Cale
There’s electricity crackling through my body as I lie in the dark. I can’t remember ever feeling like this, as if I’m hooked up to the mains. I can still feel the cool steel against my fingers and see Ryah’s eyes as she watched me so trustingly. I relive each throw, each satisfying bite of blade into the wood. The vibrant beauty in Ryah’s face. I feel like I could run to the moon and back, and then pull Ryah out of bed and ask her to do it all over again.
It hasn’t felt this good in years. This intense. The power of knife-throwing has always been alluring. I like knowing how honed and deadly my knives are, but practicing on my own has meant the danger has become dulled like a worn blade.
Having Ryah there with me and knowing that all there is between her and a terrible injury is my skill has made it thrilling.
Then my stomach lurches as I remember just how close some of those blades came to her body. We shouldn’t have done it. We were crazy for even trying it, and I’ll have to tell her in the morning that it was interesting to try, but it’s all off. Her disappointment will be nothing to the injury she could get if I misthrow. I can’t ever do it again, no matter how much I want to.
I can’t.
I want to.
Fuck.
I put a pillow over my face and groan. What are the others going to think when they hear about this, and me banging on month after month, day after day that we all have to be safe and sensible, no matter what. We all have to think with our heads, no matter how alluring some acts might seem.
No matter how alluring Ryah suddenly feels.
There was something intensely sexual about having Ryah backed up against the board, holding so still, hyperaware of me as my knives penetrated deeply into the wood.
I press the pillow even harder over my face and groan again. She’s seven-fucking-teen. I’m sick. Not only is she so young, but she’s vulnerable as well. Just a few nights ago, me getting too close to her was enough to send her into a tailspin. Growing up in that festering hole of unhappiness and violence meant that no one touched her unless they were going to hurt her. Now look at what I’m doing. I’m throwing fucking knives at her.
I finally fall into a restless slumber and awake before sunrise to lie in the dark, my mind racing. When I can’t keep still anymore, I get up, wash my face with cold water and head out to get the campfire going. The sun hasn’t even tipped the horizon when blue-gray smoke begins to waft into the crisp air. I jab mercilessly at the burning kindling, angry with myself.
Gorran comes to make the coffee and porridge, and I answer his good-natured questions with one-syllable grunts, toeing a clump of grass with my boot. Half a dozen other people join us, and I step back from their conversations so I can think.
Ryah comes hurrying over just as Gorran is handing me a second mug of coffee. She’s bouncing on her toes and grinning up at me like a kid on Christmas morning.
“That was amazing last night. I haven’t even been able to stop thinking about it. When are we going to practice some more? Tonight?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Gorran and a few others’ gazes flick toward us. My stomach clenches with nausea and I shake my head, not looking at her. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. We shouldn’t have been mucking about like that.”
Ryah stops mid-bounce. “What do you mean? We weren’t mucking about. You can’t call serious practice with your partner mucking about.”
I’m glaring down into my coffee and aware that everyone around the fire has stopped talking. We never made it official that we’re partners and we haven’t announced to anyone what we’re doing. I haven’t even talked about it with anyone.
“You’re not my partner.”
Ryah’s face falls. Then a blush rages in her cheeks. “Yes, I am. Don’t you dare say I’m not. We’re in the middle of putting together an amazing act. We could drive that whole audience wild if you didn’t have a… have a stick up your butt!”
I round on her angrily. “You do know I’m your boss. Is that the way you think you should be talking to me?”
I can’t believe the words coming out of my mouth. I never pull rank around here. This isn’t the sort of group dynamic I’ve been trying to foster. We’re supposed to be a family, but with Ryah getting under my skin and plucking at my heartstrings with those dainty fingers of hers, I’m losing the ability to think straight.
Ryah’s mouth falls open and she gazes at me like she does recognize me. She swallows a few times, and whispers, “I thought we were more than that to each other.”
Everyone’s staring now. I should sell fucking tickets. I try to draw her aside where we can have this conversation in private, out of the earshot of all these delighted eavesdroppers, but she shakes me off, a bright, unhappy sheen to her eyes.
“I’m only thinking of you,” I say through my teeth.
“I want to do something amazing. I thought you did, too.”
Doing something extraordinary is what makes life worth living. But not this, and not with her. “I’ve thought about it. The answer is no.”
Ryah turns and heads toward the horses, her steps so rapid that her Wellington boots slap against her bare calves. All the performers within earshot exchange meaningful looks, and smother smirks as I stare around at them.
“And what are you all looking at?” I call loudly, ladling more coffee into my tin mug.