Fallen Queen

~ C H A P T E R S I X ~

I can now feel every single thing in my surroundings in such an intense way that I'm afraid my mind would collapse as it notes the various things down. The warmth of my cheeks and the slight itch in them- all of it a consequence of the countless hours of crying. I can feel the wetness of my cheeks, and I can discern the wisps of hair that stick the wetness, a flash of a line in my eyesight. The chirping of a distinct bird whose name I find difficult to remember, and the faint smell of good coffee lingering in the air.

"I-" I have never felt so at a loss for words. The figure that stands in front of me, concentrating the cold and calculating glare on everything that can be perceived in my state so as to put things together. Yet I don't see a flicker of pity, emotions or a 'sorry' look in those eyes- I'm grateful, but I don't know why I expected them- that person has never been one to feel anything but hatred and malevolence towards me.

"Cat got your tongue, Achelois?" He grunts, as he steps closer. I maintain my stance- no, my life is definitely not turning into that usual, 'hits the edge of the table as the hot guy caged her between his arms' trope.

"No, it's intact," I reply, but it's half-hearted; my response dimmed partially by shock and partially by the apprehension of the questions that are to come.

"Oh, but you obviously seemed to have lost your 'chill' over something. Now, now, ain't we talking 'about something, dear dear Achelois?" He smirks and crosses his arms, "You don't cry, Achelois- you don't CRY." He says sternly.

"What I do," is pointed towards him now, "Is none of your motherfucking business. Excuse me," I say, but what I do is a clear indication that I wasn't requesting it, I was stating it. He now stretches his arm in my way. I raise a brow at him. "You think I can't turn around where your hands end and go in my way?"

"Oh, you can, but you won't, Achelois. You are the kind of person who walks into an impasse and waits for it to pass- you can fight against it and win but unless you're not egged on and provoked, winning isn't a turn-on for you. You love challenges, you love the competition, but you need the provocation."

"You dare use my own words against me, Wolfe?"

"What if I said I would- oh, my bad. I already did, didn't I, now?" He sneers.

"Get out of my fucking way, old geezer. I neither have the patience nor the crayons right now," I grit my teeth as anger boils like a sweet-fucking-sauna inside of me.

"We could do this the easier way if you could let me know of your motives that are never good. Texting Layla Theodore- I'm not so sure. Since when did you start talking to Mom, Achelois?-"

"I SAID IT WAS NONE OF YOUR GODDAMN BUS-"

"DON'T. FUCKING. INTERRUPT. ME," He cuts in sharply and rudely, and I almost flinch but no. I almost shove my fingers into his eyes demandingly, "Now you listen to me, Wolfe," I grit my teeth hard, "We're gonna exit this place at the same time, go our own ways, and forget this ever happened. Did I get the message across?"

"And why in the fucking hell would I ever listen to you?" He spat in my face.

"Oh, believe me, Wolfe," I say tightly, yet not losing my smirk, "Little children talk a lot- talk big, but oh, that practicality, that ton of bricks to their senses, you really don't wanna try it, Wolfe," I spit back. He glares at me, and I glare back. Colorless against too much color, a battle between two darknesses.

Eye contact is a dangerous, dangerous thing, but lovely. Oh, so lovely.

"I don't see anyone being a child here but you, Achelois."

"Funny. Remember the last time I cared about your opinion, powerpuff girl? Me neither." I snorted in his face.

"Oh, but you will," his grip on my wrist tightens to a degree that I'm aware if I try to twist my wrist out of his grip, I'll end up breaking it instead, yet I don't show a flicker of the pain he's subjecting me to, because I never have, and I NEVER WILL.

"Dreaming is okay, you know, but Wolfe, sometimes trying to reach the stars in every bit of its meaning is wrong and fatal," I sneer in his face, "Because we, humans, generally aren't willing to burn ourselves out of existence, unless the so-called person is an idiot. And I really don't have a lot of reason to believe you are an idiot, unless you know what, you've really thought you're the powerhouse of the world and God of the universe," I hiss.

He lets go of my wrist for a split second- he has me believing he's given up on me, but I should've known better. No sooner has his right hand left my wrist has his left hand coiled itself around my neck. He tugs me dangerously close to him, and I can smell his signature aftershave on me- oh how enticing. The tips of his fingers drum lightly on the back of my neck yet his grip is tight enough to let me know that thrashing in opposition will be in vain.

"Don't you dare, Achelois, don't you dare try to switch topics onto me, we're here about why the fuck you were texting LAYLA THEODORE in the early hours, asking her to meet you up at Starbucks round the corner from your building and were found in a quite pathetic state, with a messy face and tears," he reaches over with his right hand, but I jerk my head back. He flinches slightly.

"I guessed we were past this, Achelois," his voice drops by several notches, as if he's gently whispering those hurtful little words to me.

"Better be slapped with the truth than be kissed with a lie," I whisper hardly, and reach over to his fingers, unwrapping them from the back of my neck. I'm relieved he lets me.

"I have come back here to pursue the next field of my career, Wolfe," I say in a low tone, "If I were you, I'd stay away from me, because well," I sigh deeply, "Times change. People do too. That applies both ways, you and me irrespective, Wolfe," I mutter. "Stay out of my life, and I'll stay out of yours."

Without a second glance, I place a couple of bills on the table, enough to cover the cost of the almost untouched mug of americano along with a hefty tip for the waiter. No looking back.

I walk away.

I run.

When it is foolish to stay, the courage for running away must be summoned for your survival. Bravery is the sweet-spot on a spectrum from cowardice to fool hardy. There are times when running away is that sweet-spot, when it is the brave choice. It is all a matter of circumstance, trust your instinct on which has arisen.

Out of Starbucks.

Oh, guess what?

I just fucked up again, instead of trying to get a better control over it.

No thanks, Mrs Theodore, I guess it's me against the world this time.

~

A/N:-

There's an update! Did you like the new chapter?

Were your guesses right about the Mystery Guy tho? I bet they weren't. Also, the woman wasn't Melian. It was Wolfe's mom! Who'd have guessed?!🥱🥱🥱

Me neither. I cooked this up only a couple days back.

Also, our schools are back to being conducted online. Online classes suck-  offline classes rock. You just can't change my mind. The fun's not the same. Sneaking snacks into yo mouth is much more amazing in offline classes rather than switching cams off and eating food without having to be alert. NOT FUNNY! 😭

QOTD:- Would y'all like me to start a Reviews Shop?

Huh, I'm confused. DANG.😒

Also, liked the tension between them? And what was Wolfe talking about? Being past what?🤷‍♀️

Comment your views down along with your new guesses and of course, the feedback is always welcome with rose petals and rose water. I hate flowers though. They're so- ugh.

Like, vote, comment and share! Follow if you like my page!
Your make-shift writoh who's falling endlessly,
Disha✨🌝