Gaia
Khason’s room was much cleaner than I expected. It was the only thought my numb mind could coherently produce as I sat, curled in a ball, in the corner of his black leather sofa. His king-sized bed was neatly made with dark grey sheets, a large, fluffy white rug spread on the wood floor beneath it. His décor was all black and silver, a few prints on the walls, and knick-knacks on his shelves. The thick woolen throw blanket he had wrapped around me when he deposited me on the couch perfectly coordinated with the pillows.
He had turned the TV on and some ancient sitcom rerun played, the volume turned almost completely down. He paced the room behind me, stilling every few moments as someone mind linked him. I could feel his eyes flick to me with every other step.
He came over and sat
