DIVISION 52 - BOOK II

CHAPTER LXV

P R O X I M O

I stared soundlessly at my wrist comm.

Not a word. Radio silence. A thousand different scenarios of a woman in white and purple serving up Art's head on a platter surrounded by laughing Imperials.

I bounced a knee subconsciously.

But this wasn't progress. I needed to do something. I needed to act to break something–someone–why hadn't he just told me where, what or how. Anything to give me insight into that damn contractor's whereabouts. He had become that spectre once more. One moment here on the continent and the next...

"You knew this was coming." Artella murmured, with his bare arms tucked behind his head. His sculpted torso bared as plainly as my own.

I slammed back a tumbler of whiskey and refilled it.

"There's plenty of work here." I growled, refusing to meet those dark eyes.

"Proximo..."

I continued nursing the glass until I gripped it tighter at the tone and launched it at the wall. It shattered the same way the conversation did.

"We all make choices, Art. You just happen to make yours quickly!"

He sat up in the bed with his brows low and his mouth a grim line.

"You think you see me so clearly but you don't–"

"I'm not the one leaving continent tomorrow. I am not the one choosing an impossible distance for the sake of credits." I sneered, ripping the sheets off me and yanking on a pair of combats. I was halfway into them when I realised they were his–it was too late to go back now. Too late for many things.

My body felt like it was being torn in half. One remained in the bed and the other... The other wanted oblivion and to get that fucking face out of my head.

His strong hand stopped my forearm and I tore it free with a snarl.

"Do you plan on having this conversation entirely one sided or can I enter it?" He retorted calmly.

It was that. God. Damn. Calm. That sent me.

I lunged for him. He didn't stop me as I landed a fist hard on his face and wrapped both hands around his neck taking away his air. It wasn't nearly enough. But it at least changed his expression for once.

"Everything–is so damn–easy for you–isn't it?!" I said through my teeth, glaring all the hate I could find in me down on him.

His hands slowly reached up and went over mine as he pulled them back an inch enough to breathe. It didn't take any of the fire away. It just put me in simmer. It made me ponder how many knives he had in the belt of these combats–

"Just. Stop." He rasped, "–for once, Proximo. Listen to me."

I controlled my heavy breathing. Then finally pulled my hands back and rolled off him. I sat on the edge with my back to him and remained silent. Perhaps I would remain silent for a long time. It was better than being consumed.

"I cannot tell you where I am going because then they will know–before you ask. You cannot know who either. I am not doing this for the credits, Proximo. It's never been about that–"

"But you leave all the same. What does it matter?" I muttered, staring ahead.

His living space had always been a marvel. So much light came through the tower. Glass and wood that made it feel alive and breathing. Plants. So many plants. If I pictured the old world forests I pictured it like this. Free and alive. Much like him.