Break Away (Away, Book 1) (14 page)

I turned to leave. Before reaching the
threshold, her broken voice stopped me. “Why are you being like
this? Is it because you blame me?”

My throat clenched painfully and I felt as if
jagged rocks were piercing the skin of my esophagus. The breath
under my nose was shaky and heavy with emotion. I couldn’t speak. I
wasn’t ready to speak of this yet.

Not now. Please, not now
.

Buffy carried on, like an executioner with a
death sentence to complete. “You blame me for what happened, don’t
you?”

I forced the words out of my mouth, deep and
croaky. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I wanted to
leave. I wanted to run away as far as I could, but for some reason
I couldn’t. The water had been boiling for years and the lid had
finally given in, the air pressure too high.

I felt as if I was on the edge of a
precipice, one foot in the air and about to fall down a cavernous
height of thunderous consequences.

“You know better than anything what I'm
talking about,” she said, her voice fading to a whisper. I heard
the gentle creak of the bed and a few painful heartbeats later, she
was behind me, drilling a hole in the back of my head with her
stare.

I shut my eyes, readying for what was about
to come.

“You blame me for their deaths. You blame me
for their plane crashing. If it hadn’t been because of me asking
them to get those crystals, they wouldn’t have taken another flight
and they would be here. They would be here with us.” She let out a
sob.

I gulped, the swallow chocking my constricted
throat with pain. My eyes wouldn’t meet hers. Hot tears threatened
to slide down my cheeks and I still couldn’t share that hollowness
in my chest with her. I couldn’t let her see that.

She sniffed. “Please, Dafne, don’t hate
me.”

My heart strings untied and I’d had enough. I
needed to leave.

I rushed out of the room and left her crying.
Alone. My feet turned into buckets of cement, weighting down my
footsteps down the hall, and making something as simple as walking
a strenuous action. It hurt. Everything from head to toe hurt. The
snap of a door reached my ears and no more than a labored breath
later, mine followed.

Instead of flopping myself on the bed, I
started pacing the room, rubbing my chest as if the motion would
ease the ache inside. I continued walking back and forth, taking
deep breaths to hold back the explosion that loomed beneath my
skin.

The light outside my window faded into the
horizon and still a relentless despair clutched my heart. I felt
like I couldn’t think properly unless I was moving. Moving. Moving.
Keeping my feet going to the beat of my strangled heart.

It wasn’t until my room was covered in
shadows that I stopped in front of the window and let the first
breath of emotion burst forth, and as if a dam had been broken, a
torrent of frustration and helplessness and sadness streamed down
my face, leaving the sheer skin of my core exposed.

Buffy was wrong. I didn’t hate her. I didn’t
blame her for our parent’s death. Perhaps at the beginning, wanting
to blame someone for what had happened, she’d been the one that had
first come to mind. But I’d quickly realized what a selfish and
foolish thought that was. It was nobody’s fault, even if Buffy
thought otherwise.

She’d asked Mom and Dad for some crystals
that were cheaper in Brazil—for some dress she’d been sewing at
that time—but they’d been so caught up in their trip that they’d
forgotten all about the crystals and hadn’t looked for them until
their last day in Brazil. The crystal hunting had taken more time
than expected, so they’d taken the next flight.

Nobody had expected the sudden storm that’d
wrapped the plane in a cocoon of dark, rolling clouds and
lightning. Not even all the technology had prevented its
happening.

Mom used to say things happened for a reason.
That a greater purpose always stood behind an event, waiting to get
out and unleash the consequences they were supposed to generate.
And though I understood her reasoning, I didn’t understand the
reason behind her death and Dad’s. Was it a punishment from God?
Was it a way to make us see how lucky we’d been to have such a
wonderful life? A way to make us learn that not everything was that
easy and bright?

The only thing I knew for certain was that
Buffy wasn’t guilty. And I hadn’t had the strength to tell her.
She’d needed that truth and I hadn’t given it to her.

Once the tears dried out and no liquid in my
body seemed to have survived the outpouring, I stared numbly at the
stars pricking the black velvet above. Millions of diamonds
sparkling in the endless sky like little beacons of hope. It wasn’t
until a few minutes later that the door opened behind me. Someone
flicked the light on and stepped inside. Guessing it was Gran, I
didn’t turn. I was tired. Drained and tired.

“What did you do?” the deep, familiar voice
said, ripping me out of the zombielike state.

Startled, I turned around and shifted my gaze
to the surprising figure across the room.

Ian was looking at me through narrowed eyes,
one of his hands busy holding a beautiful bouquet of
daisies—Buffy’s favorite flowers. I’d certainly spoiled any plans
he had for tonight, and it showed on his face.

“It’s none of your business,” I said,
crossing my arms over my chest. He had every right to be angry with
me, but he had no right to lecture me in the sanctity of my own
room.

He pulled the door close and dropped the
daisies on top of the dresser. “She said you hate her, that you
blame her for all that happened. Is it true? Did you tell her all
that?”

I shrugged. “Why don’t you go and ask
her?”

“She doesn’t want to open her door. I barely
got her to speak to me through it.”

“Sorry for ruining your special evening,
then.” I waved my head to the flowers and looked at him. “I heard
you’re an Aremihc student now. Congratulations,” I said, even if my
voice was completely void of happiness.

He stopped and looked at me ponderingly, as
if a new thought was flapping in his head. “Is this what your
bitchy outburst is about? Jealous you still haven’t got an
answer?”

“Don’t you dare tell me what I’m feeling. You
have no idea.”

“Exactly. With you it’s always guessing—which
is hard since you never seem to feel any human emotion.” He bowed
in mock chivalry. “Ice Queen.”

Stabbed in an open, burning wound. That’s
what his words had felt like. I felt my cool façade crumbling and
didn’t bother to hide it, didn’t have the strength to do so. Even
if I was standing in front of the person I hated the most, it
didn’t matter.

The most overwhelming sensation of emptiness
and loneliness spread through me, and for the first time, the whole
weight of those two words fell over my shoulders.
Ice Queen
.
Ice Queen
. I was worthy of that title. I’d earned it with my
bitter actions, and with the recent selfish act with my sister, I’d
secured the crown.

My face must have showed something because
Ian was suddenly standing in front of me, a few inches barely
separating us. Hesitantly, he slipped the crook of his finger under
my chin and, slowly, very slowly, lifted my head up until my eyes
met his. I couldn’t help but stare. The emerald in his eyes was
stunningly intense, as a forest after months of rain, and his
scent…his scent wasn’t far away. A cloud of woodsy notes and lemon
surrounded him.

An unknown feeling played in the depths of
his eyes as he watched me, and I wanted to slap his hand away from
my skin. I wanted to push him away from me as far as the moon, as
far as some toxic, gaseous nebula where only the Hubble could take
pictures of his poisoned, decaying form. But something…a small,
tiny part of me, buried deep inside of my chest under layers and
layers of thick bitter feelings, pulled me back, engulfing my head
and chest in a crisscross of conflicting emotions. That something
wanted to let his hand linger, to let the distance between our
bodies shrink, to let the emeralds of his eyes search my face, as
they were doing in that moment.

Eyes rimmed with red, splotchy cheekbones,
and slightly swollen nose, I knew I couldn’t look more vulnerable.
The shade of sadness was written all over my face. And this close,
the sharp warmth of guilt welling up out of his skin was dizzying.
From the distance, I knew he hadn’t noticed the sorrow-stricken
remnants of me. He’d been too caught up in his own bubble of rage
to see it. Now that he’d stepped out and was close to me, regret
was practically searing his skin.

His hand tightened. “Dafne, I…” He didn’t
finish.

I looked away, the warrior in me not letting
the softness in his eyes fool me.

He released my chin and sighed. “I'm sorry.
The thing I said…it was uncalled for.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw worry
creasing his forehead. His hand clenched and unclenched as if not
sure about closing the distance between us again. He wanted to, I
could see that. But like everyone, he feared my reaction. Not
knowing how to take in that information, I moved away from him and
sat down on the corner of the bed, my shoulders slumping.

Tired. I was so tired.

I closed my eyes and thought of Buffy crying
alone in her bedroom and wondered why Ian was standing in my room
instead of comforting her. He was her boyfriend, her riding knight
with loving words as a life-saving weapon. I was the Ice Queen. A
waste of his time. He’d as much as said it. Knights weren’t
supposed to save Ice Queens, only charming princesses.

Ian kneeled next to me. “I’m sorry,” he
repeated softly, his voice suffused with remorse. “I wasn’t
thinking. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“You love her,” I said, surprising myself. I
was offering an explanation for his reaction, and somewhat
defending his reaction, which meant I was defending
him
,
something I wouldn’t have thought of doing in a million years. He
remained silent. I turned to look at him. “You acted upon your
feelings and stood up for her. There’s nothing wrong with
that.”

“Not when you hurt other people’s
feelings.”

I glanced away, escaping his emerald eyes. “I
don’t feel any human emotion, remember?”

“That’s not true,” he said quickly.

“It is.”

“It’s not.” He glided to kneel before me, his
deep eyes level with mine and his chest pressed against my knees. A
shiver raced up my spine. “You’re not an Ice Queen, Dafne. You love
your grandmother and your sister more than anyone else I know—even
if you don’t let people see that.”

I didn’t have the strength to deny his words.
“I do love them. And I care for them more than I do breathing. But
don’t fool yourself, Ian. Just because my heart opens to my blood
relatives doesn’t mean I care about what happens to others. Beyond
my family, everything is a meaningless mess to me, not even a blip
in my radar. Do believe that, because it’s true. If I have to step
on somebody for my family’s benefit, I will, without second
thoughts or regrets, no matter what the consequences. I don’t care
about anything else that’s my own.”

He studied me for a little while and
surprised me by saying, “I don’t believe that.” Then, he raised his
hand to my face and touched my cheek. I froze. His thumb brushed
the skin beneath my eye, which I knew was red and puffy from the
tears I’d shed, and stopped on my temple. “Yesterday, during the
movie…I saw you. You care for others. Deeply so. And I
realized…that’s why you hide. You care too much, and by hiding
you’re protecting yourself from getting hurt.”

Naked. His words left me completely exposed
and unarmed. He’d discovered the truth that I’d always guarded as
my most precious armor, the armor that I needed to survive, and the
fact that it’d been Ian, one of the people I disliked the most, put
me in a constricting situation. I felt as if I’d been stripped from
my wings of mighty eagle and had replaced them with the brittle
ones of a butterfly.

As if a switch was flipped, anger sparked
inside my stomach and spread a tidal wave of rage and resentment
throughout my entire body. I pushed away his hand from my face and
glared at him. “What game do you think you’re playing?”

“What are you talking about?”

I jerked to my feet and strode past him.
“You, caring about me… I'm not stupid. There must be something you
want out from this.” I turned to look at him. He was already
standing, a scowl framing his eyes and hurt gleaming in them.

“Why does it have to be an ulterior motive? A
friend can worry about a friend.”

“We’re
not
friends.”

“But we’re in truce, and in my world, that
entitles caring for the other person if you want to.”

“Well, then, your world is in a parallel
dimension if you think we’re in truce.”

His lips pressed into a hard line. “I already
told you I'm sorry for what I said. What else do you want me to
say?”

“Nothing, since your words are clearly lies.”
I was being petty. I knew that. But I couldn't let him stand close
to me, too many dangerous emotions rose whenever he was near. I
needed a wall. I needed to push him away.

He raked his hand through his hair, nearly
tearing some strands out in frustration, and took a deep breath.
“Dafne—”

Then, something happened. “Buffy,” I cut him
off. A hard wave of anxiety suddenly pressed my chest. “Something
happened to her.” I could feel it. It was as if the thread that
linked us deep down inside had been severed. She wasn’t on the
other side anymore. I couldn’t feel her. Somehow, my twin was
gone.

I stormed out of the room and ran down the
hall. Buffy’s door was locked. I shook the handle stronger,
rattling the door with all my weight. “Buffy!” I called, dread
soaking my voice.