Glitch (The Write Awards 2013 Winner)

Glitch - Chapter 30

“Hiya sunshine.”

He stood facing her square on. His eyes burying deep with their stare and absorbing every detail as if searching for some sign of change in her features that he had missed in his absence. His tone was lacking its usual teasing undertone. Instead he spoke with caution; eyebrows raised to question the appropriateness of his greeting and hands slumped into his pockets. The nickname sounded odd in such serious intonation. Nothing felt quite right about the entire greeting. Her mind cast back to their first meeting and suffered a swift jolt of shock at the difference. Back then he had barely managed the effort to raise his head and look at her. Now he grasped onto her stare with a disconcerting concentration.

Freya longed to return to how they had been on their first meeting. She could have called him the first curse to appear in her mind, he would have retorted with something infuriatingly teasing and then they would have dissolved the tension by transferring their anger into passion of a different kind. Or at least that seemed to be their usual solution.

It wouldn't be the solution today. An awkwardness hung in the air that buried deep into the pit of her stomach. An atmosphere that weighed down on her tongue and became too heavy to hold a teasing reply. This situation called for a different approach.

Freya could not even determine which avenue of emotion to pursue. Sadness. Anger. Indifference. A plethora of options lay out before her and yet nothing seemed to be appropriate. Sadness too pathetic, anger too harsh, and indifference crueller still. Shock still blocking any solid thoughts from her mind she simply blinked back at him, while attempting to play catch up with her spiralling emotions.

“Okay, you’re angry and I understand that…” His shoulders slumped further on the confirmation that the discussion was in no way going to be easy or straightforward.

“I’m not angry. I’m confused and a little disappointed to be honest,” she interrupted. It felt important that he understand the exact flavour of her emotions before the conversation continued. It appeared as if Mat would have preferred anger. He visibly swallowed a bundle of nerves.

“Right… can I come in?” He raised his head to ask the question; once again looking her in the eye. Freya gave him the credit for the bravery of making eye contact. She stepped aside to allow Mat entry. He followed her into the centre of the room and then there they stood; facing each other but not saying a word. Drawing out the battle-lines for a war of uncertainty.

“Are you not going to say anything?” he asked her. Still speaking with a gentle air to his voice.  Concern began to creep into noticeable prominence on his expressions; folding his brow into a crinkle of concern.

“I don’t know what to say.” The words fell with a complete lack of animation. Freya was too caught up in the numb confusion of her feelings to put much conviction into her tone. That seemed to unsettle him. He looked to her for a sign of a stronger reaction. Almost imploring her to shout or lose her temper or do anything to break the stagnant inaction between them. But she had nothing to give him.

“Fine. I’ll start. I shouldn’t have disappeared after the trial. I just needed to get my head around a few things and I needed some space. It wasn’t fair on you. I’ll admit that. It was selfish of me. But you’re not the only one who is confused. I’ve been an Anomaly since I was thirteen years old. And it never got any easier to deal with. I don’t have anything figured out at all. But suddenly you are there, coming to me for support, expecting me to make things magically better and I didn’t have it in me to do that…”

“I know.” Her words were murmured quietly. The guilt weighing down on the volume. The realisation that her conduct had not been so clean was not new. It had occurred to her a few days earlier. Although he had no reason to know that. For him it was the introduction of an entirely novel concept. Hearing him admit it in person was different. It was no longer just in the paranoia of her mind. Worst of all was the way he said it. A flicker of doubt crept into his explanation. As if not fully convinced that he had a right to voice concerns of his own. That was her doing. The guilt prevented her from speaking up about it; locking her tongue into shamed silence.