CHAPTER 16: The Silence Between Us (Betty's POV)
The days after the blood are quiet.
Too quiet.
Adrain does not leave the safe house. He sits by the window. He watches the street. He says almost nothing.
I watch him from the kitchen. From the couch. From the doorway of my room.
He feels the distance between us.
He does not try to close it.
I make dinner on the second night. Pasta. Simple. I make enough for two.
I set his plate on the table.
He looks at it. Then at me.
"You do not have to feed me," he says.
"You need to eat."
"I am not hungry."
"Eat anyway."
He looks at me for a long moment. Then he picks up his fork.
He eats.
I eat.
Neither of us speaks.
The only sound is forks on plates.
He finishes first. He stands up. He takes his plate to the sink.
He does not look at me.
I finish my food. I sit there. Staring at the empty plate.
The silence is thick. Heavy. Suffocating.
On the third day, I find him in the same spot. By the window. Watching.
"You cannot sit there forever," I say.
He does not answer.
"Adrain."
"I heard you."
"Then answer me."
He turns his head. His dark eyes meet mine.
"What do you want me to say?"
"Anything."
"I have nothing to say."
I walk to the window. I stand beside him. I look at the street.
Nothing is there.
"Who are you watching for?" I ask.
"Anyone."
"That is not an answer."
"It is the only one I have."
I look at him.
His jaw is tight. His hands are in his pockets. His shoulders are tense.
He is not the same man who made me coffee.
He is not the same man who sat outside my door.
He is someone else.
Someone who killed.
Someone who is trying to forget.
"The blood," I say.
He goes still.
"I am not going to ask whose it was," I continue. "But I am not going to pretend I did not see it."
He looks at me.
"Then what are you going to do?"
"I am going to make dinner. And you are going to eat it. And we are going to sit in silence. Because that is what we do now."
He stares at me.
Then he nods.
I walk to the kitchen.
I make dinner. Chicken. Rice. Nothing special.
I set his plate on the table.
He sits down.
I sit across from him.
We eat in silence.
The fourth day is the same.
The fifth day is the same.
The sixth day, I wake up and he is not by the window.
He is in the kitchen.
Making coffee.
Two mugs.
Black. No sugar for me. Black for him.
He hands me a mug.
I take it.
Our fingers do not touch.
"Thank you," I say.
He nods.
We stand in the kitchen. Drinking coffee. Not speaking.
The silence is still there.
But it is different now.
Less heavy.
Less suffocating.
Just quiet.
I look at him over the rim of my mug.
He is watching me.
Neither of us looks away.
Neither of us speaks.
Then he sets his mug down.
"I am sorry," he says.
"For what?"
"For the blood. For the silence. For all of it."
I set my mug down.
"I know," I say.
He looks at me.
"Does it bother you? What I am?"
I look at his dark eyes. His pale face. His scarred hands.
"Yes," I say. "But not as much as it should."
He stares at me.
Then he walks back to the window.
I watch him go.
The silence returns.
But now it feels like waiting.
For something.
For anything.
For him to turn around.
He does not.
I pick up my mug.
I drink my coffee.
It is cold.
I walk to the sink. I rinse the mug. I look out the window. A car is parked across the street. It was not there before. The engine is off. The windows are dark. I open my mouth to call Adrain. But he is already behind me. His hand is on my shoulder. "I see it," he whispers. "Do not move."