Page 77 of Florescentia

My eyes shot open, to be met with a pale gaze and a clueless stare.

Altair’s finger was touching my face.

Without much thought, I hit him square in the face with the receiver.

“Ouch!” he hissed, his face contorted. There was no blood, but a shadow mist leaking from his nose. “Rude.”

“Begone,” I demanded, storming past him. “You cannot just show up when you like.”

“Where am I supposed to go?”

“Anywhere but here, a literal world of possibilities.” I raised my arms in the air in frustration before slamming the phone back on the hook in the hallway.

He appeared before me, my body slamming into his so that I nearly doubled back. “Stop doing that!” I shouted through clenched teeth, turning the other way.

I smacked into him again. This time I resorted to hitting.

He raised his arms in front of him as I swung my hands. Blow after blow before I let out a scream, hitting and hitting until my arms were tired, my punches were lower, and yelling turned to crying. “I hate you! I hate this! I hate everything!” I shouted.

He tried his best to catch my hands, my wrists. I struggled before suddenly I was restrained. Not by anything magical. No shadows or otherworldly paralysis.

A hug.

He hugged me.

And I was utterly, pathetically, rendered into a sobbing mess.

His body was rigid, but not necessarily cold. I was sure I’d frightened him, or he was uncomfortable, possibly even angry, from my fit.

He didn’t say anything—which could have been a good thing or a bad one.

He cleared his throat, as if preparing for the next words. “That’s quite a temper.”

My forehead lay flush against his shirt, now wet from my face.

His grip loosened, but a slight movement of mine made him flinch. Then, a hand on the back of my head. A gentle, repetitive back and forth of his thumb.

“If you don’t want to talk,” he began, his weight shifting on his heels, “can you show me more food?”

I looked up at him, and he looked away. “You’re hungry?”

“No,” he mumbled, “I just like your food. People food.”

“If I say no, are you going to follow me anyway?”

There was a slight smirk before he glanced back down at me. He lifted a shoulder.

I ducked out from under his arms.

If he wasn’t going to leave me alone, at least he could be of some company. It could lighten the mood if all went well. My parents already had me stopping for something along the way.

“Where are you going?” he demanded, following me up the stairs.

“To get dressed.” I stopped at the top, and he nearly bumped into me. “Did you expect me to go out in my robe?”

His eyes slowly traced upward, meeting mine through his lashes. A smirk crept to his face. “Well, you don’t necessarily need clothing to complement such a skin.” He reached out, his hand cupping the back of my knee, then sliding up. It bunched the robe where his palm had smoothed.

“I will buy you food if you stop with the flattery.”