her expression and in those beautiful dark eyes of hers.
My mind drifts back to those moments that changed my life as all the hate and anger subside. It’s like someone finally lifts the thousand-pound weight off my chest, and I can breathe again.
Ava smiles up at me as I flip through my sketchbook to find the drawing of that huge pine tree we’ve always called the Christmas tree. It seems like the right time of year for it.
When I stop on the page, I turn the book around and say, “Any guess what this is?”
She studies it for a long moment and then looks at me, her eyes wide with excitement. “I’d know that anywhere! That’s the Christmas tree! You captured it perfectly, even the one part on the right side up near the top where that odd section is. Is that another tree growing out of it or something else?”
I shake my head, unsure what’s happening with that part of the Christmas tree on the back part of the estate. “I don’t know. It’s odd. I sat there for hours staring at that tree before I began drawing it, and I never figured out what that is.”
Sitting up, her knees brush against mine and for the first time I notice how smooth her legs are. She really does have beautiful legs.
Without a word, I run my palm up her shin and stop at her knee, amazed at how soft her skin is. She giggles, and I look up from where my hand is to see her smiling.
“Someone’s ticklish.”