22. Irving

22

IRVING

I dreaded every second that I spent walking down the long dirt path to Sylvan's cabin. It wasn't the dark and overcast sky, or the eerie sounds emanating from the trees every few minutes, or the shadows perched in the willowy branches that put me on edge: it was the prospect of having to greet Sylvan and act like nothing was wrong and that our lives hadn't completely changed in the span of an afternoon.

I stopped on his doorstep and took a deep breath. A massive spider stretched over part of the door, preventing me from reaching out and knocking. I knew Sylvan attracted some strange creatures, but this had gone too far.

"Sylvan," I called out, cupping my hands over my mouth. "Open the door."

The door swung open a moment later and Sylvan greeted me, book in hand. "It was unlocked," he told me gently. "You could have just opened it and walked in."

"Not with that thing in my way." I pointed to the spider, which had moved a few inches since I last looked at it.

"Oh, yeah, I forgot about that little guy. Don't worry, he's not poisonous."

"I wasn't worried about that. I'm more concerned about it leaping onto my face when I'm not looking."

"He won't do that either. Come on inside, Irving. It's awfully dark out here." Sylvan looked up at the sky, his eyes sadder than usual, and I slunk past the spider and into the warm safety of the cabin.

I'd grown to love this room so much, from the overstuffed bookshelf to the stacks of canvases against the walls to clutter taking up every bit of useable surface space. Everything about this cabin was the opposite of me, yet there was no other place that felt more like home.

"Did you get to the breakup yet?" I asked, gesturing at the book.

"Not yet." He shook his head. "I'm not looking forward to it either. That's my least favorite part of these kinds of stories."

He sat down on the couch and patted the empty cushion next to him. Before I joined him, I took the quilt off the bed and sat down beside Sylvan, snapping the blanket and letting it float over both our laps.

"I hate to change the subject," he continued, his voice a little shaky, "but I need to know what you and Lachlan talked about when he visited you again earlier."

I took a deep breath. "Not much. He drove home how different you and I are, and how much alike he and I were. I reminded him about the cheating that broke us apart in the first place, which he brushed off."

"So, he wants you back." Sylvan folded his hands in his lap.

"No, I honestly don't think he cares about that – he knows I'll never date him again. He simply doesn't want me to get what I want. He hates the fact that he has to live with the consequences of his actions while I get to happily move on and live the life the two of us were supposed to have."

"And will you let that happen? Will you let him get his way?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. I can't control how I feel, and he's well aware of that."

Sylvan wrapped his arm around my back and pulled me in closer. It was nice to have someone to curl up with when I felt so alone, but when I looked over at his perfect, ethereal face, all I saw was the fae in the photos with someone else – someone who wasn't anything like me.

"I can't do this," I told him, moving his arm away from me.

"But this morning we –"

"This morning we were in an entirely different world. I'm not like you, Sylvie. I can't simply put things out of my mind and move on from them. I need time to process them."

"You mean those pictures?" his face fell.

"Yes, I do – and Lachlan coming back. That threw me for a loop."

"I know it did, but at least we still have each other." He tentatively moved his arm into my lap, holding one of my hands in his.

I didn't try to push him away this time. I couldn't. But I couldn't echo his sentiment of love either. Every thought in my mind screamed for me to say what I came here to say, or get up and go home, but I didn't. I let his fingers brush against my arm, undo my shirt collar buttons, play with my hair. He reached up and took my glasses off, setting them on the coffee table. He blew out the candle next to them, covering us in a blanket of darkness. I couldn't see anything, but I recognized his lips as they brushed against mine, their soft, velvety touch sending a shiver up my spine.

I shouldn't have, but I reciprocated the kiss that Sylvan gave me. I sat up straight, kicking the quilt off of us, and pushed him back into the couch. He pressed something into my hand: a bottle. Quickly, each piece of clothing dropped to the floor, wrinkled and forgotten. He spread his legs, guiding my hand onto his erection. I opened the bottle with my other hand, the silky fluid covering my fingers as I let it flow out onto my skin. A few drops fell onto Sylvan's thigh before I could close the bottle but we were too far gone for either of us to care about a little mess. We were about to get much, much messier than that.