Chapter 103 The Inner Storm
Fred was still in his sitting room, the financial report in his lap, a useless jumble of figures.
The apartment was physically weighed down by the eerie silence.
The quiet aftermath of a disaster was worse than a door slamming. He knew he ought to be at work.
He was aware that he should not be motionless. With the chair making a loud scraping sound against the hardwood floor he stood up suddenly.
He sensed a strong alluring pull in the direction of the stairs. His gut urged him to approach her knock on the door that was angrily closed and provide some pitiful insufficient explanation.
His body prepared for the climb as he took one step toward the library doorway.
And then he halted.
The voice of caution murmured in his mind. A familiar and painful reminder of the life he was stuck in a knot of tension tightened in his chest.
It would only get worse if you went to her now. The well-built barrier he needed to maintain between them would be breached and it would be a moment of weakness.
No matter how much it hurt them both he had to set the boundary again. With a slight slump in his shoulders he turned away from the door.
Instead he made his way to his own bedroom, the heavy carpet reducing the sound of his footsteps.
In purposeful contrast to Annabel's irate departure he walked into the room and quietly clicked the door shut.
Suddenly the pricey fitted shirt he was wearing made him feel suffocated.
With slow deliberate movements he reached up and unbuttoned the cuffs. It was one of his rare moments of chaos as he tossed the shirt onto the armchair with a shrug.
Only a pair of dark trousers were on him. He went to his bed and lay down on his back looking up at the ceiling with his hands clasped behind his head.
All that was visible to him was Annabel's face against the flawlessly white ceiling.
As she slammed the dishes and climbed the stairs he could see the fire in her eyes and the stiff line of her back.
He saw a ghost of vulnerability in her face, the hopeful question from the morning.
He muttered into the empty room “I made a complete mess of it.”
In an attempt to distract himself from her he closed his eyes and focused on the financial reports and the logistics of their current mission.
The endeavor was pointless.
Annabel was at the center of his chaotic uncontrollable swarm of thoughts.
He reenacted the instant he was leaning over her and about to pull away. It had been intoxicating—the smell of her hair, the even gentle rhythm of her breathing, the relief of being so near another human.
The one thing he couldn't give her was the truth and he knew that no explanation could exist without it.
He was forced to live a solitary life because it was a secret, a burden and a chain. He couldn't take the chance of the consequences.
He couldn't put her at risk. He let out a long tired sigh that did little to reduce the tension.
He had to think about how to put the genie of attraction back in the bottle and stabilize their working relationship once more.
A faint far-off sound came from the apartment above. A faint rustle followed by a loud clear rustle. It was Annabel.
She was doing something and she wasn't hiding anything. Up there he imagined her probably pacing or hurling objects.
With his eyes open he raised himself up onto his elbows. His concern was only heightened by the faint sound of her activity.
He was aware of the intense passion and equally intense focus that characterized her temperament as an artist.
Their project's meticulously planned environment would fall apart if she left. More significantly the brittle silent bond that had just been broken would never be restored.
Prior to this moment he was unaware of how much he had grown dependent on her presence, her vitality and her witty banter that broke through the routine of his regimented life.
Swinging his legs over the bedside he sat up. The air-conditioned room made his bare back feel cool and exposed.
He used his hand heels to rub his eyes. He had grown weary of fear. He was fed up with the constant calculation that governed every part of his life.
She had wiped out his fear for a single glorious night. His aloof frigid manner this morning was hurtful.
He immediately regretted his decision to put his own survival ahead of kindness.
With his bare feet silent on the rug he got up and started to pace the entire room. Having a habit from his time in the military he ran a hand over his short hair.
Frustrated, he thought “How do I apologize for my behavior without admitting I have feelings for her?”
The new sound coming from upstairs was a steady whisper of friction, a faint rhythmic scratch.
What is she doing?
He halted his pacing and proceeded to the closet. He took out a clean new navy blue t-shirt and pulled it over his head.
Leaning back in the chair he closed his eyes once more. She now had the upper hand.
A minute went by. Two. three. Then another sound came. A key turning in a lock was the first sound followed by the slow pounding sound of a door opening.
Annabel was on her way out.
Adrenaline rushing through him, Fred bounded out of the chair.
He arrived at the doorway of his room and looked into the living room. That's when he noticed her.
With her jacket zipped up she stood near the front door of the apartment. The small well-known leather satchel she typically carries when she goes to the coffee shop to write was slung over her shoulder.
She didn't have a suitcase packed. She was on her way out of the apartment.
Even though she was holding the doorknob she stopped and turned to face him across the room.
Even though her eyes were still narrowed a cool unreadable composure had taken the place of the raw anger.
Despite obviously having received his message she did not mention it.
“Im going out.” She muttered
Her icy tone made his heart sink.
He was aware that she was giving him a voice.
He tried to speak at a level of voice and asked “Where are you going?”
“Out.” She said,
Pulling the door open she twisted the doorknob. A distant siren and a car horn from the city outside burst into the silent apartment.
“Annabel, hold on,” he said.
She entered the doorway.
“Dont worry about me.” she said without looking back.
She closed the door behind her before he could respond making a final click that sounded as loud as the slam that had come before.
Fred remained still in the center of the living room as he heard her footsteps in the hallway make their last fading sound.