Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 123873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Instead, the way Brendan looked at him…
It wasn’t quite pity.
But it was close.
More like regret.
And when Brendan sat up, he took the last of Cillian’s warmth with him, locking it away behind impenetrable walls as Brendan swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat there, staring at the fireplace, his hands clasped together, the lines of his bare back rigid.
“We need to stop doing this,” Brendan said carefully.
Cillian froze, fingers outstretched, he hadn’t even realized he’d started to reach for him, but— “I…what…?”
“I’m sorry.” Brendan’s shoulders heaved deeply; he bowed his head, rubbing at the back of his neck, still staring at the fire. “I think I’ve done you a disservice, Cillian. I thought I was protecting you, but I just put you in a situation to be hurt a different way.”
No...no, he couldn’t be saying this, especially not in that careful, measured tone, words dropped on Cillian delicately as if each one might be the one to shatter him.
It just might.
“You said it yourself,” Brendan continued softly. “This was never meant to be real. And I should have thought about your feelings and how they might be compromised, before dragging you into something like this.” The entire time, Brendan didn’t look at him. Not even once. “I don’t blame you for getting confused about this. It’s my fault.”
“…confused?” Completely hollowed out inside, numbstruck, Cillian stared at Brendan’s back. “The only thing I’m confused about is how you can say that, I—”
That stiff posture. The way Brendan wouldn’t look at him, that prick, that…that fucking bastard, Cillian had thought he was afraid but at least he was honest instead of throwing up walls and hiding like this, he…he…
“You arsehole,” he whispered, pulling himself back, suddenly too exposed, nudity too much in front of this man who had held every piece of him for a few seconds and now crushed those pieces in his fist. Cillian caught up the sheets, clutching them against his chest, still just…staring. “You really think I’m some naïve starstruck child who doesn’t know himself at all, don’t you? You patronizing, shitty, awful—” He flung the words like stones, but he felt like they were only hitting him, pelting in hard awful jolts of pain that made his entire body clutch up like one huge suppressed sob. “I…fuck, I think if I didn’t love you I’d hate you right now.”
“It’s okay,” Brendan said—resigned, accepting. “Hate me.”
“No!” Cillian cried. Frustration was volcanic, erupting; he dig his fingers harder into the sheets clasped against his chest. “Will you stop? Will you stop being so above it all? I thought…I thought I was the coward, but you are. You’re the coward.” He could hardly get the words out around his closing throat, but they refused to be stopped. “You keep yourself apart from everything and you act like it’s just part of getting older, but I think you’re afraid.” His ragged breath felt like it would shake him to pieces. “You’re afraid to ever let anything touch you, because if you never open yourself up to anything, you never have to hurt.”
No response.
None.
Just Brendan taking it in silence, as if he’d already just…decided.
This was the final judgment, and Cillian’s anger was Brendan’s penance.
“Arsehole,” Cillian whispered again. “Is that it? You’re going to martyr yourself on my feelings? Because you might not want to get hurt, but you can hurt others. And then you…you shut them out like they’re strangers, while they nag at you with their emotions. Just like you’re shutting me out.” Sucking in near-sobbing inhalations despite his dry, burning eyes, Cillian untangled himself from the sheets clumsily, flinging them away from himself and fumbling for his clothing, choking on the bitter words that spat from his lips. “If no one knows the real you, it’s because you won’t let them. Because you tell them who you are as a man isn’t their business, and then shove them away. You can at least own a little of that while you’re being such a dick.”
The entire time Brendan still hadn’t moved—but the stark lines of his back had grown more and more taut, hard, tension rippling down his spine, and for a moment there was…
Something.
Something vulnerable in the set of his shoulders, something that made Cillian wonder if Brendan’s heart wasn’t entirely out of reach.
Until Brendan said, “Maybe you’re right.” Slow-paced words, carefully chosen. “But at least you found that out now, before I hurt you even more.”
Cillian just…stared at Brendan’s back.
As his own heart became a stone, sinking away into some deep darkness where he might never find it again.
“I…”
He couldn’t find words. He just yanked his clothing on, nearly ripping his shirt and pajama pants with shaking fingers and muscles he couldn’t seem to control. For a moment Brendan disappeared past the wall of fabric as Cillian pulled his shirt over his head; for a moment he had a brief fantasy that when the cloth pulled away, he’d open his eyes to find Brendan smiling at him, apologizing, reaching for him to say it would be okay, they would talk this out.