The Definition of Fflur by E.S. Carter

Author:E.S. Carter [Carter, E.S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ES Carter
Published: 2018-03-27T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Six

Galen is actively avoiding me.

He spends all his time holed up in his bedroom, and his behaviour reminds me so much of how Rhys used to be when we first came to this house.

He doesn't eat dinner with us, and I never see him in passing. My heart whispers that he will come and find me when he's ready, but my head shouts louder, and wants to know why he hasn’t come to me already.

The night before I leave to go to my Dad's for the following week, I slip a handwritten note under his bedroom door.

I know he's in there. I heard him come home minutes earlier.

With my forehead resting against the cold wood, I listen and wait, and a few moments later I hear footsteps followed by the drag of the note across the carpet and the crinkle of unfolding paper.

I should move away and go back to my room, but I remain here silently and wait. Less than a minute later, I hear a dull thud and imagine Galen stood mirroring me on the other side of the door. I lean closer, laying my cheek against the cool, solid surface and my voice cracks as I whisper, “I'm sorry, Gal.”

My heart begs me to push down the handle and offer him my comfort, but I listen to my head instead.

He'll find me when he's ready.

With heavy legs, I make my way downstairs and into the empty kitchen. Part of me thinks that maybe I should leave tonight and go back to Dad's early. I'm intruding here. Unwanted. Impotent.

The pain in this house is strangling, and I feel like I’m adding to it. A burden. An extra noose around everyone’s necks.

I know I told mum I'd be here to support her, but maybe they need time to process all this on their own. Maybe they need to regroup without awkward observers.

I sit in the chair that Mum had sat in when she told us about Max, rest my head in my hands, and for a few seconds I wonder if I should pray. We've never been a religious family, so would it be wrong to pray now?

If there is a God, would He look down upon me and believe me unworthy because it takes a possible death sentence for me to reach out and ask for His help?

Despite my musings, I'm aware that someone has walked into the room and I lift my head enough to see the doorway hoping it might be Galen.

It's not. It's Max.

He seems surprised to find me here, my hands pressed together and resting on my forehead in prayer.

“Hey, Fflur,” he greets with a fake cheer in his voice before tilting his head and grimacing when Galen once more begins blasting his now favourite death metal. Max’s eyes meet mine, and I’m struck by the pain they hold. Not in the physical sense, but more like… guilt.

“Can I make you a snack or even a sandwich? Maybe you’d like some tea? Or, I know, an ice cream float.

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