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STOLEN BY THE PAST Chapter Two: His eyes fluttered up and down Deilan's body. Deilan was a large man, standing at well over six feet. His body was bulky but not fat, his arms strong from lifting barrels of beer. He had a head of luscious, straight, blonde hair that he always pinned back. Blonde, Tajar thought, just like Crispin had been. He didn't find Deilan attractive anymore. When had that changed? About a year ago, he guessed. The first twelve months of their relationship had been so passionate and messy. Tajar had been an emotional wreck, he was man enough to admit it. Reeling from Crispin's death, plagued by nightmares of his burnt carcass, the smell haunting him worse than any image. When Tajar's friends had moved out to a house of their own he had not even thought about going with them because he'd been so obsessed with Deilan and their passionate affair. It had breathed life into him again. And during that second year Tajar had wanted to fly. Deilan had not been so keen. The jealousy had been flattering to start with but it had quickly become annoying. Whether Tajar spoke to man or woman, old or young, Deilan would get angry and pick a fight. It was often better when they argued, though, because it was the only time Tajar wanted to make love to him. He'd found other ways to scratch that itch. He wasn't proud of his actions but he'd done what a man needed to get done. Suddenly, Deilan turned. It was almost as if he had sensed Tajar's thoughts, somehow growing jealous of the truth about his infidelities. Their eyes met and once again Tajar was surprised by how little the glance affected him. He supposed he was exactly what the people of this town claimed him to be: fickle. Or perhaps love really was that cruel. Deilan moved down the bar towards him, wiping his hands on a cloth. "Tajar," he said, nodding his head in greeting. |
"Hello, Deilan," Tajar replied somewhat wearily. "What can I get you?" He was all business, indicating to Tajar that he was still very hurt by the ending of their relationship. That in turn angered Tajar. What else had Deilan expected him to do after his outburst? "I didn't come here for a drink," Tajar said, only just controlling his anger. "What then?" "I will need my belongings. I have left most of them here." "I know," Deilan snapped. "Well, I will need to come and collect them tomorrow morning." Tajar was cold, not meeting Deilan's eye. Was it because he was afraid of the elder man? He told himself not, but he suspected it was a lie. "Fine." Silence fell between the pair. "Will you be in tomorrow morning?" Tajar asked. "Yes." Tajar nodded his head. "Then I will see you tomorrow." He turned but Deilan said his name, stopping him. "Tajar," he said again, almost sighing out the name.
Tajar looked up at him - still he felt nothing, not even sympathy. Deilan's hand came forward, trying to reach for his face. Tajar jerked quickly away and turned. He hurried through the patrons. He didn't know what he was so afraid of. Deilan following him? Probably.
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