I rummaged through every cupboard, drawer, and hidden nook I could find, but there was no book to be found. It seemed almost impossible. My mind was clouded with a sense of deep frustration and melancholy. I needed something to take my mind off my swirling thoughts, yet there wasn't a single book in sight. How could this be? Me, living in this house without a single book? It was both absurd and deeply suspicious.
The idea of a home without books was incomprehensible to me. Books had always been a sanctuary, a way to escape reality and delve into new worlds. The absence of even one was not just unsettling—it was a glaring anomaly. My frustration mounted as I searched, feeling the weight of my emotional turmoil pressing down on me. It was as if the house itself was conspiring to keep me in the dark.
Realizing that my search was futile and my frustration mounting, I decided to go for a walk. I needed to clear my head, to find some sort of distraction that could pull me away from this oppressive feeling. The fresh air might help, I hoped, or at least provide a change of scenery.
As I strolled through the grounds, my thoughts were a whirlwind of worries and doubts. The quiet was occasionally broken by distant noises, but none more intriguing than the voices I suddenly heard. Instinctively, I began to retreat, thinking it might be guards or others who might question my presence. But then, I heard Callum's voice—clear and unmistakable. My steps faltered, and I found myself frozen in place.
I turned to look and saw Callum conversing with a man shrouded in a black cloak. The man's face was obscured by the dark fabric, making it difficult to discern any details. The way the man moved, the way he carried himself, it exuded an air of intimidation and menace that sent a shiver down my spine. He seemed to radiate an aura of danger that I couldn't ignore.
Even though every instinct screamed at me to run, to escape the unsettling presence of the cloaked figure, I remained rooted to the spot. I felt an overpowering urge to hide, to remain unseen. My heart raced as I ducked behind a nearby tree, the cold bark pressing against my back. The fear that gripped me was primal and unyielding. I didn't understand why I felt so threatened, but the instinct to remain hidden was overwhelming. I stayed there, hidden and silent, unable to pull myself away from the scene unfolding before me.
Why do I keep feeling like running? Why does every part of me struggle to accept Callum? Was I like this when we first met? Will I come to trust him in the future, or should I really be fleeing for my life?
"What are you doing here?" Callum's voice broke through my thoughts as he stood in front of me.
"I, uh… I was taking a walk and I… I saw you. Who's that?" I stammered.
"A friend," he replied quickly, as though he had rehearsed the line. "Let's head back," he said, and I nodded, feeling uneasy.
"How come I don't have a single book?" I asked as we walked back.
"We came here in a hurry a few months ago and are still getting acquainted with the place. I'll get you something tomorrow," he promised, and I nodded again.
His response seemed out of character. Even in the midst of danger and chaos, I would have thought to grab a book. My lifelines had always been Lucy and a good book—now, with Lucy gone, the book was all I had left.
"I could really use a book right now," I said, looking down.
...
Later, I sat on my bed reading the book Callum had given me. I was conflicted about him. He had chosen the exact type of book I loved, the kind I would have done anything to obtain before Lucy's death. Now that Lucy was gone, I felt I would sacrifice anyone to have this book, though I knew I had no one left to sacrifice.
"What are you doing?" Callum's voice interrupted my thoughts as he walked in. I waved the book at him, and he nodded, but his restlessness was palpable. He paced around as if he had something on his mind. I found it difficult to focus on my reading with him moving about.
"Do you need something?" I finally asked.
"No, no, sorry," he said, turning to leave. He paused, then seemed to reconsider.
"I need to talk to you," he said, moving closer and sitting down next to me on the bed. The sudden closeness made me tense. I could feel his presence encroaching on my personal space, but I remained still, wary of his intentions.
"About what?" I asked, though my voice carried an edge of suspicion.
Callum's demeanor was strangely earnest, but there was an underlying urgency in his manner. He reached out, his hand brushing against mine as he tried to capture my attention.
"There's something I should explain," he said, his voice low and serious. "I know you must have questions about everything that's happened."
I hesitated, feeling a surge of unease. "I don't feel comfortable with this," I said, pulling my hand away. "I don't remember anything, and it feels wrong to discuss it like this."
Callum's expression softened slightly, but there was a flicker of something I couldn't quite place. "I understand, but I want you to know that I'm here to help. It's just that you're so uncertain, and I want to clear things up for you."
I looked at him, feeling a mix of guilt and discomfort. "It's not just about suspicion. I feel guilty that I don't remember you, or what might have happened between us. Even if I don't fully trust you, I can't shake the feeling that I should try to understand, even if it's painful."
Callum's gaze remained steady, and he gave a small nod. "I appreciate that you're willing to listen. Let's talk more about this inside."
I nodded, though my mind was still a whirlwind of uncertainty. The room felt colder, and the book in my hands seemed to lose its comfort. I was grappling with the need to understand what was happening while battling the discomfort of being so close to someone I couldn't fully trust.