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Ruth’s eyes are no longer glistening. They’re watering excessively.
My lips roll in, trying to conjure back every harsh, judgmental word I said.
“We can finish it together if that’s something you’d want. Like the bathtubs, remember?” Skylenna’s gentle approach causes pangs in my stomach, clamping closed around my heart.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. I see what she’s doing. I see how my approach was fucked.
“Okay,” Ruth finally mutters in a low, undetectable volume. And thankfully, Niles is babbling away about the menu for the week and what he’s excited to eat next. Therefore, it’s giving the illusion that this is a private moment.
Skylenna’s glowing emerald eyes flash with silent victory. She hooks a finger around the edge of the bowl, dragging it toward them as she talks about a night when they snuck food into a bedroom. They eat one spoonful of the stew at a time as they gossip, snickering about other unrelated topics. It’s a kind, clever tactic on Skylenna’s end. She’s distracting her with positive emotions as they eat socially. No pressure. No judgment.
I scan the table to see if anyone else witnessed my assholery.
My eyes collide with Dessin. And he’s not doing a great job at holding back the judging scowl on his own face.
I purse my lips. “I—fucked—up,” I mouth with a poorly contained cringe.
He pauses. “I’m—not—going—to—disagree—with—you—on—that.”
“And—now—you’re—the—expert—on—manners?”
His lips twitch as he reads mine.
As the group rises to leave, Skylenna tugs on my elbow to stay behind. Waiting quietly until Ruth files out behind Niles in a line to the stadium.
“I know,” I sigh in defeat.
“No. I don’t think you do.”
My head and shoulders droop forward. I’m a fuckup. I know. Might as well call me Niles, the family pariah. The village idiot.
“Warrose?” Skylenna grazes the hair on my arms with her fingertips.
I raise my eyes to meet hers.
“You are not a woman. You have never been forced to starve yourself as a part of the lady-doll regimen.”
Thank God almighty.
“It’s okay that you don’t understand what that does to a woman’s mental health. But I’m going to educate you so that you can appropriately respond to her as she recovers from this trauma without…”
“Without sounding like an ignorant bastard.”
Her laugh greases the air around us. The soothing sound helps some of the anxiety exit my chest cavity. “Yes. That.”
I reach behind my head to tighten the tie holding my hair up in a ponytail.
“I don’t mean to be such a dick when I see her doing that…I’m angry at what the city did to her. And I guess I take it out on her in the moment.”
“Which isn’t fair because she’s the victim.”
“Right,” I say with a cloud of self-loathing hovering over the word.
Skylenna’s stare loses focus as she thinks about a solution. Her complexion had a beautiful golden glow, much like Niles’s, before we entered this place. Now, she’s gone a little pale. Clammy. Her honeyed hair has lost its shine. And she looks several pounds lighter around the waist and hips. I worry about her, too, the way I’d look out for a sister. We bonded that night I had to share my body heat. Or even when I helped carry her away from Dessin’s lifeless body.
I guess I haven’t taken much time to acknowledge my fondness for her.
“Can I give you a few responses for the next time she rejects her food?”
