Broke in

My head was a hurricane of chaos as I stood outside Isolde's door. For several long seconds I just stared at the dark wood, the echo of the lock ringing in my ears. Was she angry? Embarrassed?

Was she regretting what happened on that hill or wanting more, just as I did? I told myself to let her be, to give her space.

I told myself to go somewhere else, to drink a glass of water, to do anything but stand here like a lovesick idiot.

But when had I ever been good at listening to myself?

I paced down the corridor, boots silent on thick carpet, the halls empty and echoing. Moonlight slanted through the high windows, painting the marble with cold fire. I tried to calm my thoughts, to focus on the rhythm of my steps, the cool air on my skin.

But nothing helped. All I could see was Isolde her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, the way her hands had shaken after our kiss.