Flock (The Ravenhood)

“Yeah, I mean break up.” He eyes me from where he stands, his tone unforgiving.

“D-d-don’t do that, don’t do that, I was angry.”

“Doesn’t matter. Anger isn’t an excuse. I can’t have someone around me who doesn’t believe in me and what I’m doing. It was a gamble with you, and it’s clear to me now that you’re too young.”

“Don’t, Sean, don’t. You know I-I believe you.”

“No, you don’t,” he snaps. “Not in the way you need to. Go home, Cecelia. We’re done.”

“I’m not trying to manipulate or belittle you, Sean! I was scared! I didn’t know if something had happened to you!” Hot tears gather and fall down my cheeks as he stands feet away, though it might as well be an ocean. “You’ve been distracted lately, and I-I just miss you…Please take it back.”

He grabs his beer from the counter, tossing it back, his face void of emotion. He’s shutting me out.

I refuse to believe it’s over. There’s too much between us. And I wasted so much time not admitting it. Terrified it might be my first, and last time, I bare myself completely.

“I love you,” I whisper through a blur of tears. “And I don’t think you’re crazy at all. I got upset sitting here for hours romanticizing how I would say this to you, and that it would matter. Instead of admitting it, I got angry and said stupid things I didn’t mean. I t-trust you. I believe so much in what you’re doing. I think you’re brilliant.”

He darts his eyes away and slams his beer on the counter, the suds spilling over the bottle.

“I-I’m sorry. I’ll go.” Sliding on my sandals, I grab my purse from the table, my eyes sting as I try to hold myself together long enough to make it to my car. I make it just past the staircase to the entryway before I feel his chest at my back. A cry escapes me as he flips me around and cups my chin, lifting my eyes to his.

“I take it back.”

I burst in his arms, my sobs coming out in a rush as he pulls me to him leaving no space between us.

“I’m so sorry, baby. Fuck, I regretted it the minute I said it.” He wraps strong arms around me. “You’re fucking crazier than you’re acting if you think I want to spend a minute away from you. I missed you too. Today was bad, and fuck, I’m sorry. You look so beautiful.”

Hiccups consume me as I tearfully try to speak, and he wipes at my face.

“Shit, shit, I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I hate the idea of waking up and not hearing about your dreams in the morning. Hey, hey,” he whispers softly, “baby, please stop crying. You’re killing me. You mean so much to me, so much more than I ever thought possible,” he murmurs. “So much more.”

He pulls the purse from my shoulder and grips me tightly to him, my chin trembling as my heart slams against my chest.

“I-I j-just, I love you,” I murmur into his neck and he pulls back, staring at me, drinking the emotions sliding down my face.

“I know, and it’s ruining me,” he whispers, thumbing my cheeks. “Rest assured. I’m going to make sure you know just how fucking much it matters to me.” He lifts me easily and carries me back into the kitchen, setting me on the counter. “But first, I will have my watermelon.”

I smile. It’s not at all what I expected to hear, but it’s Sean, and so it’s perfect. He adjusts me to wrap around him as I sniff into his shoulder, ruining his T-shirt. It’s when I inhale his scent that I bury my face in his chest, unable to fully muffle my sob.

“Don’t cry, baby. Please stop, fuck,” he hangs his head, “this hurts.”

“I’m sorry,” I say through a snot-filled nose, looking over at him. “It’s just. You smell like wood.”

He cracks a smile a mile wide and chuckles. “What?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever told you that. You smell like wood, like cedar and sunshine and I love the way you smell, and I would hate it if I couldn’t smell you anymore. And I do take you ser-ser-seriously.”

He stares down at me, his eyes full of affection as my breath starts to hitch in a way that lets me know I just ugly cried.

“It was just a fight.”

“You cut me back,” I say, my breath hitching making me do that involuntary head and chest twitch. I’m humiliated I’m reacting this way. “And it hurt. But I deserved it.”

“Maybe, but I’m still going to make it up to you,” he assures, grabbing a slice of watermelon. He takes a bite and offers it to me as I sniffle and turn my head. “I’m good.”

He takes another bite and repeats his offering, and I shake my head, denying him. By his third slice, we’re sharing while I start to come down from the most excruciating emotional high.

“I went girl on you,” I admit, my cheeks flaming with embarrassment.