“No games.”
“Why not?” Indignation underpinned her query.
A crushing wave of realization, triggered by Timothy's words, made my heart implode. I had wanted her to long for me, even depend on me. And now it was clear, I had succeeded.
But my need for death surpassed my desire for her. I was betraying her by drawing her in, knowing I was on the precipice of my exit from this life.
I was truly detestable. A harsh, manic laugh erupted from my throat, uncontrolled and uncontained.
Miranda's eyes narrowed. “What’s going on, Xander?”
“What’s going on?” I parroted, my focus still off her face to avoid falling under her enchantment, “is I’m waiting for you to fulfill our agreement and end my life.”
“No games, no sword lessons, no. . .” Her voice trailed off, unable to encapsulate our shared past.
The knowledge that she wanted to spend time with me, that she wanted me, was as heart-wrenching as it was exhilarating.
“You’re lonely," I declared, my voice as icy as I could manage.
"I'm not lonely," she replied, her words automatic.
“Sure, you are.” I shot her a condescending smirk, no longer able to keep my gaze from meeting hers. A surge of desire and resentment swelled within me like a tidal wave, ready to decimate a city of reason. If I couldn’t have her, I’d burn everything down.
"See this cage?" I gestured to my surroundings. "It keeps me separate from everyone. It ensures their safety from me, but it also keeps me alone. And there?" I pointed directly at her. "That space in front of you? You've enclosed it with bars. You've created a cage for yourself, and you carry it everywhere you go."
"Don't be ridiculous. I haven't done any such thing,” she retorted, even as her pupils contracted in fear. My words had hit the mark so accurately, she couldn’t even accept it.
Cocking my head to the side, I persisted, "You've grown so accustomed to loneliness, you don't even notice your cage anymore. But you can’t come play in mine anymore. Because soon, it’s going to be vacant here, and I won’t have a single thought or memory of you.” I pointed upwards. “You need to venture out there and free yourself. Because there won’t even be a ghost of me to comfort you.”
“I don’t need your ghost. I need—” she stopped herself.
I decided to take a different angle. “I don’t need you, Miranda. Even if I live, what happens after you are gone? Do you have any idea what it’s like to watch everything you love die?”
“I have some idea,” she said quietly.
Her husband. A mortal who couldn’t survive the passage of time. It was a wound that would never fully heal.
She licked her lips and spoke. “When I was a child, I begged my parents for a puppy. For a full year I worked to convince them that I could handle the responsibility. I did double the chores. I saved up my money. I even treated one of my stuffed animals like it was a real dog and carried it around with me. Still, they always said no. But that didn’t matter to me, I kept pretending that little stuffed dog was real. And then my ninth birthday came. They set down a big box on the kitchen table after I’d blown out my candles. I still remember the light blue wrapping paper with balloons on it, and the way my heart leapt when I saw the big airholes on the lid.”
I had no idea where she was going with this. I should stop her, but I couldn’t.
“And damned if it wasn’t the cutest puppy with the biggest doe eyes.”
“Why do I get the feeling this story doesn’t have a happy ending?” I said dryly, even as my heart strings pulled.
“Because it doesn’t,” she said, her face clearing of all expression, a mask she painted over her emotions. I had come to recognize it well.
“I weirdly grew too used to the stuffed animal. The puppy was so full of energy, he was always stepping on me, never giving me a moment alone. I’d been alone a lot before then and I didn’t know how to handle him constantly being in my face. One day I was in the backyard, and I just wanted to play with my dolls without him biting off their heads or running off with them. I got so frustrated I sent him away. I wasn’t watching him,” she whispered, and I could feel her pain in the air as sharp as a knife. “The puppy walked out into the road and got hit by a truck.”
Fuck. That was terrible.
I frowned. “That wasn’t your fault, Miranda. You were a kid.”
It’s not like she wanted something bad to happen to the dog. She just needed some space. I understood that. Not just because I required an inordinate amount of alone time, but from what I’d learned of Miranda there was a quiet stillness at her center that needed to be respected.
Then again, I spent most of my time riling her up. But I was playing with the parts of her that were long neglected, that clearly wanted to come out and play.
“Of course, it was my fault. I didn’t protect the puppy, I was too busy playing instead of taking care of it. And the dog died because of me.”
