My Pleasure, Darling

44: The Leaving, the Not Leaving, the Returning, and the Leaving

I have the day that Felix leaves marked both in my mental calendar as well as my phone. It starts like any other. Shower, dress, breakfast. It's always served in a grand breakfast room, though there's rarely anybody in there. This morning, Felix is there, briefly, but I don't arrive until he is downing the last dregs of his glass.

He's in conversation anyway, with one of the Metran princes. Not Michael, who hasn't been impressed with either of us since our little conversation and has avoided us.

He doesn't even look at me when he dashes past to brush his teeth and get on his way.

Alexandria and I meet with Trysya to see him off out front, where there's a car waiting for him.

He's wearing sturdy clothes, well made and strong, as well as very good shoes though I reckon his mountain boots are in the duffel on his back, just in case. The coat will weather just about anything.

He kneels down and hugs Andrea tightly, promising to write to her. She's sad to say goodbye, but she doesn't cry. I wonder how Trysya prepared her for that.

She makes him promise to be careful. It's a heart-rendering request to hear from a six year old who knows, first hand, what Felix could be walking home to. He makes her that promise without question or hesitation. And then he promises he will be back one day for a holiday.

Felix then stands and looks at me, and with what emotion, I can't tell. I wonder if he realises how I feel. If he does, I'd appreciate it if he could tell me, because I'm not entirely sure myself. I'm angry, and sad, and frustrated – happy, relieved and scared, all at the same time, which is a very annoying combination.

Great, now I'm annoyed, too.

Alexandria returns herself to where Trysya hugs her from behind. Felix takes a step closer to me. I have to resist the urge to take a step back. Since our argument on the stairs, I can't really tell what he's thinking or what he will do next. Nobody would blame me for taking a step back, not when the last of the yellowed bruising has just faded off my skin. But I think that if I stepped back and physically avoided him now would push us both over the edge. We'd just start up again. I'd say things I could never take back – that is, if I haven't already said them.

"Well Darling," he says casually, "here we are."

For everybody's sake – though I recognise it is for my sake also – I decide to go along with his casual tone. For just a few moments, I think I can suspend my anger, my embarrassment, and my guilt.

I nod. I don't want to show him how upset I am. I don't want him to know that I am being threatened and blackmailed by tears just beyond the eyes that he is looking at, and I don't want him to know whether it's anger or grief that motivates them. "Here we are."

"It was one hell of a trip."

"Emphasis on hell," I joke. We both smile wryly.

I wonder if Andrea can tell what's going on between us. She knows we fought, I have no doubt of that. Half the palace heard it first-hand and the other half heard it second-hand.

He moves before I can stop him, and puts his arm around my neck, burying his face in my hair. For a brief moment, I'm not sure, but I think he might have kissed the very top of my head. "Be good," he whispers to me, and he makes it sound as if the words are holy, like he is praying to some God to keep me, and the words are for them, not me.

Be good? Be good? What am I, a Labrador? I teasingly poke his shoulder with one finger. "I am not a puppy you know."

He laughs and lets me go. "I'm thinking, poodle. With a frilly collar."