Page 53 of Asher Black (The Five Syndicates)
“That’s different. I’m the boss at work. I have control. Teachers don’t. They answer to parents and administrators and students and the government. It makes what they do infinitely harder than what I do.” He hesitates. “At least for someone like me.”
I nod in understanding. I make a horrible teacher. Teaching requires skill sets that I don’t possess, like patience and compassion. I have immense respect for those who can do it, mostly because I tried my hand at teaching at one of the orphanages I volunteered at in Africa. I failed miserably.
I find myself telling Asher, “I tried to teach once. I was at an orphanage in Djibouti. The head of the place thought it would be a good idea for me to teach English to the kids, since all of the other volunteers either spoke French or Arabic.” I chuckle. “It was a disaster. I made half of the kids cry by the end of a one hour class period. They ended up moving me to the kitchens, where my only interactions with a living being were with an elderly woman who never talked to me.
?
??After a while, I finally had enough of her silence and demanded that she speak to me.” I wince. “When she signed something back with her hands, I felt like the biggest bitch in the world. There I was, hating her for not talking to me, and she was mute the whole time. What’s worse was I couldn’t even understand what she was signing. It was in Somali Sign Language.”
Asher and I are in our room now. He’s taking off his clothes, getting ready to shower, but he pauses to give me a sympathetic look. “What’d you end up doing?”
I avert my eyes as he takes off his boxers and heads into the bathroom. I don’t see his package, just a very, very firm backside, but I’m still breathing heavy after.
How can he be so comfortable naked?
I like my body, but I don’t have the kind of body confidence he possesses. I wish I did, but I doubt most people do anyway. The world will probably be overrun by nudist colonies if that ever happens.
I clear my throat and raise my voice, so he can hear me in the bathroom. “I left.”
I was ashamed of myself then, and I’m ashamed of myself now. Like I said, when things get tough, I usually run away.
“What’d you say?” Asher shouts from the shower.
I sigh. He turned the showerhead on and probably can’t hear me over the noise. But what does he expect me to do? Go into the bathroom so he can hear? I don’t even want to repeat myself, and I don’t know what will come out of my mouth if I see him naked, full frontal.
“I said, ‘I ran.’” I repeat, louder this time.
“Huh?”
“I ran!” I’m yelling now.
“Come again?”
“Ugh!” I curse under my breath, get up and enter the bathroom, his nudity be damned. When I see him, I don’t even bother catching a glimpse of his private parts. I stare him dead in the eye and say, “I. RAN. Is that what you want to hear?! That I’m a runner? That I run from everything?”
What I see in his face staggers me. A look of understanding passes between us, but Asher also seems unperturbed by my outburst.
I briefly consider that he pretended not to hear me, so he could see me admit my cowardice face to face. The thought makes me angry.
I’m shaking in fury when he looks me in the eyes and says, “But you didn’t run from me.”
I reel back from him as if I’ve been slapped. He’s right. I didn’t run from him. Is it because I have more to lose now? A degree? A future to think about? A better option? I don’t know. All I know is that I’m sick of running. I ran from foster home to foster home. I ran from Steve. I ran from one country to the next. I ran from Rogue.
But I didn’t run from him.
I’m not running now. I’m dealing with my problems, acknowledging them and finding solutions. I’m trying to be a better person, and like it or not, he’s been a part of that process. Even if he is both the cause of my problems and the solution.
He gives me a knowing look that would have sent me running for the hills had we not just discussed my embarrassing running habits.
“What do you expect me to say to that?” My voice is a whisper, but I’m not surprised that he hears me over the sound of the showerhead.
His blue eyes pierce my soul. “Why aren’t you running now?”
“I don’t know.”
Chapter Sixteen
Sometimes even to
