Perilous Flames [clifford a.u]

chapter thirty nine - strike first

CHAPTER THIRTY NINE - STRIKE FIRST

Dinner was a time filled with chatter and laughter. A time that was more rapture-filled than what was necessary. A time where it was blatantly obvious, no matter how they hard tried to hide it, that something was going on. 

Everyone, including Ashton, was making conversation and smiling as we sipped on wine and ate the fancy dinner the chef made. Everyone, even the workers of the house that brushed by, looked forcefully at ease. So much so that a small pit of uncomfortable doubt began to grow in my chest.

It was unordinary to see, especially since my awakening was a crude reminder of what all, and some even more, have endured. It was all just masks overlying the true face and mood that we all held inside.

At ten, Ashton immediately dismissed himself, claiming he was tired, and soon after, Calum followed suit. They made sure to give a sign of relief towards me, Ashton an appreciative nod and Calum another careful hug, before leaving Michael and me alone. And then it was all silence.

He was sitting across from me, busying himself through spinning his wine-filled glass among his fingers. He had grown quiet once our companions disappeared and I took this opportunity to find out the information of what was going on in hopes that at least he won't hide it from. 

I stared at him, eyes furrowed. "Why do you look like you ate some bad chicken?"

Michael's eyes flitted upwards to meet mine and a smile curved his lips. "It's the wine," he teased. Bringing the glass to his mouth, he took a small slip and scowled in reaction. "Yeah, that's definitely stale. I prefer beer more."

Laughing, I rolled my eyes at him. "What's going on?" 

Michael was taken aback by the question. Apparently, he thought that I hadn't noticed the unnerving tension they were all carrying. And yet, even though he was carrying a look of concern, he still had the audacity to fake a teasing smile. "What do you mean what's going on?"

"Come on, Michael." I gave him a hard stare. "Something is going on and you're all not telling me about it. And I can tell it's something serious because you're all having this kind of face--"

"Don't worry about it," he interrupted, sitting back with a sigh. "At least now don't. Just focus on healing and getting back on your two feet."

"I can walk, you know."

"Yeah but you're doing a little bit of a hobble in your step. A little like a penguin--"

I grabbed a piece of lettuce that I didn't eat from my plate and threw it at him. "Michael!" It hit him square in the face and yet, he had burst out laughing. "I am not walking like a penguin."

"Okay, fine," he said after a moment of containing himself. He was grinning now, his eyes solely fixed on me. "But I am serious about you focused on getting better." 

Tilting my head slightly, I gave him a frown. "You are going to tell me eventually, right?" 

But Michael was saved from giving me an answer. 

Footsteps suddenly padded from out in the corridor and we both looked to the side to see Wendy stepping into the kitchen. When her eyes descended on us, however, they widened and she stumbled back, her expression already apologetic. "Oh, I'm sorry for intruding. I didn't know--" 

"It's alright Wendy," Michael spoke up, giving her an easy smile. The apprehension of what I asked him was locked in his eyes but he tried his best to hide it as he faced her. 

Wendy's shoulders relaxed only a fraction but her face still bore embarrassment. Her eyes were darting between us and after a second of assessing what we both could have possibly been talking about, she clasped her hands in front of her and pronounced quietly, "I've come to help Ms. Carter for the rest of the night, Mr. Clifford."