Inversion [Camp NaNoWriMo July 2021]

day 26

d a y   2 6

The coffee somehow tastes both bland and bitter. All the same, I offer a smile to the waiter, thanking him for the food as he places a bowl of questionable looking oats in front of me. The cheapest thing on the menu, although I'm beginning to wonder if it would be better to just skip breakfast altogether.

I swallow the food nonetheless, since I haven't eaten since lunch yesterday and my stomach is grumbling in protest. Tasteless and a bit too runny, at least the food is warm. The coffee wakes me up. I leave a few bills on the table before slipping out of the cafe.

It's early, but the heat is already stifling. I desperately want to change out of my clothes, sweaty and dirty after a night spent wandering old haunts. The bus driver had given me a look of mild disgust mixed with pity, as if he knew just what it meant for a pale-faced girl with red-rimmed eyes to be taking the bus in the middle of the night.

My phone chimes as I power it on, more missed calls and a few messages and voicemails as well. I ignore all of them. If I'd bothered to wear my watch yesterday, I wouldn't have even needed to check the phone for the time. I take my time walking down the still-quiet streets and make it to Guilford Apartments right as Cian's shift is starting.

It feels strange to walk through the glass front doors, to ride up the elevator and push open the door to apartment 4E, as if I haven't lived here for the past month. I feel like a ghost. Or perhaps burglar would be a better term.

I'm halfway down the hall to the guest room when I hear shuffling behind me. I'd been so caught up in my thoughts, so reassured that I knew Cian's work schedule, that I didn't bother to check if the apartment was truly empty. But when I turn around, Cian's standing up from the couch, still wearing yesterday's clothes, although they're decidedly more rumpled. His curls are a mess, falling into his eyes, which are ringed with dark bags, as if he hadn't slept.

He looks almost as bad as I do.

His mouth opens and closes, but nothing comes out. At his sides, his hands are clenched into fists.

I can't bear the sight of him. It all comes back. Me, shoving him away. Him, face twisting with anger and disdain, telling me not to come back.

The air between us is brittle, poisoned by all those words.

I shouldn't have come back. As Cian's fingers uncurl, his chest heaving with breaths that are audible in the silent apartment, I move towards him, his eyes tracking my every movement. I give him a wide berth as I head back towards the door, but he lunges forward, a hand wrapping around my wrist.

"Wait." His voice is hoarse. "Please. I'm sorry."

I want to yank my arm away. I want to storm out of the apartment and slam the door behind me. But I don't. Maybe it makes me selfish and manipulative, but I remind myself that I have nowhere to go. And in two days, I'll have to face the truth that this is my life. I'll have to build this new life. And I'll need Cian's help more than ever.

If you don't want my help, then don't bother coming back.

But I did come back. I may not want his help, but I sure as hell need it.

So I turn to face him, trying to school my expression into something more neutral.

He makes no such attempt, his face crumpling with relief and regret when I cross my arms and wait for him to speak.

"I'm sorry," he says again, sliding the hand on my wrist down to grip my fingers. I can't tell if the clamminess is from me or him. "I didn't mean it. I wanted to give you space, but when you didn't come home last night ..."