KIERA.
For the next two and half weeks I spent convalescing, I heard nothing more from Dylan. He didn't breeze in to say hello, or slam my breath on hold by the power of his hypnotizing, warm eyes, or thankfully, remind me of my dry, boring life as he smooches his girlfriend in my room. As it turned out, our Dylan borrowed me Amie, one of his personal maids who happened to chatter about nothing and everything non-stop.
Since I was hopelessly free, I had no phone, my family (if they hadn't disowned me already) were miles away lavishing inherited wealth in the highbrow of Texas, my rescuer suddenly assumed it was kind of him to make himself scarce, I hatched a perfect plan. Amie lay out my breakfast table while gossiping as usual.
"So Master Dylan's fiancée is home, and she said she wanted to see you at dinnertime. Don't worry, she's all bark and no bite. I'm sure she doesn't mean any harm."
My pupils widened to the sizes of two large hamburgers. I held up my palm, an indication for her to stop.
"Kiera, chill out. He's not marrying a murderer. She has her personal gun but is too afraid to touch it, let alone kill someone." Amie laughed at my frazzled expression.
"Okay okay, I was kidding."
I threw a stuffed pillow at her head. Did she even care if I just had a heart attack?
"You really are something else, Kiera. Jeez, do you hate the poor lady that much? Just don't let Master Dylan know, unless you feel like breaking his heart. He likes to pose as strong and unbreakable but, inside, he's one soft baby."
She looked at me meaningfully, handing over a cup of creamy rich coffee.
"You think so?" I mouthed wordlessly.
"I know so, darling."
I cautioned her words blasting red warning signals backstage of my mind. The morning slipped girl chatter and idle talk, briefly paused when we enjoyed a scrumptious breakfast of toast and bacon together. Amie and I were fast becoming attached, I found her nature pleasant and funny. As soon as she retreated downstairs, I seized the opportunity to bring my plan to perfect reality. Time to confront the Master. Dylan.
The second I shuffled my way out of the door that confined me from the entire household, I realized that I made an irrevocable mistake. I let Amie abandon me to my girlish whims, now I was stuck on the top stair having no idea of where it ended. Notwithstanding my conscience etching lines of guilt on my forehead, I descended the gleaming marble staircase, holding tightly onto the bronze railings on either side.
Each step downwards afforded a wider view of his home that kept getting better and better. Surprisingly, I discovered myself satisfied with his exquisite taste in modern architecture. The corridors stretched onwards beneath beam ceilings glowing with amber lights. I glided my palm over the cool, panel walls as I wandered farther into this mysterious mansion.
All was deathly silent. I concurred that the servants live in separate quarters but, what was I doing here? I glanced behind, only to realize that I had come far. Too far. Based on intuition, I took the left wing, tiptoeing. Now was the worst time to get caught.
A whiff of fruity cologne smarted my nose almost when I turned the corner into yet another fancy corridor. So did the angelic masculine voice I wished to hear in the past five days. Dylan argued with someone on the phone, yelled, as matter of fact. My ears failed to catch on the better part of the heated conversation, but his closing remark was too loud to bypass.
"I have decided, Mother. She's staying here, and that's final. Unless you have dire reasons why I cannot host a homeless, poor woman under my roof, I suggest you drop this matter. For good."
Tears stung my eyes as I blinked, struggling to keep them at bay. Was that what he thought of me? A homeless, poor lady? No wonder he abruptly quit visiting me. Stark reality hit me hard in the guts. I spared one careful look at my plain cream pyjamas, hair barely restrained in a loose ponytail. Stupid, stupid me. What was I expecting? That he would spread his arms open wide for me to run into them at the speed of light?
"Kiera?" Upon the sound of my name coming from his mouth, I stumbled backwards.
"What are you doing here?" Sharp ridges formed on his forehead, his warm eyes frozen cold.
Out of nowhere, I found words to reply, "Nothing. But since you think I'm a wretched homeless, I should probably make myself scarce."
He clenched his fists. "What else did you hear? How long have you been standing here, prying into my privacy?"
Dylan's angry stance scared me to death. His jaw set in steel, Flashes of lightening sparked across his mien.
"I... I..."
"So you deceived me, huh? You can actually talk. Yet here I was, worried about your welfare. You want to know why I stayed away from you? Because the doctor said so! After the last time I saw you, he reported that you suffered a terrible nausea that prevented you from taking your drugs!"
Much to my extreme alarm, my lips loosened up on their own accord, betraying me fair and square.
"Please don't yell at me," I murmured, staring at my bare feet.
As though controlled by supernatural forces sworn to worsen my problems, the lights went off at once. Darkness instantly overshadowed the former beauty, quickening my heartbeat ten thousand times faster.
"I'm sorry, Kiera," Dylan pronounced royally. Through fairly thick clothing, he enclosed my small palm in his rough large one.
Seconds ticked by, each bearing the weight and gravity of an eternity. Did he just apologize? The Master himself? His tone, the honesty laced with his voice seared my soul to the core. Any ill-will I nursed towards him vanished into thin air.
"Do you accept my apology?" He asked hopefully.
Bit by bit, my eyes grew used to the dark, I made out the outline of his dashing face softening to an extent I'd never seen before. Funny, because I'd seen him only twice, this time inclusive.
"You scared me," I whispered.
"Perhaps I should confine you to bed. Seriously, you aren't supposed to go around snooping on your hero's phone calls. It's creepy, Miss damsel in distress."
"Damsel in distress? Is that a line from your latest screenplay?"
"I'm actually offended, Kiera," he feigned hurt. I almost snorted watching his "heartbroken" stance. And then I realized he was not holding my hand anymore. My heart accelerated immediately after; I whimpered audibly, backing up against the wall.
"Kiera. Kiera, what's wrong?"
I shielded my face from the world as I sank down on my knees. Everything started returning. Everything, the memories, the pain, flashes of rejection, the endless sad nights rolling into sombre days of acute loneliness. I sobbed into my palms, my tears of sorrow at this unjust world.
"Kiera!" Apparently worried sick, he stooped down to my level and placed his hand on my shoulder. But that was not enough. I turned to him for comfort, renewal, healing.
"Make me whole again," I said without quite using words, as I cleaved to him in a weak embrace.