Teas ?n Tomes

The phone chirped. Quick to grab it and flick the switch to silent, Cait peeked down at the screen for a split second. 'Barmaid'. One word was all she had to see. An odd feeling rippled through her chest. It smacked of misplaced jealousy. The phone was stuffed between her thigh and the chair. "Nothing. Sorry. Uh, how's it going?" Really? Really Caitlin? How's it going?

Tension stole under the scratch of dark stubble on his jaw. Three days nearing four, the presence was thick and rough, like a patch of thorns to keep any affection at bay. "I don't know how to answer that question."

Typical Cris. She almost rolled her eyes at the familiarity. The strain of everything that loomed between them weighed heavily on her shoulders, pulling them down, tightening the muscles in her neck and along her jaw. "Oookay. Usually people answer with 'Good' or 'Bad'."

"I know. What I mean is that I'm not sure whether you actually meant to ask or you were simply looking for something to fill the awkward silence." He turned a bit to face her chair. Either way, a lie would work well. "But I'm fine. Thank you."

"Fair enough," she shrugged. "People never ask that question with the desire for a truthful answer." A pause, then. "I'm...glad to hear you're fine." Another pause. "Really."

He was stunned, but not by the answer she'd given. Instead, it was for how swiftly, and how vehemently, he did not believe her. He nodded, shifted his gaze back to the fire. "And you?"

Would it really be this easy? Could they just go back to talking and eventually it would be like nothing had ever happened? With his gaze on the fire, she watched him closely. "Do you want the real answer or the fake one?"

From the side, there was not much to watch. His had always been a studious gaze, rarely distracted once it found a mark. There was tension in his mouth that he kept from pulling the corners down any further by some sheer force of will. "I think," he began, quiet like the murmur of the fire some distance away, "that I'd rather not like for my intelligence, nor my actual concern for you, to be insulted."

As much as that answer irritated her beyond belief, she had no one to blame but herself. The last time they'd spoken she'd spouted hatred. It didn't help that Alex chose him that night over her. Even thinking about it caused those old feelings of betrayal to stir deep inside. Resolved to clear her conscience, Caitlin drew in a deep breath. "I don't hate you and I never have. It was easier to blame someone other than myself for Deacon's death." Jaw tightening, she searched for the ability to get the next words out. "I'm sorry I couldn't accept the responsibility for myself. That I hit you. And for what I said."

Momentarily, he would have liked to return to the awkwardness of two minutes ago. Where he was irritated more than simply uncomfortable. She spoke and he exhaled. He set his tea down on another, nearby table and brought a simple, wooden chair from that same table to her side, where he finally reconciled the idea of taking a seat. "I was not looking for an apology."

Not the response she'd been hoping for. Lips pressed into a thin line briefly before answering. "Then what did you want?"

"Nothing." Turning to look aside at her. "Honesty. I suppose. If I'm to truly put thought into it. When have you ever known me to want anything from you?"

Never. Not even a close friendship. But he got that from Alex. "I'm fine, then. I figured out a way to deal. I have my moments, but I'm getting through it." Dear God, she didn't want to talk about this.

"Have you? And what way is that?" With nothing to hold, he busied his hands with pulling at the fraying cuffs of his sleeves.

As if to answer the question themselves, the cuts on her forearm throbbed in pain from beneath her long-sleeved shirt. Shifting uncomfortably, Caitlin folded her arms across her chest and dug her thumb into them. "I got drunk a couple times. But mostly just a lot of work. Keeping my mind busy."

Slight curl at the corner of his mouth suggested amusement. "I see."

"Why is that funny?"

"It's not. But I understand. I've done the same." Shoulders hiked near his jaw. "That's all."

"I didn't much care for it. Or maybe I just wasn't doing it right. I didn't feel better when I drank. Worse, in fact." A faint frown, quickly directed at the fire. There had to be a way to deviate from this line of discussion.

"Perhaps, you simply did not drink enough. If you're able to recall it, then I'd suspect you didn't." He passed a hand over his hair, resting his head against his palm. "Cait, I'm sorry."

Jaw tightened. No, no, no they were not gonna go there. "For what?" A tight lipped reply, still staring at the fire.

Head shook against his hand. The fire seemed to be the best place to look. The stories that grate could tell would more than likely wither him to nothing. "Everything. I didn't want this to happen."

She was quiet for quite some time. When she was positive most of the bitterness had left her mouth, she finally cleared her throat. "It's not your fault, so don't worry about it."

"Not entirely. No. But I hardly contributed to anyone's benefit." Fingertips pressed rough to the corners of his frowning mouth. When he dropped them, he folded his hands to keep them still. "I didn't want him to die."

That word made her flinch. In an attempt to pretend like that didn't happen, Cait lurched forward to reach for her coffee. It was lifted for a long sip without a thought to the temperature. Luckily, it had cooled some in the time they'd spent talking. "I quit my job as a model."

That was understandable, but for the sake of fostering conversation, he raised his brows. "What are you doing now?"

Thank God. Though still unable to look over at him, she answered smoothly. "I tend bar at a club in Dockside. Been working there a while now, actually."

"Do you like it better than modeling?" as if he had the experience to know the difference.

"When I'm behind the bar, it's like I get to become this different person. I'm not nervous or quiet. People like me. I laugh a lot. Modeling just made me feel uncomfortable the whole time. I liked the money I got but..." Shrugging, she reached for a cookie and bit into it, munching thoughtfully.

A line appeared between his brows. "How, then, did you get started in that profession? It can't have been a life's aspiration for you."

"I was in dire need of money to keep from having to move back home. Long story short, my mom's friend pretty much got me the job. I did it out of necessity."

"Ah." Forearms to knees, he brought his folded hands to his chin. "I'm glad you found something else."

A brief chuckle. "That said, you might be losing me as a neighbor. Not entirely sure I can afford the rent there unless l find another job quick."

"Considering how our time as neighbors has been spent up until this point, I don't believe the distance could do any further harm. Yes?"

"Very true." A hand lifts, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. "Can we just...let's just pretend like nothing happened. I miss everything the way it was. My life is ****ty enough and being down a friend blows." The breath in her lungs was still, the blood in her ears rushing, gaze focused intently on the fireplace.

It was his turn to be silent. In truth, he could not exactly ask for brutal and total honesty because, were she to tip the scales, he would not be able to give it to her. Not in good conscience, not without feeling as if his very bones were turning to ash inside his body. But this kind of deception, he could do without. "Cait, you know as well as I do that pretending it did not happen will do very little. If it changes your desire to maintain what friendship we've left, that's fine. I will respect that, and I can't exactly fault you for it."

Oh, how she'd hoped he would just agree. Alex seemed relieved to pretend everything was right as rain. "So what? We muck through the awkwardness my outburst created for who knows how long? I don't see what good comes from ever talking about Deacon again." An angry sniff gave away her pain.

"I never said that we continue talking about him. But to pretend it did not happen is not only an insult to both our memories, but to his." He paused a moment to capture and edit a remark that would do very little to the point he was trying to make. "Can you pretend that well? Can you honestly forget how you felt, and why?"

"What I felt was misplaced." Her tone was slightly clipped, like she had to plot out her words carefully lest emotion get the best of her. "In the throes of pain I let myself lash out. I didn't hate you. I hated myself. So yeah, I'd like to pretend I never hurt you. I'd like to forget I--that it was my fault."

The knot in his brow, this time, was out of consternation instead. He turned his head, lowered his hands from their place where they'd pressed against his chin. "How could you think yourself any bit responsible?"

There it was. The rolling headache was making an appearance. The throbbing echo of her guilt that would build and build until there was no other option of release. Her nails dragged along her forearm, eyes squeezing shut. "You don't understand. I don't want to talk about it."

It was a very easy thing to stall his curiosity. In several, if not all, other discussions, rarely did the other party express their desires not to in such plain words. Allusion, subtle urgings, yes, but rarely this. "All right," he said, quietly.

She'd been expecting a fight. Kyle had pushed and pushed until the secret came tumbling out. In truth, it felt good to have someone else know. But her pride kept her from wanting to share again. "Thank you." Another sniffle, hand pressing against the flaming warmth of her cheek.

He had been cursed with infinite patience, and his reserve was scraped dry and hollowed out. It pained him to give up, but he could ignore it. Stuff it away somewhere behind an iron door that was already corroded and leaking the sludge from all the months hiding unsavory emotions he'd rather pretend he hadn't felt. "Was I ever really that good a friend to you?"

A long, quiet breath of air leaked out of her lungs, forehead cradled into her cupped hands. "I used to think we were close."

"Close enough to warrant the guilt you've felt?"

"Are you saying we weren't?"

"I'm wondering if we are now." He eased back in the seat until the chair creaked for his weight against it. "But. In a way.... I don't feel as if I've done much to earn such a high station. In fact, I've upset you more than I've done anything else. I liked our lunches, however, and I didn't exactly wish for them to stop."