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I was innocent, but also in some regards, just as guilty as my family. I came from “bad roots”, and it was easy to write me off. I’d never amount to much, people said, looking at my origins. And with that thought held tightly in mind, righteous people who believed they were good at heart could also make excuses for ignoring my plight.
IMRA had finally seemed cut and dry, and it felt painfully ironic in retrospect to learn the truth. I, of all people, should have been able to understand that things weren’t always the way they appeared on the surface.
But aliens were beyond my understanding, and I never stopped to consider them as creatures with the same rights as humans. I was told that they were bad, and I upheld that standard gleefully. It was clear and inarguable. To be honest, I had appreciated not having to quibble about the details. No one expected me to make any judgment calls or try to see things from another side.
It was easy, but it wasn’t right. Now I couldn’t escape the regret and guilt that came with having my eyes opened. I wondered if I would ever be able to sleep again, or if every night I would be haunted by the ghosts of my past. How did one reconcile their personal vision of themselves with the shocking realization that they had, on many occasions, failed to uphold it?
A knock on the door startled me from my ruminations. I looked around my living room, wondering if I had imagined it.
It couldn’t be any higher-ups from IMRA, I thought certainly. They knew I’d been sent home on leave, and they would call rather than just pop in. I had colleagues at IMRA, but not friends. They wouldn’t make a social call.
And I had no life to speak of outside of IMRA. No family that would stop by to check up on me.
The knock came again, making it clear that I hadn’t invented it. There really was someone waiting on the other side of the door. Curiously, I peeked out of the peephole.
Finn appeared before my eyes, much to my surprise. I hadn’t seen him since he’d abandoned me in my time of need, selfishly fleeing the mountain to save himself. I was unharmed only because of Athos’s gentle nature, no thanks to my supposed teammate who’d now returned.
It was always obvious who the good guy was,I thought to myself.You just didn’t want to admit it.
I was slightly suspicious of him, wondering why he was here now. But my curiosity was stronger than my misgivings. I quickly gave in, opening the door wide.
And can you really blame him? I asked myself. If our roles had been reversed, who was to say what my reaction might’ve been? I might’ve been just as cowardly as Finn. We’d both been conditioned to believe that Athos was our enemy. It was only my experience that had taught me otherwise.
“Hello,” I said.
I couldn’t completely let go of the feeling that Finn was only here because he needed something from me. Like, maybe, he’d gotten a bawling out for leaving me behind and wanted me to tell the higher-ups that it had been unavoidable.
But instead, his face flooded immediately with regret. Sheepishly, he practically fell over himself trying to apologize. His sincerity shined through, breaking down my ability to hold a grudge. I stepped aside, making room for him to come inside.
“Can I get you a drink?” I asked, trying to play the role of the host. It was a position that I didn’t have much familiarity with, and it felt uncomfortable. “A cup of coffee?” I realized that I hadn’t even brewed any that morning. In fact, I hadn’t eaten all day.
“Coffee would be nice. Thank you.” He could barely meet my eyes, his expression ashamed.
I escorted him into the living room, then excused myself to the kitchen where I started a fresh pot of coffee. When I returned, he was still standing uneasily in a corner of the room.
“You can sit down,” I informed him, trying not to laugh. I’d already moved past my irritation when he took the time to apologize. The fact that Finn’s actions, though outwardly negative, had led to a life-changing meeting with Athos helped, as well.
He sat on the couch, as I directed. I sat beside him, turning to face him.
“I’m sorry I left you behind.” He’d already said several variations of those words. But apparently, it hadn’t been enough to ease his conscience. “It was a horrible, rotten thing for me to do. I was just so scared, and I panicked. I was an absolute coward.”
“It was wild. Had I been able to run, I probably would’ve. I mean, two of our people died. It’s hard to blame you for being scared.”
“I know, but…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “You could’ve been the third, and I’d be to blame. I’m the reason you were the centaur’s prisoner. It’s my fault that you had to live through that terrible experience.”
“But I’m alive, right?” I wondered what he would say if I told him he had it all wrong. That being the centaur’s “prisoner” wasn’t the tragedy everyone was making it out to be.
“I went back to IMRA and told everyone what happened. They sent help right away. I didn’t totally give up on you,” he said, trying to defend himself against accusations being made in his own head.
“It’s okay.” I tried to assuage his guilt. Just then, I heard the beep of my coffee pot, letting me know that it had finished brewing. Leaning over, I looked him in the eye, forcing him to hold my gaze. “I forgive you.”
He let out a little sigh, finally relaxing. I stood up, going to fetch the coffee. I returned with two cups and handed him one. We’d spent enough mornings together, on various hunting expeditions, to know how he took his coffee.
Finn stared down at the dark brown liquid. For a long time, he said nothing, though I could tell that something was on his mind. I waited patiently for him to come out with it, sipping my coffee in silence.
“Can I ask you something?” His eyes darted up to mine nervously. “You don’t have to answer if it’s hard for you. But what was it like… with the centaur? Did he hurt you?”
“No,” I replied honestly. “He wasn’t violent at all.”
