Iridescent

Chapter 18

Meredith

She had been gone for too long.

I had burned a path in the carpet from my pacing. Irina had followed me for a few minutes, but when she slumped back into the lounge couch, I figured she got dizzy and let herself give up when I stopped responding.

I let my thumb run across the small pendant on my necklace and wondered why she had burst into tears before. She had never done that. She knew what to expect—after her slip up, her father would call her in, give her a talking to and that was that.

She had never cried like that before.

The door opened and she closed it behind her quietly.

"Where have you been?" The questions spilled out and I rushed to her, "How'd it go? Are you okay?"

"It was the usual," She muttered, keeping her eyes out of reach. She only hides her eyes when they have something to say.

And that was supposed to mean....?

"What made you cry this morning Stasia?" I cut to the question that was the most important.

She stopped, standing in front of her armoire, hesitating about something. I could tell she was thinking because she her fingers started pulling at the pattern of her skirt—if she was facing me, she would have been chewing the inside of her lip.

"You know I don't like his talks," She said.

No one liked the talks. I could easily throw my neck on the line with the notion that no one wanted to be in a five-foot radius of Roman Callaech, but that didn't give a reasonable explanation as to why she was torn to tears this morning.

"Are you going to tell me what is going on with you, or are you just going to let me worry myself to bits?" I asked her, putting my hands on my hips. When she left this morning—something was wrong. And when she walked right back through that door, something was still wrong.

And when something was wrong with her, everything in my being wanted to be the right.

"Meredith," Her voice broke through, and I thought I was going to get the words from her. There was a lift in her voice, but the silence dragged the chance back down.

I wondered out loud, "Is it really that bad to not tell me?"

"Yes," Was all I got.

I ran my hand over my mouth wishing that she didn't say it was. It only made me worry more—think less. My mind spun with all sorts of questions, but they would never make meaning or be fulfilled if Stasia found more comfort in lying than speaking the truth.

"I have to do this, Mer," Stasia spoke, and I tore my eyes from the floor, noticing the small tremble in her voice, "I have to do this by myself." I swallowed, realizing that I was not going to have a choice in this, let alone a place. It hurt to think I couldn't help her when she didn't even want it—maybe she needed it, but it had to be something for her to filter it. Before I had the chance to argue, she turned her head to the side, looking towards me, "Could you just help me get ready for dinner?"

Everything I saw—the way her shoulders seemed to stiffen at the question, the way her hands still twitched at the sides of her skirt, the small parts of her face that told me it was not okay—hurt. Her hurt was so much mine—I could feel every strand of it.

She didn't even know that I found so much place in her—comfort in choosing to guide her, loving her in her good ways and bad, the way she filled the holes in my heart to the point that I forgot were even there—what makes me matter is taking care of her and she wouldn't even let me.

"Of course," I nodded, faking the words. She probably heard it in my voice, but it was too difficult for me to pretend. I wanted to be proud of her independence, the way she wanted to take the reins, but something in me resisted the thought—I wished it for a different moment.

Is this what it means to let her grow up?

Stepping out of the way—becoming the observer?

I suppose it didn't happen overnight.

Her hair still curled and frizzed in the same places—the curliest bits at the corners of her temple, the root of her neck. Her eyes were still the same little jades of life behind the wings of her eye lashes. The expressions that molded into her face where very much the same—her wonder, her happiness, her woe. She grew every day, but I didn't notice because the big changes in her seemed so small in the seconds. I saw the little bits of girl in her that I always would and maybe that was what scared me the most—I knew she would grow out of them soon enough.

I watched as she started to pull off the dress she was wearing and my hands reached with, "Here, let me help you."

"It's okay," She answered, and I felt the bends in my hands freeze up, "I can do it." Her words were simple.

I know you can. But that doesn't mean I want you to just yet.

A tear trickled down my cheek and I wiped it away quickly, before she would notice. I felt my face tug in every direction—fighting between a smile and sadness.

From here, I watched.