Page 179 of Winter Gods & Serpents

“No you don’t. You hate being alone, silence and the dark.”

“Oh don’t you know me so well.”

“I do.” My hands again, demanding to touch and feel her as I cupped her face. But now I knew, she did not hate it. “I also know you don’t know how to apologize.”

She sneered. “Well how do I apologize?”

“Nia,” I started. “Forgive me, for entering a state of exulansis, for blaming you then of not understanding me when I don’t even tell you anything; when I suffer and pretend I don’t. Forgive me, for not letting you help me. Forgive me, for letting fatigue, two minutes of sleep, the cold, the Adriatians and my wounds that never heal clog every thought of mine, and then for speaking unmeant words to hurt you. Forgive me, for I knew your intentions were good but chose to hang on my spite and hide my pain instead of the truth. Forgive me for I didn’t not know how to aim my anger, reveal my hurt and let go of my doubt. ”

A frown drew on her brows, but instead of berating me she only said, “Could you put that down in writing? I didn’t quite remember it word by word. Maybe I could send it to her as a letter even.”

I squeezed her cheeks between my hands, the prettiest gold eyed blowfish. “Ridiculous woman.”

“Ridiculous man,” she said, pulling my hands down and rubbing her cheeks. She paced around for a few moments, her breath misting from the cold air. Then, a feigned smile rises to her lips, her eyes glazing with unshed tears. “Why am I so wrong? Like I’m made of ten different things and the messiest way possible. I cannot let go, love, fear, care, apologize.” She stopped and faced me for answer. “Why am I so wrong?”

I hated how she thought. Hated how she thought that the wrong was her. “You are not wrong.”

She tilts her head back. “And you are not listening to me, Kilian.”

“And you are not believing me.”

“Why should I?”

I nodded. “You are right, you shouldn’t. But I want you to. I want you, the one I have wronged, to believe me, trust me, confine in me. Tell me, Snow, why am I so wrong? I cannot want that, but I do, desperately.”

Her mouth opened and closed few times with no answer.

“See, everyone is made of wrong and made wrong. We all are. One bad step as a child can leave you limping, a light shone too bright can leave you hazy, a bad word can leave you hurting, a hit can wound and scar. We brush life so viciously and life caresses us back so sharply that we mould ourselves in the worst of shapes, and then atop of it all, we heat to a barbed solid by scrutinising ourselves for faults that may be not even ours.” How long it had taken me to realise that myself. I hated I’d realised that too late. I was one who’d made her feel that way.

She blinked slow at my too long tangle of the short truth: it was okay to be wrong, made wrong and made of wrong. “Am I a vase again?”

“The prettiest.”

She swallowed, her hands gathering and flexing uncomfortably at her sides. “What should one do when they feel like this?”

“Feels like what?”

She glared at me. “You know.”

“Speak it.” I wanted her to acknowledge how she felt, voice it to reality and then realise she did feel.

She attempted to speak several times, struggling to find the words and then I saw the desperation she dove onto when she couldn’t figure it out. I saw doubt seep in her, the stammering paces of her breaths and the panic of not knowing. “Hug,” I said quickly, before I’d lose her to it. “A hug is comforting.”

She opened her arms wide. “Hug me then.”

I gathered my arms around her, pulling her body close to mine making sure not to hold her too tight. She was in my arms, and for the first time perhaps not for all the wrong reasons. I held her and she held me, fiercely, as if someone were to tear me of her.

Her head buried on my chest and she took a deep breath. “How do you smell so good? Like those soaps that smell delicious enough you want to eat them.” She inhaled me, almost vitally. “I know why they call it the forbidden fruit, you want it but cannot have it.”

I wanted to enjoy this moment and those words, indulge in her. Yet my heart caved. “I have a feeling we are not discussing about the enchanted berries of Ithicea.”

She laughed heartily. “They’d never tempt me as much as you have.”

“You tempt me too, more than the enchanted berries,” I said, daring to rest me head on hers. “I have held you before but…you have not allowed me, it was not done by choice. This would be the first time. Could I ask for something else?” Selfish was not the word to describe me. Greedy bastard came somewhat close.

Her head peaked up to me, her small features curious. She nodded.

My thumb went over her brow. “Could I kiss you, just there?” I felt her heart over my own, steady the beat of a war drum, realizing a moment too late that my request had been odd, and she felt awkward, repulsed, disturbed and much more by the thought.