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“I promise I’ll find a way to explain everything soon. But it’s imperative that we keep moving.”

So he’s said, twice now. I know he will. Rennix is a man of his word. But I’m impatient and hate surprises. This feels like an unfair combination of the two.

The fluorescent lights overhead begin to flicker, adding to his warning.

“Okay?” he asks, needing my compliance. When I don’t give it right away, he bites his lip, likely out of annoyance with me or trying to hold back what he wants to say. “Lia,” he whines, breathy and unfairly seductive.

Rennix is smart. Does he really have no clue what the fuck he’s doing to me right now?

That’s it.

That’s fucking it.

I can’t take this anymore.

If I don’t address the elephant in the room I’m going to quite literally burst.

Needing to create space between us I take a step back, or at least, that’s what I intended to do. Apparently, I leaped with such force I angered whoever is in charge.

The fluorescent lights flicker overhead, and the floor begins to shake like it did earlier. Except this time, it’s more of a steady thud than a vibration capable of separating the floor.

He says my name again, this time through a low, gruff groan, and it ignites my rebellious streak.

“I’m not going anywhere until you explain what’s going on.”

He sighs. “We don’t have time for this.”

I cement my feet to the ground. “I’m afraid we have all the time in the world.”

We don’t. The store crumbling in slow motion while we’re standing in it is evidence to the contrary. Not that it moves me any. He should know better. Tell me to do something, I only feel inclined to do the opposite. This is no different.

“I’m not trying to be a dick. You know me better than that. I told you I’ll find a way to explain.”

“What do you mean, find a way? Explaining is very simple, you just…”

I’ll spare you the embarrassing details of how I proceeded to demonstrate the process of how to explain things to Rennix. It was over the top and unnecessary. Especially since it didn’t convince him to find a way to elaborate. He just kept repeating, “I will.”

“When?”

“When I can.”

“Not good enough.” I gloss over the way his voice sounded hoarse, as if he was forcing the words out. My throat tightens. I push through it and tell him we’re going to settle this the way we used to, with a quick round of rapid-fire ramble. A game we made up after discovering we both have this incessant need to beat around the bush instead of speaking our mind. Like we’re doing now. The irony isn’t lost on me.

“Ready?”

He runs a hand through his hair, letting out a sigh of defeat. “Do I have a choice?”

Nope.

I look past him for a second and see another door, similar to the one we went through to get into the store, but this one from what I can see off in the distance appears more weathered.

It’s been years since I’ve played rapid-fire ramble and considering the circumstances, I’m going to have to put on my best auctioneer voice to get all the questions out, while giving him enough time to answer.

Here goes nothing.

“Are we dead?”

“No.”