21

~Vaela

Eyla comes to stand over me, grabbing my book from my hands.

“Hey!” I protest.

“We are going out somewhere today,” she announces.

She looks over her shoulder at Hale, who is busy adjusting a newly acquired painting on the far wall of the foyer. She expects him to refuse, but he remains distracted.

I blink. “We are?”

“Yes Vae.” She dumps the closed book onto the table beside me. My nose scrunches up irritably at my lost page.

“It’s been two weeks, and you’re still mourning,” she exclaims, propping her hands on her hips.

“You are too,” I retort.

A lump immediately gathers in my throat. I’ve spent far too many nights buried under my pillow, sheets wound around my limbs as I cry in a vicious, soul-wrenching manner.

Eyla is more of a bury it deep kind of mourner. Instead of acknowledging that finding my dead ex in such a state has traumatised her, she remains unshaken and adamant. I'm patiently waiting for it to catch up with her again, so I can be right there for it.

“I know, which