"You're moping." I tell Dastan. He's sitting at my kitchen counter and staring into his soda can as if it holds the answers to all the greatest mysteries of the universe. Maybe, it can tell me how I got stuck dealing with his brooding on a Wednesday night when all I want to do is clean my apartment and then binge watch trashy reality TV while eating take out. That doesn't look like it's gonna happen now. Dastan showed up unannounced twenty minutes ago and has been sitting in my kitchen silently staring while I wipe down every horizontal surface with bleach and multiple other disinfectants without saying a word. He doesn't really need to, I can guess pretty well why he's here but I'm not about to invite myself into that fight.
"I'm not moping," He says petulantly. Sure, and I'm a Victoria Secret supermodel. I roll my eyes at him, he doesn't see it. I watch him watch the soda can on the counter for a few seconds more before I interrupt his no-doubt depressing inner monologue.
"Do you want to talk about why you showed up at my door on a work night looking like Santa Claus kicked your puppy or would you like to keep sitting there trying to separate the molecules in your soda with your eyes?" I ask, it sounds a little harsh but that seems to break whatever resistance he'd been holding onto.
"I'm guessing she told you what happened?" He begins. I don't have to ask who this 'she' is. There's only one woman who can put Dastan in this kind of state. The guy is generally unshakeable but when it comes to Kiera he's powerless. I think it's because she's always under his skin and he doesn't know how to get her out.
"She mentioned that you guys had a fight but she didn't tell me much. Just said she didn't want to get into it and that I should leave it alone." I offer. There's a moment when I see the surprise flit across his expression before he buries it. He was obviously expecting Kiera to come crying to me about what happened and usually he would have been right. She normally tells me everything, but there was something off about her when she and I spoke on Saturday night. Their fight must have affected her more than she wanted to show, which is why I'm so curious about what Dastan has say.
"So, what happened?" I ask absently, while pulling off my rubber gloves and running my hands under the stream of steaming water at the sink. I'm only half-listening at this point. I know Dastan isn't going to reveal much. He's always played things close to the vest when it comes to his emotions.
"I messed up, Em." He says miserably. His tone catches me by the throat and forces me to take notice. I look at him over my shoulder just in time to see him run an agitated hand through his messy hair and let out a defeated sigh. I haven't seen him look so affected by anything in a long time. "I just lost it and … the things I said- God. It was awful." He looks a little green around the gills, which only makes me more curious.
I shut off the water and walk around the counter, drying my hands on the way. He doesn't even look up as I approach, his shoulders are slumped forward and he rests his head against the palm of his left hand. The ring on his thumb cuts into his cheek harshly but he doesn't even seem to notice.
"Talk to me, Dimples." I revert to the old childhood nickname. He's always hated his dimples, Kiera and I thought they were adorable and never let him forget it. I lay my head against his large shoulder, it's not exactly comfortable. Like using a brick as a pillow, but it's a reassuring gesture nonetheless. I feel rather than hear him sigh again.
"I think she hates me," he confides and I can tell it's affecting him because he scrubs his hand over his face and makes a sound in the back of his throat. It's the most I've seen him react to anything concerning Kiera in three years.
Some maternal part of me wants to reassure him the way I would Kiera, "She could never hate you." I rub my palm gently over his bicep where his t-shirt ends. His skin is warm and smells of soap and that cologne he's always liked.
"You don't know what I said to her," he responds wretchedly. I stare down at his exposed skin, his new tattoo peaks out from under his sleeve; it goes all the way down to the middle of his massive bicep. It's some type of geometric design with lines, sort of tribal looking.
"Tell me what happened?" I prompt gently.
It's all the encouragement he needs, "I told her I didn't want her around my family anymore." He says, and I hear the guilt in his voice. "I told her she's the reason dad and I have been fighting and that she's robbing Zia of a chance to be close to him. I blamed her for everything that's gone wrong in our lives. I even told her she's keeping you from living your life." He looks down at me then. Oh Dastan, what have you done now? I don't say anything for a moment. "I called her a burden." He confesses this one so quietly it's practically a whisper but I'm close enough to catch it. I also, catch the way his voice strains over the word. I wince.
Of all the things he could have said to her, he had to pick the one thing she's actually always been worried about. Now I know why she didn't want to talk about it. She clearly believes him. "She doesn't hate you," I say again, more sure this time. I know for a fact Kiera could never hate him, he's as much a part of her as I am. No matter what happens between them I'm certain that she'd always love him in some way. I don't say this to him however; the last thing I want is to open the can of worms that is their feelings for each other. It's hard to contain either of them when they're on good terms.
"Em, she wouldn't even look at me." He sounds close to breaking. I'm not sure what exactly to do with this version of Dastan. He's always been strong, unaffected, the one we all go to for a shoulder to cry on. He's an ass most times, and he can come off as callous and uninterested but I know he's got a big heart he's just never let anyone see it. Right now, he's exposing a piece of it to me and I feel like this moment is crucial. How I respond to seeing this side of him might affect how much of himself he reveals again. "And then she left with him." He says he last word with so much venom I pull away to look at his face.
Gone is the soft emotional boy from a second ago. Now, the ink of his eyes has turned a violent, unforgiving black. I can only assume the 'him' he's referring to is Connor. It's interesting; for all his talk of being over Kiera and not wanting her in his life, he sure is twisted up in knots over her relationship with Connor. He's also awfully concerned about what Kiera thinks of him. Delusional idiot. I wonder if Dastan has truly moved on. The thought that maybe he hasn't is far from ideal.
"C'mon D, she's just hurt, you know that. She's just doing her best to deal with a tricky situation." He's staring at the counter again; turning the soda can between his hands, passing it back and forth. The metal ring on his finger taps against the can and I absently wonder when he started wearing it. He's never liked jewelry but since he's come back I haven't seen him without that ring, or that cross earring that dangles from his left ear.
"And as for Connor… Can you really blame her for wanting to move on?" I ask and he gives me a look that's so full of disdain I have to bite back my laugh. God, he's oblivious. "Especially, since you came back with your beautiful British girlfriend." I level him with a pointed look. He looks unnerved by the direction this conversation has taken. I hurry to explain on before he shuts me out again, "It's all just reminded her that she hasn't actually been making an effort to live beyond what's required for a long time. She's trying, Dastan."
He looks away from me then, his eyes scanning the apartment around him. He lingers for a minute on the bottles of homemade bleach I've left out and I can see every thought that crosses his mind in his expression. I know he wants to change the topic, to brush this off like it doesn't matter just because it makes him uncomfortable. "You have to stop punishing her for things that happened when we were kids." I say tentatively, there's no telling how he might react to that. It's always such an explosive topic with him.
His shoulders slump, his entire demeanor deflating as he nods his head on a big huff of an exhale. Before he lets it hang closer to the counter. Seeing him like this hurts, I wrap my arms around his bicep. The thought that this feels like hugging a tree trunk flits through my mind. I ignore it and rest my chin on his shoulder, which I'm now able to reach because he's seated, and give his arm a little squeeze. He turns and plants a kiss on my forehead and then rests his temple against the top of my head in a familiar gesture that makes my heart ache for all the time I've missed with him since he's been away. Maybe now that they've confronted some of what's between them we can all move forward, I think hopefully.