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“Milo?” Red said, looking at me, her eyes wide with worry. “You lost two shades of color. Are you okay?”
“I—” I tried to speak but my tongue felt fat and numb. “I’m fine,” I finally sighed. I wasn’t fine. I wanted to laugh and cry and maybe even run myself through with a sword.
“Look, I didn’t come here to rip you to shreds, though the idea did cross my mind.” Red sat back up, turning to curl a foot under her on the bed.
With every breath, I tried to breathe less, take in less of her scent. My eyes roamed the room, trying to look anywhere but at her crooked features. Heat covered my cheeks the longer she stared at me, the longer she spoke, my eyes burning and my vision blurring at the edges.
“Please listen to me,” she continued. “I care for you. I’ve come to realize that even if you were an asshat, that you were working with what you could, and you still found ways to show me kindness.” She flinched even as she spoke.
“That’s messed up, Red. It’s fine, you can just say it. I beat you. I imprisoned you. I taunted you. I let them push your limits.” Spit flew from my lips at the fierceness of my small speech. “Say it.”
“You did,” she hissed, standing. She stomped around the bed, looking down at me where I’d melted to the floor. “You did all of that to me, but you also helped me. You showed me small kindnesses. Taking off my chains as we traveled, offering me real food instead of that awful soup, refusing to let strangers take advantage of me, and sneaking me food when they tried to let me starve. Should I go on?” She crouched down to the floor. “This has been hard to process. And even these people who offered freedom to their entire court kept up appearances by abusing me just to stay hidden from Ottack for the good of my race. It's a messed up, convoluted issue, but even if parts of me hate you, the majority wants you to stick around.”
“I can’t do this again.” I dragged my knees up to my chest. “I can’t…I can’t pretend anymore. It’s okay if you don’t love me.” My voice broke, straining as I swallowed down my frustrations and jutted my chin forward stubbornly. “But I can’t not love you. Or pretend like I don’t any longer.”
“Oh,” Red whispered. “Don’t you think it would be better if we at least got to be friends?”
“Better for you, sure. It’s not better for me.”
Red reached out, probably for a reassuring brush of her hand or something similar, but I didn’t wait to find out, I jerked away from her touch. I let all my anger, all my sadness, seep into my gaze and twist my features with rage.
“You should leave,” I snapped.
“This was supposed to make things better between us,” she snarled back, abruptly standing. “It's not my fault you’re stupid and caught feelings.” Red kicked at my boots, exhaling loudly through her nose.
“Like I can control that.” Anger dulled the tears, dulled the hurt in a way that felt manageable. I could be angry. Metal bit into my wrist as I hoisted myself up so I could stand and hover over her petite frame. “I told you to leave, why are you still standing here.”
“Because you don’t fucking scare me.” Red balanced on the top of her toes.
“So what? You’re just going to stand in here and harass me until I decide to be your friend? Is that it? You’d rather see me hurting than let me go on and live my life?”
“I sure as fuck am.” She lifted her chin. “I believe that we can be friends and you can find love, real love, with someone else who loves you back. I can’t get past the hurt to love you, but I can get past the hurt to stand your presence in the same room.”
“I don’t want to be in the same room as you.”
“Currently, you don’t have a choice.” Red plopped on the bed, crossing her legs. Her already narrow lips were pursed to near nonexistence, her small eyes pinned on mine.
“Fucking, fuck,” I muttered. My fingers ran through my hair, brushed over the stubble on my face, and I moved my hands aimlessly in the air, unsure what to do with myself. Finally, I sat next to Red. She turned and gave me a wicked smile. Even that small look riddled me with the need to kiss her again.
“Please don’t look at me like that,” I said quietly, looking away.
“What, just that? A smile? That’s what does it for you?”
“You don’t smile very often.”
“Well, I’m totally not going to smile more now. Maybe not ever again.” Her tone passed for teasing, something I’d seen little of from her.
“Shut up.” I waved her off, finally turning to look back at her. The smile still lifted her lips, but as I faced her she forced it down. “You’re really just going to sit here then?”
“That’s right,” she said. One slender black brow arched. “Do you want to talk…or, like, play a word game or something?”
“You play games?” I gasped.
“Yes, Milo, I do things for fun. Or I did...and I’m trying to learn how to do them again.”
“I don’t like word games. I’m no good at them.”
“Of course you don’t.” She clasped her hands in her lap. “What do you want to do?”
