to stare, unable to believe she’d just sit down and say something like that. She met my gaze and shrugged.
“It wasn’t, and you know it.”
“Of course, I know it. What I don’t know is why you’re here rubbing it in?”
“Rubbing it in? Never. I wanted to tell you I know that look you were wearing. The anger. The fear. The guilt. I saw that in the mirror for weeks. It might not be due to the same experiences, or it might be. I’m not asking you to have a moment with me and bond over shared pain. But I’m here because I wanted you to know that I understand what I saw this morning, and I know what falling apart looks like. I’ve done it. My mom’s done it. And I can say from experience that piecing yourself back together afterward can be rough. I’m here if you need a friendly ear or quiet company.”
“Thanks.”
“You don’t mean that, but maybe you will when you see my offer for what it is. Don’t isolate yourself. I promise you that closing yourself off is never the right choice.”
She turned herself toward me, a forceful glint in her eye.
“Talk to someone about what’s going on in your head even if you’d rather spoon your own eye out. In fact, the worse it feels to put it into the words, the more you probably need to talk about it. It won’t be easy but is anything easy in this world?”
“Nope. Not since the quakes.”
“If it was easy for you before the quakes, I envy you that. It wasn’t easy for all of us.”
She stood, shouldering her bow.
“Be at the dick pile tomorrow morning. One bad day doesn’t mean you can quit.”
She didn’t wait for my answer but walked away. I stared after her for a moment before turning my attention to the fading light.
She, like Emily, wanted me to talk to someone. But how, when I didn’t know the words to explain the thing eating me alive from the inside? It was volatile and uncompromisingly vicious when it stirred, and as today proved, it didn’t just hurt me. It hurt everyone around me. And Brenna wanted me to talk about what woke it. No, thanks.
I’d heard what happened to her. Rape. And her mom had some sort of accident that landed her in a wheelchair. Things happened to them. Choices were taken away from them. No one took away my choice with Katie. I’d made that demon through my own actions. Brenna might think she understood my pain, but she didn’t. Not really. No one could.
Except, maybe, Merdon.
He’d killed his friend. Someone who was supposedly like a brother to him. Yet, never once had Merdon shown any sign of guilt or regret. He didn’t wake up screaming or strike out at people like I did. In fact, as James pointed out, Merdon was helpful. To everyone but me.
I folded my hands in my lap and looked down at my cold-numb fingers, trying to imagine telling Merdon about what had happened. He claimed I was his, and in normal fey-speak, that would mean kindness, compassion, and doting. None of that was Merdon.
He acted like he hated me and often reminded me how awful I was to everyone around me. While he might understand what I’d done, he obviously hadn’t experienced the same remorse. He was, in general, cold and uncaring.
And he was my best option?
Chapter Twenty
A fey jumped up next to me, startling me so badly that I almost toppled off the wall. A big grey hand clamped down on my shoulder, anchoring me as Shax took a seat beside me.
“What are you doing?” I couldn’t help the suspicion in my tone or my glance over my shoulder at Tolerance.
“I am sitting with you. What are you doing?”
“Well, I’m wondering why you aren’t with Angel.”
“Merdon asked me to sit with you. He thought you might need a friend.”
“That’s confusing on so many levels.”
Shax tilted his head at me, and I knew he needed an explanation.
“Well, Merdon just listened to Mary yell at me when what happened was partially his fault, and he didn’t once stick up for me. Now, he’s sent a ‘friend’ to me? And why you? Why not Emily?”
“Because you were nice to me once.”
“Was I nice to you?” I asked softly.
I looked out over the trees, my heart hurting for myself.
“Am I really that awful? Do all the fey hate me?”
“No.”
I snorted.
“Just the ones I used, right?” I asked ruefully. “I’m sorry