Spark

11 - The Kings

I can't help but love you, even though I try not to-War Of Hearts

.Starr.

My anger has been brewing. I'm unable to stop it. It's so close to bubbling over and causing a sizzle on the wrong person. I won't be able to take back whatever I say when I'm like this. I know and acknowledge that every time but he just makes me so mad.

He's absolutely mercurial. I thought we were starting to get somewhere when he'd asked me to stay with him last week but of course, he sees me as nothing but a joke, a means to end his boredom. Gain satisfaction from seeing me squirm.

When he'd pulled me into the closet this morning, my first instinct was to reach up and slap him because I'm not someone that should be hidden. No one is.

He'd never hide to talk with her.

"Starr, you want takeouts?" Charlotte's voice cuts through my spiral and I flick my eyes in her direction, releasing the rigid hold I had on a throw pillow.

"What are you thinking?" I manage to tame my voice to contain my rage as I ask this.

She lets out a breath of air, allowing her lips to vibrate of their own will. "Chinese? Is Chinese okay?"

I nod and she returns to her phone, tapping away at her screen.

I slump into the sofa and reach for the remote. I'm still scanning through the channels when I hear the doorbell ring.

I glance over at Charlotte but she's still on the phone with the Chinese place. I let out groans, trying to pace myself before I face whoever is at the door as I approach it.

My anger bubbles over as soon as I open the door to dark brown hair and stunning blue eyes. I almost swing it shut on instinct but force my grip to remain on the handle instead.

"Hi." He says, his eyes softening a bit. I watch them flicker to the part of my hair that still hurt only when I seem to really remember it before settling back on my face.

"Hey." I hope he sees how much restraint I'm putting in. How much I'm doing my best to not try and shove him away from me.

Far, far away...

"How's your hair?" He asks. "Does it hurt a lot?"

My anger begins to simmer down. I don't know why it does. Maybe because this is the reaction I'd been expecting and waiting for. When he'd reached out and touched my hair today, I knew I shouldn't have let him but I wanted to see if he was going to let it bother him. I wanted his worry. I wasn't certain I was going to get it though. It would appear I am.

My fingers go up to touch the spot he's referring to and I mumble a barely audible, "It's fine."

He lifts a small bag I hadn't noticed he was carrying and puts it out-urging me to collect it?

"I don't know if it'd help but I got you some hair care products-" He swiftly says.

I tune him out and take the bag from him and sift through it. Bags of skittles, Cantu Shampoo and conditioners.

The flame beneath my anger completely fizzles out.

"Why are you giving this to me?" My voice betrays the warmth spreading in my thorax by cracking.

He stops babbling and I watch as his brows furrow. "Because I want to. I don't know how else I can help but this seems reasonable."

My voice lodges in my throat and stays there, unable to move, unbothered to move.

He really is cruel.

I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out. I'm transported back to a few years ago where I'm nothing but a gaping idiot letting anyone and everyone play with my feelings.

His brows furrow in deeper and I shut my mouth and clench my jaw. "Are you okay?"

I hate the way his voice is laced with so much concern.

I hate the way I'm just standing here as he reaches out and settle his hand on my shoulder.

I hate the way I can't shrug him off.

I hate the way he's staring at me like I'm his everything.

God, I hate the way he's just reached up and cupped my cheek, letting his warmth settle over me.

And I hate the way he's just settled for telling me 'I'm okay' even when it's exactly what I want to hear.

×××

"How was work?" Charlotte asks mom as we all gather around the small coffee table to eat.

Charlotte and mom are adjacent me and I have just the right kind of spacing between them for my head to begin its awkward and unhinged comparison. I can't help but do it anytime someone in the family is next to another.

Of the three of us, Charlotte is the palest. My mom is dark skinned and so stunning that sometimes I cringe to go out with her because of the number of men who walk up to her. It's very uncomfortable to just be stood there while older men attempt to make your mother swoon. I got my bundle of curls from her but she isn't as attached to hers as I am to mine. She gets it cut at least once a year because she says she can't deal.

Charlotte looks a lot more like my father. Her curls are little and she is very light skinned. She sometimes acts like him too. She'd never admit it though.

"Same ol', same ol'," Mom sighs, grabbing a bottle of water. "Simon drives me mad though. I swear to God, I've never seen a grown man act so childish."

Ugh. Simon.

We get a full detail rant about Simon Harris at least once a week. I think the day he gets promoted or just leaves is the day my mom would sponsor the entire neighborhood's snack addiction.

He's on her neck that much.

She can't stand him that much.

Charlotte and I listen to her rant for the next couple of minutes about how he had her run a task for about a billion times before deciding it wasn't worth it and was just a waste of time.

That would have pissed anyone off.

"Starr, love, how are your meetings with Ally?" She asks, glancing at me. "Are they going well?"

I bite down on the dumpling between my chopsticks and settle for a nod. "Yeah, they're okay."

"That's great," she says, delight in her voice. "I'm glad."

"Ally's good." Charlotte says, starting to clear up her plates.

I don't say anything because I don't like to discuss things like this with them. It sets a somber tone and nobody is glad. I like to just keep it quiet and silently get better. So when I'm asked, I really do tell the truth.

When I get into the shower after dinner, I wash my hair even though it's not wash day and wash day is normally painfully stressful. I enjoy it too because I'm delusional enough to think he cares once more. My heart is just hoping for that bright side, begging it to come closer and become our reality.