Page 51 of Tears of Ink

“Back off, Fairclough,” Gerard snaps at the newcomer. “This is between me and Faith, we’re friends.”

Elijah steps into the room, his body angled close to mine. Despite the turmoil inside, I find comfort from having him step near. I don’t look at him. My burning, furious gaze stays on Gerard.

He lets out a sigh of air and pushes his hand through his hair. “Seriously, Faith, you need to grow up. You can’t keep running every time someone pisses you off.”

“Get out,” I screech.

Gerard holds his hand out, and Elijah mutters a low curse. As he gets to the door, Gerard stops. “You’ve got your quantities wrong, you need less calcium oxide.”

“Get out!” I charge forward, but fingers grab mine and pull me back around until I’m staring into deep vibrant blues.

Elijah’s face is serious, pensive. “Are you okay?” His voice is low, and it eases the tense ball of nerves and anger.

“No, he’s a twat.” I’m shaking, and Elijah clutches my fingers.

“What are you doing?” I glance down at our joined hands.

He drops them straightaway. “Sorry.”

“How much did you hear?”

“Sorry, what?”

“I said how much did you hear?”

“Nothing, what are you asking?”

“Well, why the hell are you standing outside my door listening to my private conversations?”

His face hardens. “I came along because I felt bad for leaving you today. I want to check you were okay, or if you needed any help.” His face is pinched, his body rigid. “And if you don’t want people to hear your conversations, Faith, you shouldn’t have them so damn loud.”

He spins on his heel, turning for the door.

Shit.

Gah, what is it with this guy? I’ve never stopped anyone walking away before, but I grab his hand and stop him. “Wait.”

“Forget it, Faith.”

“No, I’m sorry.” I breathe through my nose like I’m fighting off a panic attack. Which I am. Torn between letting Elijah walk away, because I shouldn’t give a shit, and asking him to wait, so I can explain. “I just...” I don’t know what to say.

His blues graze across my face. “It’s okay.”

I give a small shake of my head. “It’s not, I shouldn’t be rude.” I close my eyes for a moment and calm my racing pulse. When I open them again, I smile and try to restart our conversation. “How was your day?”

He’s standing in navy suit trousers, with a pale-blue slim-fit shirt tucked in. His tie is askew, and his top shirt button open. He looks lovely. I try my hardest not to notice.

“Really, really exhausting.”

“Guess the last thing you needed then was to be screamed at by some random harpy of a live-in artist?”

He chuckles and his eyes shine. “True. I’m sorry Steers was here.”

“It’s okay.” I sag a little, the fight leaving me. “I did leave the course without telling him.”

“Have you definitely left the course? You could still go back after the summer; tell them you were tired and didn’t mean what you said.”

I shake my head. “I never go back.” A quick glance down reminds me I’m covered in dust and chemicals. I brush my clothes to avoid looking at him, until the silence is too heavy and I peek through my lashes.