Fearof the unknown
654 Words
"Hey." His voice came from close behind her. Closer than she'd tracked. "You okay?"
"Fine." She straightened. The room tilted again. "I'm.."
"Aurora."
Her name in his mouth had a quality she couldn't defend against.
She turned and immediately regretted it because the movement was too fast and the dizziness spiked and she must have shown something in her face because he was already moving one hand at her elbow, steady and immediate, the other reaching for the table beside them.
"Sit down," he said.
"I'm fine…”
She was fine.
She was fine right up until she wasn't.
The call from Jules, Nova brought fear
It started as nothing. A slight dizziness between one shot and the next, the kind she sometimes got when she'd skipped lunch, which she had.
"You're not." Calm. Certain. Not a debate. "Sit down."
She sat.
Partly because her body agreed with him even if she didn't. Partly because his hand on her elbow had a steadiness to it that her own legs were currently not providing.
He crouched in front of her. Eye level. Close enough that she could see the exact moment his expression shifted from composed to something more specific.
"When did you last eat?" he said.
"I…" She thought about it. Coffee at six. Nothing after. "This morning."
His expression said what he didn't. He stood up, went to the small side counter near the bookshelf, and came back with a bottle of water and a wrapped granola bar from a drawer that he clearly knew the contents of.
"Here."
She took them. She told herself she was not affected by the efficiency of the gesture. By the absence of fuss. By the way he'd just handled it, without making her feel fragile or embarrassing or like a problem to be managed.
She drank the water.
He sat in the chair across from her and waited.
That was the thing. He just waited. No performance of patience. No checking his phone. Just a man giving a woman space to come back to herself, like he had nowhere more important to be.
After a few minutes the dizziness settled.
"Better?" he said.
"Better." She looked at the granola bar. Then at him. "Thank you."
He nodded once. Not of course or no problem, just a nod, clean and sufficient.
She stood. Tested her legs. Steady.
"I should go," she said.
"I'll walk you”
"You don't have to"
"I know I don't have to." He was already standing, already reaching for his jacket.
He didn't hesitate. "My car's out front.”He pushed the lobby door open. Held it.
She stepped through into the afternoon sun.
"Thank you," she said. Professional.
"For the water. And the…"
"Aurora."
She looked at him.
He was standing with one hand still on the door, the afternoon light hitting his face at an angle that was entirely unreasonable, looking at her the way he had upstairs that complete and patient attention, like she was something he was still in the process of figuring out and had decided to take his time about.
His car was a black Range Rover parked in the reserved spot closest to the exit.
He didn't ask where she wanted to go.
He just drove.
That was the thing that undid her first.
The absence of questions. Any other man would have been asking them already. What happened, what's wrong, who do I need to call.
Easton pulled into traffic, checked his mirrors, and drove in the particular silence of someone who understood that silence was sometimes the most useful thing you could offer a person.
Aurora sat in the passenger seat with her camera bag in her lap and her phone in her hand and watched the city move past the window and tried to locate the version of herself who had walked into his building two hours ago with her walls fully operational.
- Writer
