The days that followed were a torturous exercise in self-control. Every instinct screamed at me to close the distance I'd created, to talk to her, to dispel the confusion I saw clouding her usually bright eyes. Yet, the illogical, burning resentment fueled by Philip's presence solidified my resolve. I had to suppress this alien emotion, to maintain the cold, detached composure that had always been my fortress.
So, I maintained the distance. I didn't talk to her at lunch, instead engaging Christian or Ethan in discussions I barely registered. I walked past her in the hallways without a glance, my gaze fixed straight ahead, feigning indifference that was anything but. I stopped appearing at the library in the mornings, the place that had become our quiet sanctuary. It was a conscious effort, a deliberate act of emotional self-mutilation. I saw the hurt flicker in her eyes each time, the subtle slump of her shoulders, and a part of me recoiled, but the larger, more rational part, screamed for me to persist. This coldness was a shield, a necessary barrier against feelings I could not, would not, allow.
The weekend arrived, a stark reminder of the promise we'd made to Amelia. The thought of seeing her again, of understanding her unique anomaly, was the only thing that cut through the self-imposed emotional frost. I waited by my car on the driveway, knowing she would arrive, knowing she'd cling to the promise of Amelia.
"You came!" Her voice, when she finally approached, was a fragile blend of relief and disbelief, a sound that both eased and tightened the knot in my chest. "You should have parked somewhere else though. Someone might see and get suspicious. It's a good thing my father's not here. Let's go."
I didn't respond. I simply got into the car, my movements precise, my face a mask. The silence that filled the vehicle as we drove was suffocating, far heavier than any I'd experienced before. Each mile felt like a year, stretching the growing chasm between us. I could feel her despair, her confusion, a palpable ache in the air. She wanted answers, an explanation for my sudden, brutal coldness, but I offered none. I couldn't. To speak would be to reveal the chaos within, the very feelings I was desperate to bury. I never looked her way, not once, though every fiber of my being was aware of her presence, her silent suffering beside me.
Amelia was waiting for us, a tiny figure on the cabin's front porch. She ran to us, a burst of child-like energy, and Krista enveloped her in a tight hug. Inside, I resumed my observation of Amelia. I spent the entire day watching her, playing with her gently, trying to decipher the intricacies of her mixed nature. My interactions with Amelia were warm, genuine; she seemed to calm the turmoil inside me, offering a fleeting glimpse of the effortless kindness I could display. My smile, the one Krista later noted, was genuine when directed at Amelia. But every time I turned back to Krista, the warmth vanished, replaced by the carefully constructed indifference. I didn't talk to her. It was as if she were invisible.
The hurt radiating from her was almost unbearable. I could feel it, a raw, exposed nerve. Finally, she couldn't take it anymore. She simply walked out of the cabin, heading into the dense forest, seeking solace in its indifferent embrace. I watched her go, a sharp pang of regret piercing my resolve. My instincts screamed to follow, to pull her back, to confess everything. But the deeper, more unfamiliar emotion held me captive, freezing me in place.
As dusk began to settle, painting the forest in long, somber shadows, I sensed her growing distress, the subtle shift in her aura. I knew I had to find her. I approached quietly, a ghost among the trees, but a branch cracked under my foot, betraying my presence.
She jumped, spinning around, her face a mixture of fear and irritation. "You scared me! I told you not to appear so suddenly. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" Her voice was sharp, but I heard the underlying tremor, the deeper pain she was struggling to contain.
"It's getting dark. Let's go home for now," I stated, my voice as neutral as I could make it, pushing down the urge to explain.
"You go home," she replied, her back to me, her voice deliberately flat, "I'm staying with Amelia. I already told my father I'd be spending the night with my cousin and she agreed to cover for me." Her refusal to look at me, her rigid posture, spoke volumes of the wall she was building, mirroring my own.
"Alright. I'll come back early tomorrow." And then, I left. Just like that. I vanished into the encroaching darkness, leaving her alone with Amelia in the remote cabin, leaving her to grapple with the emotional chasm I had so carefully, so cruelly, forged. The silence of the forest swallowed me, but the unspoken pain between us echoed louder than any storm.