by Mia Wolf
This isn’t what love is supposed to do; you can’t take the leverage you have on the other person and use it against them when they’re trying to love you and care about you. Right now, I hate myself as much as I hate the situation, but I can’t escape the prison that my mind already is.
Sebastian is so close to me now; he sits down on the floor in front of the sofa, making eye contact as if he does not see the threat in my eyes, as if he sees something entirely different. I can tell he’s searching for the Maya who looks at him with reverence. Do I tell him that she’s hiding behind a wall, hiding in a corner because she’s too afraid to handle this?
Speak, I command myself. Just say anything. Don’t hurt him like this, it’s not okay. Perhaps Sebastian sees my internal struggle because he reaches for my cheek, trying to lend me a helping hand, but I raise mine and put a barrier between us. He recoils and looks devastated.
Try as I may, I cannot comfort him with words; slowly, the tears come, and I break down sobbing. Sebastian doesn’t take long to put his comforting arms around me. I put my head on his shoulder and cry until no more tears come, and I finally feel calm. The fear of losing him is at bay.
“I was waiting for you, yes,” I whisper into his ear, and he tightens his grip around my waist, pulling me closer to himself.
I try my best to live in the moment, making it last for as long as I can. Sebastian is on his knees, hugging me while I still sit on the sofa. Our bodies are pressed together so closely that there is no space left between them. I breathe in deeply, the familiar scent of Sebastian’s body wash filling my lungs. With my arms around his neck, I hold him so close that I’m sure I’m choking him. But he doesn’t pull away, bringing me closer instead.
After I have calmed down and relished the closeness of Sebastian’s body, I sit back in the seat while Sebastian is still on his knees, fidgeting with my hands in his.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks patiently, a bit of concern evident in his words.
He looks so calm right now and so focused, with all of his attention on me. It oddly soothes me like I will be okay no matter what because I’m not the only one who’s looking out for myself. It’s that safe feeling of knowing that if I fall asleep now, he will be there when I wake up. It feels so good, and the feeling is so strong, and that’s precisely what I’m afraid of. Loving someone so much that you can’t bear to lose them. So how am I ever going to get over this?
Sebastian looks at me with kind eyes, gently stroking my hand. “It’s okay if it’s tough. You just need to know that you’re strong. And I’m here with you.”
He makes it sound so easy and effortless. And hearing his words, I do feel my body relaxing, my muscles slowly unclenching. I take a few deep breaths before I’m ready. Where would I even begin untangling these feelings?
“I told you about my family and my brother, right?” I ask, and Sebastian nods almost imperceptibly, continuing to stroke my hand with his thumb. “I am very afraid of losing people, Sebastian. So this isn’t just about you. For years after my parents died, I have tried to stay away from people as much as I could. It was just Kai and me and I really thought I could protect him. It could’ve as easily been me in his place and god, what would I give for that to be the case.” I sniff a little because talking about Kai always makes me emotional. “But here I am, and I’ve tried to protect myself from that hurt ever since. Caring about people will always end in hurt, and I’m not sure if I’ll make it through losing someone again.”
Sebastian stares at me without moving a muscle, without even blinking his eyes as if he would distract me if he moved. I’m so glad that he’s here with me because I’m starting to realize that I can’t get out of this on my own. After all of those years of being by myself, it feels good to not be alone.
“It makes sense why you always were so scared,” Sebastian says. “But if you hadn’t thought that life could get any better, you wouldn’t have left your village.”
His words hit me like a sledgehammer, and I’m simultaneously amazed at how accurate Sebastian is in judging me and fascinated at how I already had that answer somewhere within me. He’s right, I wouldn’t have left the village if I hadn’t thought that life could get better. Growing up, life was good no matter what because I had my family, but all of that changed the day my parents died. After that day, nothing in the world could replace the void they left in me. And yet I always had hope that I could find that happiness again.
I look at Sebastian closely, at his eyes, that remind me so much of Ma and at the look on his face that tells me he’ll be around for as long as he lives. And I can’t help but believe his word.
“What are you thinking?” he asks, pressing his lips in concern.
“I’m thinking what you must’ve gone through to become this smart,” I tell him. He chuckles, which makes me smile too.
Even if just for tonight, life’s good. We go to bed and snuggle under the blanket. I never could’ve imagined that this is what it means to be together. Whatever this is, it’s awesome, and I want it to last for the rest of my life.
Chapter 28 - Sebastian
Days pass by, and Maya and I slip into a routine of living together. We even told Jessica that we won’t be needing the lunchboxes anymore and asked Joshua to compensate us a little bit for the classes. It was supposed to be volunteer work, but if I’m no longer working for Code Blue, I need another source of income. Joshua agreed to it, granted that we put in more hours than we were doing before. I haven’t heard from Daniel yet about his conditions for me leaving Code Blue. It unnerves me, but I shove the feelings aside, not wanting to ruin our happiness.
In the meantime, I came across an art exhibition that’s taking place over the weekend, not too far from the village. I asked Maya if she would like to join me, and she agreed.
So we go to the exhibition, which turns out to be a cozy little event with barely twenty people attending it. The artist is called Zero. I don’t know much about him except that he has some profound ideas in that brain of his and that he has the skill to translate them to the blank canvas. Both of which I’m highly impressed by.
The hall is about as big as the rotunda. It’s painted white, wall to wall, and has a white ceiling with nothing but a glass chandelier hanging in the center of it. The floor is carpeted, so the footsteps on it are muffled, and so is the conversation. It’s a very specific kind of gentry that one finds at this type of art exhibition. If I'm very honest and forthcoming, they all seem to have a stick up their—
“What does this one mean?” My thoughts are interrupted by Maya, who’s pointing at a large canvas with an abstract design that features a splattering of pastels with a single streak of black in the middle of it. “I don’t know what this is supposed to be, but it’s oddly satisfying to stare at it,” she adds.
“What do you think it means?” I ask Maya, staring at the artwork, admiring its minimalist simplicity.
Maya shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t know. It’s pretty.”
I point at the name of the painting to help her out. “It’s called ‘Death.’”
“Right,” Maya says with a blank look on her face.
“This would be my interpretation,” I say. “The pastels represent life in all its glory, colors, and aspects, and they surround this single streak of black paint, which represents death. So the painting might be pointing at the beautiful aspects of life that are all built around the idea of death.”
Maya is staring at me beady-eyed by the time I’m done speaking, and I smile at how attentively she’s been listening. I ruffle her hair. “Or it’s just some shapes on a canvas,” I say and move onto the next painting.
We walk around the hall, admiring the different artworks. Maya has gotten the hang of interpreting the paintings now, too, and wants to also give it a shot. We come up with some really interesting ideas and some really weird ones too. Maya points out how this one painting with a dark circle in the center is actually a tribute to Samara from ‘The Ring�
��, after which we go on to talk a bit about Maya’s obsession with horror movies. She seems to have seen them all.
“Why don’t you do an exhibition?” Maya asks out of the blue, and I instantly shake my head in response.
“I don’t want to.”
“Why not? Have you ever thought about it?”
“Well, I have thought about it.” I hesitate. “That’s what Harris was talking to me about before you nearly choked him to death,” I say jokingly then laugh because Maya actually becomes upset. “Don’t worry about it, he won’t hold it against you.”
“So, what did you tell him?” Maya asks as we move onto a smaller room off the hall where there are fewer people and artworks, and even the ones that are there are tiny in comparison to the larger pieces of work in the bigger hall.
“Well, I couldn’t tell him much of anything for obvious reasons. But it’s not the first time he asked me about it, and it wouldn’t have been the first time I’d have said no.” I meet Maya’s eyes for a second and see determination in them.
“But why not?” she asks. “Give me a reason, and I promise I won’t pester you about it.”
“Because I don’t think I’m very good,” I say honestly.
Her jaw drops as if she can’t believe what she’s hearing. “You serious?”
I nod in agreement, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jacket and starting towards the next oil painting.
“You can’t be serious, Sebastian,” Maya shrieks. I see a couple of heads turn in our direction and gesture for her to keep it down a little.
“I am, and if you don’t mind, I’d really like to stop talking about this,” I say.
“No, we will not stop talking about this. If you don’t want to do an exhibition then you don’t have to, nobody will force you to, but it’s just plain stupid to be so unaware of your own talent,” she seems to have finished her thought but adds a final thing, “or skill.”
“Fancy seeing you here, Sebastian,” says a voice that I know only too well.
I turn around to find Harris. He looks like he belongs to this world of pompous snobs, wearing a leopard print jacket and big brown leather boots.
“I’m Harris.” He extends his hand to Maya, albeit cautiously. “We’ve met before.”
Maya takes his hand in both of hers and bows her head several times in a manner of apologizing. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m really sorry for my behavior,” she says. “I hope you’re fine now.”
“I’m as fine as I can get. Don’t worry about it, it happens,” he says, gently patting her hands with his free one, then looking at us curiously. “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation—”
“Of course, you couldn’t,” I scoff. That neat bastard.
“Right, and I can’t agree with you more, Miss—” He pauses and stares at Maya, waiting for her to give him her last name.
“Dunne,” she says. “Maya Dunne.”
Lie.
“Right, Miss Dunne. I couldn’t agree with you more. Sebastian does seem to be blasphemously unaware of his own skill and willfully so because I’m something of a veteran when it comes to critiquing art, but he refuses to believe my judgment too.”
Maya turns to me, looking furious, and I roll my eyes. I can’t handle the two of them together.
“Fine,” I raise both of my hands, an admission of defeat. “I’m really good.” Both of their faces light up and can’t help but chuckle. “But I still don’t want to make art commercially.”
“Then don’t,” Harris jumps in.
I’m pleasantly surprised by his response, but unfortunately, it’s not the end of our discussion.
“How about we do a charity exhibition?” Harris says, sounding like a prickly sales guy. “You don’t have to make any money off it, you can give it all away to charity. Philanthropy would do the world some good. I’m not telling you to make art commercially, but there’s no need for you to hide your talent from the world either.”
Both he and Maya are looking at me with determined expressions, their eyes nearly popping out of their eye sockets, and I sigh.
“Fine, I’ll think about it,” I say weakly. “Now, get off my back, you two.”
There’s instant joy on both of their faces, and they shake their hands in celebration. “I haven’t committed to anything yet,” I blurt out, but it doesn’t deter them from enjoying their little victory.
My phone buzzes, and when I check it, I see it’s a text from Ash. There’s an uncomfortable feeling in my guts, which I try to ignore along with the text. When I look up, I find Maya staring at me. I feel like I’m caught red-handed and avert my gaze just like a culprit would.
Chapter 29 - Maya
I’m helping the students train at the school. My class has grown to nearly three dozen students, and I now give classes every other day to fit everyone in. Joshua asked me if I’m ready to put in even more hours so that we can train a few selected kids to go up to tournaments in the city too. I quite like the idea because contrary to what I expected, I enjoy teaching kids.
I’m about to do a dummy round with one of the older kids when I notice a woman waving her hand at me and calling my name. I recognize her as one of my neighbors, the extremely gorgeous and tall one. I tell the kids to give me a minute and walk over to her to see if she’s here for urgent business.
“Hi, Maya. I didn’t know you worked at the school!” Sarah squeals and hugs me even though I’m all sweaty.
“Yeah, I do,” I say weakly. “Can I help you with anything?”
“No, I just saw you, and I thought I’d say hi,” she says. “I’m leaving for Paris on Monday.”
My instinct is to avoid any more conversation and send Sarah on her way. I’ve realized lately that it’s because I’m afraid of getting close to people. What if I end up liking them and want to spend time with them only to lose them again?
It’s the same fear that I recognized in Sebastian’s eyes yesterday when he kept refusing to put his art out there. I could almost feel that insecurity and that fear because I’ve been there myself. So before I can go ahead and tell Sebastian to get over his fear, I better get over mine. All it’s doing is making us get in our own way, and I’d rather cry tears of misery than live my life being afraid.
“It’s such a shame that we didn’t even get the time to hang out,” Sarah says.
“Well, if you’re not busy right now, I would love to grab a cup of coffee and do just that,” I say, almost sounding like myself.
My heart is hammering in my chest as I wait for her response, and much to my delight, she loves the idea.
“Alright, give me fifteen minutes. I’m almost done with the class,” I tell her and rush back to the kids.
I have a small sparring match with Ryan, the tallest kid in my class. I try to demonstrate to the other kids how to use their height to their advantage no matter how tall they are. For the shorter kids, I show a sequence of dodges, some of the more agile movements, while for the taller kids, I demonstrate some of the cleaner movements that don’t require so much motion but rather precision.
I assign the kids some homework and inform them of the test next week. Then I take a quick shower in the gym’s bathroom and meet Sarah where I had left her.
“Whoa,” she exclaims when she sees me. “You’ve got some sick moves.”
I blush at the sudden compliment. It’s funny how, for the first eighteen years of my life, I only ever heard criticism on my skills, both by my masters and fellow students. But ever since I’ve come to this village, it’s as if everyone likes to champion for everyone else around here. It’s nice to experience after all that “feedback” from my ruthless masters.
Sarah and I go to a coffee place; she drives us there.
“It’s the best coffee you can get around here,” she tells me as we take our coffee and head for a table.
“So, what are you going to Paris for?” I ask Sarah, and her eyes light up at the question. She looks like the perfec
t female specimen. Long legs, blonde hair curling at her shoulders, and a gorgeous face. She looks like a mannequin in the best way possible, and I wonder whether the woman knows what a blemish is.
“Have I told you that I work for an ad agency?” she asks excitedly, curling her hands into fists in front of her like she’s holding back her enthusiasm.
“No, you haven’t,” I tell her. “What does an ad agency do?”
“The ad agency that I work for,” she pauses and raises both her hands as though making a flashing sign with them. “It’s called TDI media, and we only work with brands who do at least a billion dollars in revenue. You’ve probably heard of some of those brands.”
Sarah continues to explain her work, and I get more and more sucked into her story. It’s not that I’m fascinated by ad agencies or something, but it’s the way Sarah talks about her work. Talking about it lights up her eyes, and she exudes such confidence that I can’t help but listen to her chronicles at TDI media.
“Your work sounds really fun,” I tell her.
“Am I right?”
She’s such a powerhouse of energy, and I enjoy being around her.
“Tell you what,” she says. “I saw some of your moves back there. I think you’d be a good candidate for one of our models; she’s looking for a bodyguard. Do you want to come out for an interview? I can probably set it up for the weekend. I won’t be in Paris yet, so I can drive you there. How about tomorrow?”
I’m taken aback by the offer. Never in my life have I thought about something as normal as employment. It makes me partly feel out of place and partly grateful that I get to live a normal life now. Back in the village, my career was decided even before I was born: I was going to be a weapon to carry out people’s business. Sure, it paid well, and I don’t ever remember my family having money problems. To the contrary, my family had more than enough, because the business of raising weapons had been flourishing for quite a few generations in my bloodline.