Treno releases his hold on the water, and the ball bursts, allowing the liquid to trickle past his palm, punctuating his point.
“I’ve been asking myself how I could be so stupid. Why didn’t I open my eyes and see what Lazza really was capable of, or at least try to understand where the Hidden were coming from? I’ve always looked at things so black and white, but now I can’t figure out why. Why couldn’t the Avowed and the Hidden have lived together in harmony? Why couldn’t it have been that those who want the Vow can get it and those who don’t...don’t?”
Treno runs his hands frustratedly through his straight white hair. He looks so lost, so pained. I hate that he’s been struggling with this, clearly blaming himself for things that shouldn’t rest on his shoulders.
“Why couldn’t I understand that forcing what I think is right on someone who doesn’t want it is wrong?”
Treno’s blue and purple gaze lands on mine, and he’s so fucking shattered inside, the anguish is bleeding out of his every feature like a sieve. I reach up and cup his face, my thumb caressing his cheekbone gently. I wish I could make this hurt less for him. I wish he had been born to a better family and never did anything that I know will haunt him longer than he deserves. He leans into my hand, and I feel my defenses crack just a little. Gone is the angry, spiteful Treno, and in his place is this vulnerable, adrift person.
“We all do the best we can with what we have, Treno. You see the other side now, and you’ll do better. I know that doesn’t change what happened. That it doesn’t immediately relieve the pain, but I hope it helps you find peace in some small way.”
“I don’t deserve peace,” he confesses quietly, his voice cracking with emotion.
My eyes prick with tears as I watch him attempt to swallow the hurt down.
“What I did to you, Falon,” he starts, and I catch a tear that escapes down his cheek with the back of my fingers.
“Hey,” I soothe. “What happened sucked...for both of us. I know it wasn’t easy on you, Treno. The whole mate thing on top of what was happening with your brother wouldn’t have been easy for anyone, but you’ve been figuring it out, and I’m here,” I reassure him.
“Are you?” he questions, and just when I think his eyes can’t fill with anymore sadness, they do. “I watch you interact with us like you’re waiting for one of us to slip back into the way we were before. There’s a barrier that separates you from me that was never a factor between us, and I despise myself for knowing that armor was forged in my anger and tested by my wrath.”
I drop my eyes from his, not sure what to say. My natural reaction is to tell him that it’s okay. To dismiss what was done and how I was treated, in an effort to lessen his hurt, but I can’t do that. I can’t pretend it was okay, because it wasn’t. I can understand why it happened and where it all came from, but none of that makes me any more deserving of what happened.
“That,” he tells me, placing a knuckle under my chin and coaxing it up so that my eyes meet his again. “That is what I mean, and I loathe that I created it. You should always be able to look at me, to trust me…” he trails off for a moment, and his eyes take on a faraway look.
“When you tried to sever our bond…” he starts, and I take a deep breath, readying myself for the ache I know his words are going to lure out of my chest. “I didn’t know how badly I’d been hurting you until that moment. I felt you tear away from everything that I am, and I knew I’d never recover. That I would do everything in my power to fix it, because what was left of me wasn’t enough anymore. I’d felt what it was like to be yours and for you to be mine, and I knew I could never go back to anything else,” he tells me, the back of his fingers capturing the tear that tries to escape down my cheek.
“It would have been a half-life not worth living, flower,” he confesses, stepping closer to me, his eyes pleading as he fits me against him like I’m a lock and he’s the key. “Never again, flower. I know you’re watching, expecting the fury and frustration to return, but I will never give you reason to arm yourself against me again.”
His words throw me off. I’m not sure what to say, or if I even can, my throat is tight with emotion and hurt.
“Take this off,” he tells me gently.
At first I’m confused because I think he’s talking about my shirt, and quite frankly, that’s pretty presumptuous, but he grabs at something a couple of inches away from the tunic that I’m wearing and pretends to heft it off my shoulders. He mimes that it’s heavy as fuck and looks relieved when he drops the imaginary weight to the ground.
“And this,” he adds, repeating his motion over my other shoulder. “This too,” he declares, faux knocking on my chest and then pretending to undo the armor he’s imagining is there.
One by one, he goes over my body, meticulously removing nonexistent armor as though I’m some great knight retiring after battle and he’s my squire. I smile as he gets to his knees and pulls off my imaginary sabatons and greaves. And then all at once, I realize that the make-believe armor doesn’t feel so unreal. With each motion, I can feel myself getting lighter, letting go, and just breathing freely now that the tight bands are coming off my chest.
Tears drip steadily down my face as Treno helps me take off the weight I’ve been
