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I’dbeenwalkingtothe conservatory.Hadbeing the operative word.
Cole and I planned on hanging out later tonight, so I had every intention of spending the morning and afternoon reading down in my glass house.
There is no yelling or slammed doors within those walls. Only the quietness of leaves growing and flowers blooming. The stillness is something I never thought I’d wish back but after listening to only shouting the past few days, I want that nothingness again.
Things have moved on from complete avoidance to everyone picking fights instead. They usually ended with one or both parties storming off, and absolutely nothing getting resolved.
If it isn’t Abram and Lorna, it’s Lorna and Finn, or him and Abram. And if it wasn’t a pair, it was a trio of them all together. Screaming at one another so loud my ears nearly bled.
Albeit it was mostly Finn starting these fights, but it still sucks.
The raised voices this time pulling me closer instead of pushing me away. The noise sucks me in like a vampire drawing blood. I may not be losing blood, but my sanity is a close second.
“What do you mean I can’t go? You never cared before!”
“Well, I do now, and you’re not going.” Abram stresses from his side of the kitchen island.
“But—”
“I said no, Finn.”
My head swings. Whipping back and forth listening to them both spout off so rapidly I’m surprised I haven’t pinched a nerve.
He looks over at Abram with astonishment. Neither of them is willing to give in. Standing on either side of the counter with squared shoulders and replies at the ready.
Whatever Finn wanted to do, Abram isn’t letting him, and he isn’t happy about it.
Finn’s eyes are bright and alive before they narrow, and a muscle jumps in his jaw. “Give memykeys,” he grinds out.
“I said no,” Abram answers back more sternly.
The sound of two balled fists slamming down on the stoned countertop makes me jump. My eyes follow along, tracking the now spilled glass of orange juice beside Finn. The glass still rattles as the liquid seeps down the pristine white cabinets and onto the floor.
Neither of them moves to pick it up, both men more focused, and too headstrong on not giving in, than a spill.
I rush over, cleaning it up before it spreads from a small mess into a larger one.
The thickened tension in the room far outweighs the small pinch of pain from the broken shards as I clean it up.
After tossing the orange-tinted rags into the trash, I huff out. The loose strands of hair that had fallen in front of my face are shoved back. “What is going on here?” Saying aloud the one question plaguing my mind while staring them both down.
A vein strings from Finn’s forehead, a growl rumbling from deep within his chest following soon after.
“I want my fucking keys,” he seethes. Not only does he not answer my question, but he also doesn’t bother to move the pointed way in which his head is in Abram’s direction.
The lack of acknowledgment irritates me further.
“You can have them back later.”
He arches an eyebrow and that vein in Finn’s forehead grows like he already knows what he’s going to say.
“…Afterwe talk.”
Fire dances in Finn’s eyes. His pulse pounds, thrumming along his temple.
The anger in his locked gaze fighting to hold as he stands across from him stock-still.
My own panic swells when I watch as his mouth slowly turns into a nasty smirk.
