Our Life Together

Chapter Thirty Four

I roll over in my bed and pull the sheets with me. It seems so foreign to be able to pull the sheets with me. I have been able to get used to it, though. I've been able to hog all the sheets of my bed for three nights. Flynn didn't come into our room the night that I told him. He slept in one of the guest bedrooms. Ever since then, he hasn't slept in our room.

I look on the alarm clock on our bedside table. It's only been two minutes since the last time I looked. It also tells me that it's been several hours since I laid down in bed. I roll over once again so I am laying in the middle of the bed, but it is no use. I won't be falling asleep anytime soon.

I climb out of bed and guide myself over to by vanity by the light filtering in through windows of the double doors to my balcony. I sit down on the bench and stare at my reflection. All that really would appear different to anyone else is the light purple shading under my eyes of the newly formed bags. I, though, believe I look much older than 18. My eyes are red and sad. My lips hang in a straight line that only disappointed mothers wear. While it concerns me, my eyes refuse to move away.

When I finally move away from my reflection, I begin to move towards the bathroom to throw some water on my face to maybe help me fall asleep but I stop at the doors to the balcony. For some reason, the bright, gray-blue light beckons for me to come outside. I twist the bronze door knob open and step outside. A crisp, late-spring breeze welcomes me as I close the door behind me. I sit down on the edge and allow my legs to hang down from the balcony with a pole in between them.

As soon as I look down at the garden, my eyes drift over to the bench. It was just one, measly little kiss. If anything, it was more of a peck. Why is it such a big deal? I think as soon as I see the bench. It is still pushed up against the palace wall between several bushes. It seems like nothing happened there yet it is filled with my guilt.

Really, I don't know that I feel guilty about the kiss. I think it was the fact that I hurt Flynn. I feel bad that I kept it from him. He is in the same boat that I was in over the whole Sam thing. While it was insignificant, it still hurt the other that it ever happened.

No, it hurt the other that the secret was ever kept in the first place. This is exactly what Flynn pointed out the last time we talked. We were passing one another in the hallway and I dragged him into the nearest library and forced him to say something.

"I mean, come on, Celia!" he had yelled at me before leaving the library. "I thought that when you trust someone, you tell them the truth." The words echo through my mind. No only this time when he said them, but when I told them to him.

I still believe the words are true. When you trust someone, you would tell them the truth when it comes to these types of things. It is deeper than that, though, because I do trust Flynn; I trust him with my life. I think when you trust someone that much, it is hard to tell them the truth because it could really hurt them.

And if anyone knows how much the truth hurts, it is me. I was raised here in the palace and I have had my fair share — no, it has been way more than fair, it's a much larger portion than that — of criticism. Words hurt, but I've learned to have thick skin, which is why it hurts when the people I trust tell me something I don't like. It's why it hurts what Flynn told me about my personality.

Never would I have thought I was viewed as naive and immature. It hurt because at one point in time in our relationship, it was true. When we first met, I was naive. I fell right into the arms of the first men who came after me, even though a majority wanted to take down me or my family.

It all boils down to me keeping it a secret. To him, it must have appeared that it felt like something special to me; that I had fallen in love with his brother and not him. While really, it was just the fact that I was sheltering his feelings, something else I shouldn't have done.

When I cannot take these thoughts any longer, I push up and stare at the empty bed. It takes me feel space this new distance between us. The distance, while is suffocating, is very much needed. This is when I realize we do need space between us. Not a metaphorical space, but literal space.

I run out of our bedroom, but I do not go to his bedroom. Instead, I go to my piano which is the only way I will be able to tell him all of this.

So, I was told this would not be moving too fast if I went on and went ahead with my plan... *evil laugh* If only you all understood when I was so reluctant to move fast... Please comment and vote! :D <3

Disclaimer: Kiera Cass's next version of the selection was about Eadlyn Shreave, not Celia which is one reason why it is so obvious that I do not own The Selection.