IV

                                    

                                          
F A L L O N
                          
"Play with tea, you get burned for it. My daddy always told me if he makes you cry, he ain't the one, you better run from him."
                          
. . . 
                          
The following morning, I'm the first one to be up. 
                          
My feet skip over the floor, and down the stairs. Arriving in the kitchen, I decide to make myself a cup of tea when I stumble across a few letters scattered on the kitchen island.
                          
I walk over to them and take them in my hand, out of curiosity to see if there's anything for me.
                          
Which is never. 
                          
But as I go through the letters, I realize that none of them are addressed to me or my parents. 
                          
These are the letters Stella probably collected since her address is still at the house next door. 
                          
I pause when I see a letter between the other ones, with the initials A.A.S.
                          
And it's opened already. 
                          
Don't do it. Don't do it. 
                          
"That's not yours."
                          
I jump up when I hear the voice coming from the doorway of the kitchen. In shock, I throw all the letters back on the kitchen counter and take a step away, as if I was burned. 
                          
"I– I..." I stutter and try to get myself together. I shake my head and straighten my back. 
                          
"I know that," I tell him, "and I thought they were for us but I quickly realized they were yours and Stella's."
                          
He enters the kitchen and raises a brow at me. "And yet, you were about to read my letter."
                          
Red paints my cheek. "I wasn't," I whisper. 
                          
I really wasn't. I was thinking about it, yes, but I wouldn't do it.
                          
"Lying is a sin, Fallon."
                          
My stomach shouldn't feel those weird things it feels when I hear him say my name. My name rolls off his tongue so smoothly, it makes shivers run down my spine.
                          
"Depends on who you're talking to," I retort, and realize I'm not making any sense. 
                          
He walks further into the room, coming to stand by the kitchen island.
                          
"The Lord detests lying lips," he begins, and I instantly recognize those words.
                          
"But he delights in people who are trustworthy," I finish, reciting the words from the Bible.
                          
He raises his eyebrows in surprise, clearly not having expected me to have some sort of knowledge over this subject.
                          
Of course, I've read the Bible and Quran. Even the Tanakh.  As someone who is addicted to history, it's a must that you read those.
                          
It's filled with beautiful passages and poems. To get to know a religion and see the true beauty of it. 
                          
"Telling lies about others is as harmful as hitting them with an ax," he says, the tip of his tongue quickly appearing the lick his bottom lip.
                          
"Wounding them with a sword, or shooting them with a sharp arrow," I whisper. 
                          
"What's your major?" he asks.
                          
"Archeology," is my instant reply. Talking to him is like being high. The euphoria it brings makes me feel breathless and happy.
                          
"Ever been to Rome?"