Page 45 of Tethered Fates

“Teagan.”

Sen’s movements brush against the pebbles as he comes closer. I can’t look at him. Not when the sudden weight of a soul is trying to bring me to my knees, and if I turned to take in the full immensity of everything Sen stands for…I’d crumble.

I open my mouth, try to find a word to explain myself.

But what is the right word, or wrong word, or what-the-fuck-is-happening word? Does fate or the cosmos—or that fucking kid with a magnifying glass—allow for a safe word so I can scream ‘banana’ and tap out?

I can’t think straight. I need…

“Paint,” I choke out.

Sen doesn’t try to face me; maybe he knows looking at him will be too much, too fast, too soon. Does he understand me because we’re soulmates? Does he know what I need, because a thing decided what I really needed was a fucking boyfriend?

Sen doesn’t speak while I’m paralysed, my thoughts crashing into me like storming ocean waves. Then I hear the click of a car door opening, the purr of his sexyass car. It’s the low, constant sound of the engine that lifts some of the weight from my feet. Slowly, step by step, not once allowing my gaze to find him, I edge toward his car and slide into the passenger seat.

The car jolts as he gets inside.

Shutting the door, I curl into the window, focusing on the purr that somehow quiets the storm inside my mind. Pulling my cracked phone from my pocket, I tap in directions, then throw it away like a hot potato, letting it clatter onto the dashboard in Sen’s direction.

“Seatbelt,” is all Sen says, low and soft.

Not wanting to think anymore, I strap on my seatbelt as instructed and close my eyes to be cocooned in Sen’s purring engine.

Sen doesn’t try to fill the silence like others would.

He doesn’t tell me how I should feel. Say what the bright side or dark side—or left and right side—to all this is. For over an hour, we simply sit in the quiet together while he drives, and while I might be something important to him, and also some matchmaking higher power, inside of this hushed humming, I’m nothing bigger than a guy who needs to paint.

***

We roll to a stop in the dark, abandoned shopping centre I call my art studio.

For a long moment, neither of us moves, but from the tap of Sen’s fingers on the steering wheel, when he says, “Looks…nice.” I can easily reply, “Liar,” with the smallest hint of a smile, my breath fogging the window.

“On occasion,” Sen teases gently.

I get out of the car, Sen’s door slamming after mine as he follows. I head towards the piece of rotted wood hiding my entrance and move it aside, splinters digging into my fingertips. Then get on my knees to crawl through the hole choked with earthy-smelling weeds.

“This wasn’t the tight squeeze I had in mind with you,” Sen sighs, crawling in after me.

“At least you can enjoy the view,” I reply, shaking my ass.

“And what a nice view it is.”

We stand up in the docking bay, darker here than outside, with wild plants bursting from all the cracks. The scent of untamed green life and musky decay fills the air.

“This, less so,” he admits.

Carefully, I step over gnawed roots bursting through the concrete, like the knuckles on a witch’s hand clawing up from the ground. “Snob.”

“On occasion.”

With Sen at my back, he can’t see when I smile, but I get the sense he’s smiling in return as we push through squeaking doors and stroll past empty shops, heading towards my studio.

“Well…” Sen breathes, his footsteps slowing. “This is amazing. Who did all this?”

Disinterested, I don’t glance at the walls. I’m not feeling any of these emotions right now; I’m feeling something new that needs to come out in a mess of colour.

“Teagan, did you paint all this?”