“How do you make them listen to you?” she asked suddenly. She was lying on his bare chest, her golden hair spilling across the bed like wine out of a fallen cup. His hands were in her hair (but then they always seemed to be), and he couldn’t help but think it was rather absurd that she was trying to start such a conversation with him when they were still sweaty and trying to catch their breath.
He chuckled, lifting his left hand and holding the ends of her hair. He smiled. “I thought we weren’t allowed to talk about the others.”
She frowned. “I know.”
“As I recall that was your rule.”
She glanced up at him. “The more you tease me, the more eager I am to get out of this bed.”
He closed his eyes, leaning his head back. “I wouldn’t let you go anywhere, even if you wanted to leave.”
He felt her cheeks grow hot against his skin, but he didn’t look down to see if she was angry or embarrassed. He thought he knew, but he didn’t want to be sure.
“Can’t you just answer?” she asked, and she sounded a little sad.
Now he looked at her, his eyes soft. “What happened?”
She sighed and turned her head away from him, shielding herself with that same hair. “I’m not sure. Something… changed. I don’t know what.”
He frowned, considering her vagueness. “It’s Mars, isn’t it?”
She stiffened, and then she seemed to shake it off. “I shouldn’t be surprised you know.”
“I know she’s your friend,” he said carefully.
She scoffed. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say something wrong.” She shook her head. “She isn’t my friend. At least not anymore.”
He thought about kissing the top of her head, let her know that he was sympathetic, but he didn’t. He knew that she would take that as pity and then she would leave. He wouldn’t stop her – couldn’t stop her – but he didn’t want her to go.
“Sometimes I just want to hit her,” she said, and he did not doubt her sincerity.
He tried to smile to lighten his voice – lighten her mood. “That’s no way to lead.”
“It would make me feel better,” she said. He heard her try to pout.
“What did she say?” he asked, though he doesn’t know why. There’s nothing he can do for her except want to protect her and know that in the end he’s useless. It made him want to punch walls.
“She just doesn’t listen to me anymore,” she confessed. She sounded ashamed of herself for admitting this to him. “Not that there’s much to be said… But even in casual conversation, I’m always wrong.” She paused. “And she’s grown callous. Even cruel. She doesn’t even yell at Serenity anymore. Just me.”
He clenched his fist, tangling her hair between his fingers.
“You think she knows, don’t you?” she asked, defeated.
He straightened his back. “You think that. That’s why you brought it up.”
She turned and looked at him again, pushing herself up on her elbows. “But it doesn’t make sense. If she knew, she’d confront me about it. She’d probably slap me.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so. You are still her leader. You could ruin her if she gave you a reason.”
She laughed mirthlessly. “And risk an incident with her planet? Not likely.” She paused. “Her father still hasn’t forgiven me for taking what he thought was her spot as the leader of Serenity’s guardians. He’s just waiting for me to give him a reason to ignore the peace treaties, and destroying his daughter is more than enough of an excuse.”
“She doesn’t think that broadly,” he said. “Mars is concerned with personal grudges only. You know this.”
She smiled a bit, finding the hidden compliment. “I still don’t know why she won’t say anything.”
“Maybe she wants you to admit it,” he suggested. “She might only have a suspicion.”
She sighed tragically. “There is my other theory.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Which is?”
She blew her bangs out of her eyes and leaned forward, a smile returning to her lips at last. “She’s desperately in love with me.”
He laughed loudly, and she giggled, wrinkling her nose. “Of course. That must be it.” He paused and looked her right in the eye. “I don’t blame her.”
Her laughter died. She stared right back at him as if he had just said something terrible. “I should go,” she whispered and pulled away from him, her yellow hair slipping through his fingers.
“Don’t,” he said, grabbing her arm and holding it a little too tightly. He relaxed instantly when he saw her wince even though he knew she exaggerated it so that he would. “Just don’t.”
She pulled her arm free and bent to pick up her dress from the floor. She tossed her hair as she began to dress again. “You don’t lead by forcing people, remember?”
“I’m not leading you anywhere,” he snapped, his venom taking both of them by surprise. “At least not anywhere you don’t want to go.”
“Don’t tell me what I want!” she yelled. “Don’t you ever, ever try to rule me!”
He stared at her, not the least bit startled by her fury. He knew she hated that. “I pity the man stupid enough to try.”
She glared at him with so much fire he felt as though his skin was burning. “Then wallow,” she spat just before she disappeared.
So she left him there alone, furious that she had left in the middle of an argument but knowing that nothing more could be said. She left him knowing she was in pain and taking it out on him. She left him with the promise that they would never have anything more than shadows and lies and emptiness at the end of the night. But most of all she left him missing her laugh, her skin, and her yellow hair.
He punched the wall.
