The dove and the wolf.
A concept which you must’ve come across before.
I could name thousands of stories, just like ours, instances filled with secrets and lies just as ours was.
And yet, all these stories, no matter how similar, remain unique.
Because you don’t know pain like this one, until you go through it yourself.
Darkness – it’s peaceful.
I drifted off, and felt nothing.
Nothing but his strong arms carrying me away, not only from that dreadful party but also from my problems, from reality in a way.
I woke up in a bed, and it must’ve been the next morning, but because the weather in Seattle was nothing short of gloomy, I couldn’t exactly tell.
“Dove?” I hear his voice, and forced myself to open my eyes wide, and take in my surroundings.
I was in a bed – but it didn’t seem like one you’d go to crash on at a frat house.
It wasn’t my old dorm room bed either, and it takes me a second to remember and process Lilian’s move, so that definitely couldn’t have been the case.
Not the apartment, that was for sure.
Where was I?
“Morning, alcoholic,” he chuckles, and goes to sit in front of me on the bed.
Oh no.
“On a scale of one to ten -”
“You don’t want me to answer that,” he shakes his head, and brings his bottom lip between his teeth as to suppress his laughter.
I smile a light smile, and look down at my lap, embarrassed, “yeah, you’re probably right.”
He simply looks me over for a minute, perhaps worried I’d throw up and feel really sick, but I think blacking out ended up working in my favour.
Don’t get me wrong, I felt like absolute shit, and my head couldn’t have ached more if it tried. But I surprisingly didn’t feel sick, and so I guess that was a positive.
“Where are we?” I groan, and look the small yet cozy bedroom over. There was a full length mirror to the right of the bed, and next to it a slender closet. There was only one night stand to the left of the bed, where I was placed to sleep, which was the nearest side to the window.
“My apartment,” he stated, and got up off the bed, making his way out into what seemed like an open space.
I get up slowly, being careful not to test my limits any further than I needed to, and see that I was still wearing last night’s clothes.
That put my mind at rest a little, because even though I knew Theo was better than that, part of me was still afraid at the small chance that he’d try something while I was unconscious.
But I couldn’t think like that – he had just saved my life.
He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.
“Hungry?” He asks, and on cue, my stomach grumbles, to which he lets out a small laugh, “good. I made pancakes.”
I take a seat at the kitchen counter, on a rather high stool, and looked the place over.
It was homey, and very Theo.
There were football posters up on what seemed to be his decorative wall in the living room, and a framed picture of the entire football team, cheerleaders included, which I assumed was taken last year.
I knew he had a place of his own, which now made me feel even worse about that night I saw him run into one of the dorm room buildings, because I knew exactly who he was going to.
And I didn’t like it.
“Theo, where did you sleep last night?” I ask, my voice cracking slightly with a hint of worry, to which he simply raised his brow to and smiled a dismissive smile.
“I took the couch, freshman, before you start to panic.”
I smiled and proceeded to dive into the pancakes, a moan of satisfaction slipping my lips as I took a bite.
“Good?” He grinned.
“Very. I didn’t know you could cook,” I giggle, and stuff my mouth once more.
“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Dove,” he shrugged, and I furrowed my brows a little, but kept a teasing smile.
“Oh, yeah? And who’s fault is that?”
“Well, not mine. You’re too preoccupied getting my head between your legs every time we get a little time to ourselves, I never get the chance for story time,” he smirks, and throws a blueberry at my face, to which I reach across the kitchen counter where he stood opposite and smacked at his chest.
“That’s not true!” I pout, “you’re always turning down my questions.”
“Yeah, because you ask too many,” he counters, but the mocking tone is evident in his voice.
When he sees that I take this to heart though, he continues,
“Fine, one question.”
I think this over for a bit – I knew he wouldn’t answer a personal one, something to do with his past. And to be honest, it was probably for the best that I didn’t know. So I asked him something that could actually be of use to me, potentially.
“Why were you at the party last night?”
“Why were you?”
“Theo….” I protest, and he puts his hands up in surrender at my obvious frustration.
“Okay, okay. I went back to England that Friday, after the game,” he starts, and I nod, not wanting to interrupt him by saying I already knew this information, “I actually had the plane ticket already brought, so I was going to take you home and then leave for the airport.” He pauses for a second, probably thinking over the events of that night.
Such a tragic night.
“Well anyway, I was going to stay until New Years with my mum, but complications surfaced and so I left and came back early.”
He speeds through the last few words, as if he didn’t want them out into the universe.
Too bad he was talking to me, and I wasn’t going to let it go that easily.