Closed Shattered Memories

[Cadicus]

8th Winter 512AV. The walk from the World's Grotto Inn to the East Street of Zeltiva was not a particularly long walk. Dusk had just fallen, the shadows of the streets growing lengthier in the port town, and Cadicus was no longer glimmering or adorned with his celestial horns. He was taller, yet stockier, his muscles rippling intimidatingly beneath his white shirt, his eyes dark and his gaze intense: Cadicus, the Drykas, walked with purpose. By night he did not have to detest his very form, the form he owed to a God he held no love for. By night, he was simply another wandering in Zeltiva looking for some companionship. Companionship on the East Street could only mean one thing. Cadicus had only been in Zeltiva with his motley crew for three days, and yet the very first night he was in the city, he had come to this establishment: a place they called 'Loveless'. He had found the name perfectly apt. Without a mother goddess, and travelling with a crew he held vague affection for but no real allegiance, Cadicus had no one to love but himself. Something he did not do very well at all, for all his acting otherwise. No one spared Cadicus another look: simply just another human, they thought, if they noticed him at all. He wrapped the cloak tightly around him, and hugged the wall. He was not trying to pass unseen, just mostly unnoticed. There were several shadier members of society passing in and out of the East Street, but Cadicus liked to keep his options open. If he ever needed to charm a respectable member of society for whatever reason, it would not be advisable for his reputation to become besmirched so soon after his arrival in Zeltiva. But to be stationed in one place made Cadicus antsy. Thohorn and Red had heard of Zeltiva, of the old and the new, of the academic and the physical, of all the juxtapositions within the city. They each had their own reason for coming here. Cadicus? He had no reason for going anywhere. So he had come, but being amongst cobblestone again, and not in the grass with Maritus and Sodalis was stifling. Leaving his animals in the Inn's stable, he set off to relieve some tension, in the way he was best at. The women who lined the Street all leered at the handsome Drykas as he walked through. His purpose here was evident. He eyed each woman as though they were cattle, wanting to be sure he was spending his money's worth. Too warty, too fat, too dirty, too expensive, too-- His step slowed unconsciously, peering closer at the woman who lingered by a filthy doorway, open for anyone to walk through. She, too, wore the frilly, suggestive gowns that the other prostitutes wore, but she was different. Her hair was long and knotted, her arms beneath her dress were muscled and thin: a fighter, then. But the way she held herself, the shadow of her face... it could not have been. This prostitute reminded him so much of his little colt... but he had left Endrykas without saying a goodbye to the girl who had helped him cling to help as long as he had. Cadicus slowed his step, and with faltering feet, approached the prostitute by the doorway. His face was gentle and hopeful: and yet ready to be crushed and shattered again.

[Cypress]

The rough surface of the door's frame ground against her shoulder blades, but the Drykas had grown numb from the neck down, no longer taking note of anything that befell her physical self. The detachment had been intentional, and arrived at by the power of will; it was the only way that Cypress could live in the skin she now inhabited. The gathered fabric that hugged her waist tickled her skin and she gave the hem a quick tug, a quiet groan escaping her lips as she looked down at herself. She would never find comfort in these clothes, having known that, she chose a dress the color of blood, deep crimson, a color she would never have garnered in her former life. It was obvious, devoid of any subtlety; it painted the wearer as a showpiece, a prize, a whore. Agile hands smoothed her dress, a slow, measured brush of contempt for the clothes, and the soul within. Cy scanned the breadth of East Street, using the skills of a hunter to find her mark after glazing over the faces of her competition. The empty faces of the women around her placed a thread of fear within her, fear laced within sadness, sadness that she squashed as soon as it took any form. No sadness. There was no place for weakness within her now. Clear blue eyes settled on a man of medium height, a body lazy in spite of its movement, she felt her muscles tighten in mild revulsion. His eyes were small, seated in a face that seemed bloated, puffed lips, pocked red skin, a small shudder rippled through her body. With a quick glance around her she let her vision blur, her gaze still aimed at the man, but focused on a place midway between them. In the span of a few seconds, a slick of muddy color began to emanate from the man who had now stopped to preview his options for the night. The murky aura of the man made her throat tighten and she felt a taste of acid in her mouth. Not you. With the same deeper sight, she let her gaze slip across the street, unable to really focus, but trying to find at least one soul that did not make her queasy. There it was, a familiar flash. The color of molten copper, rising off the form of a man who walked East street. A chill shot down her back and her vision snapped to clarity. Cad She lowered her head and turned her face enough to hide when she saw him slow, and stop. She could feel his eyes on her, and it was more palpable than had been any man's touch in the last two years. What was he doing here? Blue eyes lifted to return the searching stare, and the cynicism that had flourished in Cypress began to replace the shock of a familiar face. He would not remember her, it was a lifetime passed, and his purpose here was clear. Who was she to deny the needs of another, regardless of who he was. He seemed frozen in place, so before another whore stole her chance, she slowly pushed away from the frame of the door, brushing a long black strand of hair from her painted lips. Any sentiment was crushed beneath the heel of her shoe with every step she took toward her old friend. He knew her, she could tell by the tightening of his jaw. But unless he gave recognition a name, she would act the stranger. The colt was dead. She reached his side and lifted to whisper in his ear, wavering upon a wave of recollection. For a few moments, her words were locked in a tight throat, but soon enough, she remembered her place, and exactly who she was, and spoke her invitation with the sultry voice of experience. "Are you looking for company?"

[Cadicus]

The whore turned her face and hid from his scrutiny as he peered close. Her cheeks were tattooed, her lips were red, her dress maroon as blood and besmirched honour. Cadicus' black eyes were wide, the whites glinting in the moonlight and the lamplight of the brothels. If he could just see her eyes, her pale ice blue eyes, perhaps he would know... but she seemed so determined to avoid his gaze... Perhaps it wasn't his little colt. Any prostitute might be afraid of a man's gaze: they were a violent sex, especially with too much drink in them, and one less girl on East Street would make no real difference. Perhaps it was just a deep-seated longing and a regret for the past that made him wish it was Cypress so. Slowly, she raised her face and meet his gaze. A shock: ice blue running through his veins. That quirk of the eyebrow. That stubborn gaze that refused to be belittled. That was Cypress. That was his colt. His throat went dry. His little Cypress, on such a street, so far away from home? Rage bubbled up below his sternum, but pure shock froze it in his chest. Grinding his teeth, he watched the way she sashayed towards him, all hips and pursed lips, the very movement of a whore, the movement he had come to know very well ever since he fled the Sea of Grass without a word. But her eyes, her eyes were cold, and it shattered the illusion. She had fallen far. It was his Cypress, he didn't know with facts and figures and confirmation, but the little Drykas girl had made such an impression on Cadicus that he'd never forget just the aura of her, though he'd never seen it. The tall Drykas pretender stood stock still, unable to speak or move, mesmerized by her every movement. He swallowed, unable to look away, and yet reviling his very masculinity for responding to her movements, like a puppet being played. Cypress had loved him. He knew that: he was not a fool. But he was old, and fallen, and jaded, and he had fled. This was his little colt. Not a prostitute. He was sure of it. A shiver ran down his spine as her lips brushed his ear, sultry and suggestive. Company? Yes, he was looking for company. Closing his eyes, he breathed. "Cypress." Holding his breath, he slowly turned his gaze into her ice blue eyes, the eyes he had known so well, and watched to see what she said. "Cypress..." And this time the name was like a prayer, full of awe and worship and absolute apology for being everything less than adequate.

[Cypress]

Shame and distaste aside, Cypress had learned the subtle and not so subtle dealings of her profession, and she knew her actions had affected Cadicus. Her Cadicus. With a hand draped casually on his shoulder, she had the perfect perspective from which to focus on the face she'd not seen for so many years. In his Drykas form, memories of her formative life came rushing into her mind's eye. The very thought of it undercut her detachment just a little. Images of family filled her thoughts, she could almost feel the memories; But like a plume of smoke, they were gone as soon as they materialized, dispersed by the power of her disillusionment. She moved closer, letting her hair tickle his cheek and her breath warm his skin. Cadicus closed his eyes, and she knew right then she had him. She could almost see the faces of her competition as she draped over the handsome Drykas, an anomaly within their breed of clientele. The other whores would resent her for his appeal, and somewhere inside, a young girl's stomach had just flipped. As she traced a line along the back of his neck she heard his voice speak her name and an invisible fist drove into her stomach with the force of a galloping strider. Cypress. That name no longer claimed her, and she was about to tell him so when he said it again. But this time, there was a plea woven into the way his tongue released the word. A sadness that made her skin go cold. He had left her without a word. As though she meant nothing to him, less than nothing. As though a life without their friendship would not affect him in the least. The chill inspired by his voice soaked into her skin like oil, until it had worked its way to her heart; There it added another layer of ice to her shell of a heart, and allowed her to shrug away one more aspect of her old life. Long fingers curled into his hair, and a body that was still lithe in spite of misuse pressed against him. She knew men, unlike that 'foolish girl'. She knew what they all wanted from her now... "Cypress." Her lips grazed his cheek and she looked into the darkness of his eyes without one moment of weakness. "Is that who you want? I can be Cypress, I can be anyone you want. All you have to do is say the word, and I'll be 'your' Cypress." She dangled the memory of the two of them like a sparkling prize, wrapped in an sultry voice and a willing body, playing on any sentiment he may have felt for her. As she embodied everything jaded with her heart and sharp mind, her body sought to betray her by thriving on a girls wish to be close to a man she had loved. But who was to say she could not enjoy herself, they were both adults now, and his need was clear. "Are you looking for your little colt, Cadicus?" Her jaw was tight as she spoke his name, curled around him like a clinging vine, her lips close enough to be warmed by his. "You can have her...you can search me all night long to find her."

[Cadicus]

Shivers ran down his spine while he waited for her response: affirmation, denial, anything. He would have even taken a slap across the face if it meant that it were her: Gods knew he deserved it. Cadicus had done many things that were less than savoury while on this world, but he had no regrets so powerful and damning as leaving his little Drykas girl without a world. Leaving Cypress without an embrace, without words, without his lips on her cheek. And lord, he felt sick, but right now he wanted his lips in many more places than that. She was skilled. And he loved her. (But that fact lay deep inside his stomach, churning like Ivak's rage, something he would not speak until the pressure built and forced the words up and out of his mouth.) He could barely look at her. She had her marks on her cheeks. She had rouge on her lips. Her eyes were dark and distant and like ice. She'd changed, she'd fallen, she'd let other men touch her. Image after image flashed through his mind, while her fingers danced an intoxicating dance along the back of his neck, sending shivers down his spine: even as he thought of drunk, fat, infection-ridden men bringing fingers and lips in places he didn't want her ever defiled. His breath increased, his muscled chest moving, panting. His gaze as dark and intense and dangerous as a thunderstorm. Even now, he waited to hear her response. Even now, he was angry at the world. That Syna let Cypress fall so far. His Cypress. A low growl rumbled through his throat as her seductive fingers curled elegantly into his short, haphazard hair. Her soft lips brushed against his cheeks, and his eyes only darkened. How many men had those lips touched? How many men had she loved since him? "Yes. I want my Cypress." The anger was harder to stifle. All his rage was directed at her now, this imposter, this prostitute that had once been a pure girl he had loved guiltily from afar. "But I guess I'll have to take the whore instead." His eyes bored deep into hers, before flickering down to her red, tempting lips. To take one taste of them... to feel what he had never been able to... "I haven't stopped wanting her since the day I left." And with that, his desperate, self-loathing lips crashed down onto hers, pouring all the anger, the disappointment, the longing, the cravings he had felt since the day he left the moving city, all those years ago. His lips moved fiercely along hers, forcing his tongue into her pliable mouth, his strong hands gripping down on her lithe hips, pulling her hard against his frame. His lips bruised hers. His tongue tasted hers. He was kissing a whore and pretending it was the Cypress he had loved. That he still loved. This was all his guilt for loving a fifteen year old poured into one kiss. The storm had begun. It was only a matter of time until the thunder past, and all that was left was the silence.

[Cypress]

Nothing within the tone of the voice that sounded in her ears was reminiscent of the Cadicus she'd known and loved; it was a harsh sound, where his was soft, full of anger, where his was calm, and laced with hunger, where his was innocent. He growled his desire into her ears even as his lips dripped with the disdain brought on by her 'situation', her fall from grace. That he named her 'whore' did not even faze her, That's right, take the whore. A soft inner voice spoke to her like a counterpart to his voice, parrying his barbs with her own rationalizations. I haven't stopped wanting her since the day I left. There was no time to combat those words before his mouth was crushing hers, driven by a volatile mix of anger and need. So rough was his kiss that she soon tasted the tang of copper, drawn out by the grinding of her own teeth against soft lips. It wasn't the first time she'd tasted her own blood, and it wouldn't be the last; truth be told, the woman she was now actually found some twisted pleasure in knowing that she'd driven him to this. Driven him to devour that which at one point was a treasure, held in the highest regard. Strong hands on her hips jerked her to him and a cynical chuckle grew in her throat, though she broke the kiss, she did not relieve the tension of their proximity, even increasing it by sliding a bared thigh along his to coil lazily around his hip. Her voice was breathless, hoarse from the effects of actually feeling, of the first real emotion she'd had in memory. As much as she tried to deny it, being in this position was something she had wished for since she'd known Cadicus. In her childish mind, he would have been in control, with his little colt as a willing, love sick girl. But in the wicked humor of fate it was Cypress that now held the reigns, and she would drive him to ache as she had for so long upon his leaving. In a voice that teased she breathed words past his lips. "My my...so hungry." She lifted a dark fringe of long lashes to look into his dark eyes, lowering her voice to a razor sharp whisper that would cut through to his heart. "Just think Cad...if you hadn't left me, you could have been the first." They way she released the words was like a slap across his cheek. Goading him on to take her right there. Her eyes flashed with wicked temptation as she ran her tongue along his lips. "We could take care of this here, in the street. But wouldn't you rather hide away..." She paused, wiping away a spot of blood from her lip with the tip of her tongue. "Don't you want your 'little colt' all to yourself?" Her heart was crashing against her chest, and had her voice not been held to a whisper, it would have trembled as she denied the rush of emotion connected to this man, and this situation. She bit down on his lower lip, dragging it through clenched teeth before spitting another provocation past his lips. "So quiet...Did you change your mind? Are you going to leave me again?"

[Cadicus]

Her blood in his mouth was like water to a parched man. He could taste the red tang against his tongue as his teeth nipped and grazed along her lips, tugging at the full plush red there, his tongue exploring every last inch of her. She smelled like a whore. Like the other women he had tasted and taken on East Street. It was a smell he was all too used to, and now his very own woman smelled like one of them. He growled possessively against her, his fingers gripping her hips with a Drykas strength. He was making her his. He was claiming her. He was claiming the whore. He nearly growled at her like some fierce, hungry animal when she broke the kiss. She laughed at him, laughed at his need, his desire for her. Glaring at her, his grip on her hips tightened. It was a need he'd quenched for ten years. Ten whole years since he'd met Cypress and ten whole years he had hungered after her, in love with those same eyes that looked at him so coldly from hooded lids. He groaned aloud, a keening animal, as a bare, smooth leg slipped around his. He towered over her, stronger than her, and yet completely under her mercy. No prostitute had ever made him feel so aflame before. This was not just a whore on East Street. This was a woman who knew how to hunt. Her soft breath caressed his lips like the kisses that he'd imagined so many years ago, so guiltily. His spine stiffened, his fingers clasping her tight tight tight, his night-time eyes boring into hers. Hungry? Yes, he was hungry. He was about to lean in and kiss her again when she turned his blood to stone. His shoulders stiffening, the grip on her hips would become unbearable. He barely reacted to her tongue on his lips, her hooded gaze, her fluttering eyelashes. All he could see was red, and through that film, the thought that he could have been the one to make love to her and he had thrown that away. She had loved him, loved him with a fiery passion, and he had loved her behind closed eyes and a mountain of guilt. And now she was the plaything of men like him. Men with money and lust to spare. Men without a heart, a conscience, or a god. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of the blood on her lips. He wondered how many other times the teeth of a man had made Cypress bleed... and where. Her last words were like a barrel of ice-cold water on his skin, then being pierced with red-hot knives. He closed his eyes, and breathed deeply. His grip still as tight as ever, he leaned his forehead down upon hers and sighed, a shaky sound. Like their pup had been when they'd first come across him, wounded and pitiful. "Gods, Cypress." He breathed in the smell of her. He wanted to take her. He wanted to taste her. But most of all, he wanted to bring her back to his room, and bath her until she smelled clean with the faintest hint of him. His eyes opened, and their passionate gaze met hers. "I'm not taking you like some common whore. I've done that to too many women since I left. You're Cypress. You're the little colt." He gasped, almost with the hint of a breakdown in the air between them. "I am never leaving you again."

[Cypress]

With a vise-like grip driving into the flesh of her hips she drew a sharp breath and bore witness to his undoing. The sword point of her words had driven into his heart just as intended, but there was no satisfaction as she expected, no sense of relief at causing even a fraction of the pain he'd brought down upon her those many years ago. How could she still be so weak in his presence? As the sickening feeling grew in her stomach she was enraged. He deserved this. She wanted him to suffer, to feel the void that she had felt, but she could no longer concentrate under his crushing grip. A venomous quip was poised on her tongue when his eyes closed, and he seemed almost to lean on her for support. Her throat tightened with a pang of compassion, but she swallowed it like draw of bitter wine and read his response as pity rather than remorse and possibly love. For the briefest of moments, she was caught in a gaze that spoke everything she denied, everything she would not let rise to the surface. The ferocity of their kisses had transferred the stain on her lips to his, a crimson wash that drew her focus until her thumb was pressed to his mouth, the soft pad dragging over swollen lips to try and remove the evidence. Her touch did not stay his words, even as he sought to deny her the prize she deserved. I'm not taking you like some common whore. The colt. His focus still lay in the past, and his sentiment threatened to open a path within her that would be her undoing; But this time there was nothing more for her to lose, she was undone, what he wanted no longer lived in her, and if it was the last thing she did, she would make him believe it. I am never leaving you again. That remained to be seen. She pressed another kiss to his lips, this one sweet like so much honey, achingly gentle, like a first kiss. Her long fingers splayed over his chest, curling ever so slightly at the tips, just enough to press softly into his skin. Then without warning, she withdrew, her leg slipping away along with the breathtaking kiss. "If you do not wish to complete our transaction, I'm afraid I have no use for you." She watched his eyes like the hunter she had been, waiting for that flash of fear and weakness. "It was nice seeing you Cad. If you change your mind, your little colt will be waiting." His grip having softened along with her kiss, was easily shrugged off, and as she spun out of his arms, she carlessly wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and began to make her way back to the doorway, her doorway. Beyond his sight, her fingers curled into the palms of her hands, carving crescent shaped cuts into her skin. She would not, could not, look back, and the pressure that decision caused on a heart that had all but died, was crippling. The colt was dead.

[Cadicus]

Her finger on his lips felt like a breeze on a summer's day, felt like the wind through his hair while he galloped with Maritus, felt like he had before he had lost everything in one fell swoop. His forehead leant against Cypress', his eyes closed in absolute longing, he wondered what it would have felt like to feel her fingers upon his skin, knowing she had never touched another soul like that before. And then, like heaven, like the Ukalas, she pressed her lips against his, gently, smoothly, like a scared girl kissing the man she loved. Sighing against her lips, he moved his against hers just as timidly, thinking she had understood everything he had left unsaid, everything he had kept bottled inside for ten lonely, angry years. Thinking she wanted him too. Her fingers moved to lay across his chest, and his encircled her waist. The intimate kiss was out of place in the street lined with prostitutes and thieves. Before he could slip his tongue between her pink lips once more and feel the heat and sanctuary that was her warm mouth, she pulled away, her hands ripped cruelly from his chest, her leg unravelling from his waist, leaving him aching and cold and wanting in the middle of the wintry, dirty street. But not wanting in the way that so many of these paying men were. Wanting like a lover. Like her lover. His eyebrows knit, he staggered forward, moving towards her once more, even as she moved away. Fear froze his throat like ice, as cold as her eyes, as cold as the biting Zeltivan winds. She had no use for him. Like he was the whore and wasn't up to her standards. Like she was the one who had infiltrated his skin. And she was. Lords knew, she was, she'd infiltrated more than just his lust and desire. "Cypress..." Again, her name, but this time infused with desperation, like a beggar hungry for coin, a meal, bedding. Spinning like a dancer, she twirled her hips and waltzed back towards the brothel's door she had been leaning against, seeing her figure wipe away his taste and touch from her red, luscious lips. "Cypress, wait, please!" She'd left him standing out in the cold, wanting and alone. What a turn of events from all the times he had rebuked and rejected her back in the city of the tents. Dashing after her, his lithe frame sprinted to the step of the house, ducking into the doorway and barring her entry. His hands outstretched, he spoke fast, desperate, and there was not a hint of irony or sarcasm, not a hint of the new Cadicus. His voice was soft and truthful. Like the Ethaefal who had taught a little girl how to help a scared pup. He was as scared now as Malicai was then. Scared that he might lose her. Again. "Cypress, please. I left. I left without a word and I've done so many things since then but that is the one regret I have after all these years. Not a day has gone by when I haven't thought of your eyes and your smile and your hands." If she allowed it, Cadicus would reach out and take her hands, holding them close to him. "I can't apologise in a way that will make it all okay again. But I've been all over this damned world and you've haunted my every step behind me. And now, here in this seedy street with these women that you are nothing like, I find you again." He paused, gasping. Cadicus' eyes were wet. "Please, Cypress, please." He wanted to say the words she had wanted, and the words he still felt, but they'd be trite and tainted if he said them now. He could only beg. And prove he wouldn't leave. "My heart hasn't been anyone's but yours." It was as near as he could get to the truth.

[Cypress]

Never in their history had she known Cadicus to make a scene, but here he was now, calling attention to the two of them in the most inappropriate of places. The watchful eyes of the other whores began to draw toward the two of them, clinging like spiderwebs to her face, and she could feel the invasion of their curiosity, prying into a life that she had tried to extinguish. Be quiet Cad. Her inner voice echoed in her mind as she made her way toward him. Those memories were something she'd locked away; by speaking them he was dragging them into this world, soiling them, sullying the only things that were still precious to her. When she reached him in the doorway she saw a real fear manifested in his dark eyes, and the words he spoke were done so without forethought or any kind of self preservation. With every word, another defense was shattered. Why now? Why did he have to find her now? Regardless of timing, this exchange could not happen here. She could not stand for the world at large seeping into the privacy of this moment. It was ironic really, had he chosen to take her in the street, there would have been no resistance, but these words were not meant for the street, and those other women. Selfishly, she pushed him into the door to make sure that only her ears absorbed his words. My heart hasn't been anyone's but yours. An audible gasp caught in her throat as she slammed her flattened palms against his chest and almost hissed the word 'STOP' at him. The hollows of her cheeks tightened over bone as her jaw clenched to withhold a response from eyes on the edge of tears. "Take me upstairs." Hers was not a request, and though whispered, it was spoken with a determined tongue."This is not the place for talk of hearts." She could feel the ice in her blue eyes melting just a bit, and could not look at him. He had broken through, but she still tried to maintain her jagged edges and keep him from getting into her head. "Follow me." She began to lead the way up a dingy stairwell to the room she called 'home'. With her back to him she began to crumble, hearing his confession in her ears over and over again. Unconsciously, she dragged her hand roughly across her lips to try and remove the 'stain' of the rouge, the stain of other men. At the top of the stairs, they reached a door without a lock; what need had she for a lock. Cypress opened it for him, her hand still on the latch as she pressed her back against the coarse plane and waited for him to enter. The light was subdued, and for a whore's room it was tidy and not so seedy as one would imagine. Three lanterns burned, offering a warm triangle of light at the center of which stood a bed. Nothing of any person significance could be seen within the four walls, it could easily have been the room of any prostitute, nondescript, save the order within. Still set on keeping her heart out of it, she reached up and pulled the tie from her long dark hair; a tumble of braids and curls spilled across her shoulders. Since they had last seen one another, it had grown so long as to nearly brush the curve of her hips. She was one of the few whores who still took care to keep her soft hair clean and free from snarls, brushing it out each night. She found that it drew men more easily into her bed. The two of them stood there, poised in her doorway, perhaps he needed some encouragement to enter. The only way to keep her resolve from eroding was to continue her course, so without hesitation, one hand remained poised on the door latch as the other began to loosen the ties of her dress slowly, making sure to capture his attention. "Don't make me beg, Cad." Every passing moment was taking it's toll on Cy's will, that, and the continued replaying of Cad's last phrase. Was he waiting just to see her weaken? To see her degenerate back into the little colt. What was a momentary pause at the door had transformed into a chasm of time to Cypress and she felt exposed and vulnerable. By finding her here in this life, he once more had the upper hand, though he did not seem to know it. He had one more opportunity to reject her. How could she be here again? No more waiting. She reached over and curled her fingers around his shirt, then used all her strength to drag him into her room.