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“But surely you have experienced pity before to hate it so much?”
He laughed, hard and cynical. “Yes. I have. Well spotted.”
“Why is it so bad?” she asked, her tone a near whisper.
“When they pity you they take advantage of you. When you let yourself be pitied, you begin to feel sorry for yourself. And when you begin to feel sorry for yourself, you embrace that needy, horrid thing inside of you that demands you let them touch you. I do not need pity.”
“You’re afraid of it. Because that woman...”
“Enough.You don’t know me. Nobody does.”
“Iknow you. I do. You can say that I don’t, you can try to be angry about it. You can push back at me all you wish, but I do know you, Cameron. She shamed you. You wanted affection and she used that against you. And you are afraid of having that happen to you again. It is logical. Reasonable. There is nothing wrong with you that you wish to avoid being hurt like that again. But you do have control now. You are not that boy. You have Apollo. And you have me. We won’t let you down.”
“I don’t need anyone.”
“And it would be so bad if you did?”
“Yes,” he said, his tone caustic. Bitter.
“Cameron,” she said softly. “Why is it so bad to have people who care.”
“Because it means nothing. In the end it means nothing. People will choose their personal addictions every time over connection and it will never, ever last. And then what are you left with? Nothing.”
And he stood there, looking at the white shirt sitting on the chair.
Everything in her felt jagged, broken. And suddenly the necklace around her neck burned.
She walked over to the chair, and lifted the shirt up. “Come on,” she said.
He didn’t move. But she did. She walked up to him and unbuttoned the cuff of the shirt, maneuvering it slowly over his hand, and up his shoulder. The touch felt erotic, and yet she hadn’t meant it to be, but there was an intimacy to this she hadn’t counted on. “I have no problem getting you ready to go myself.”
“What the hell are you doing?” He was affected, or he wouldn’t be angry.
“I’ll dress you if I need to.”
“I’m not achildor aninvalid,” he said, but allowing her to shrug the shirt up over his other arm too, and draw it into place. She looked up at him, so close. She could smell his skin again. She loved the way he smelled. She began to button the shirt. And that made her smile even broader.
“What?”
“I have to say, I’ve had quite a few thoughts about the buttons of your shirt these last few days. But I never imagined doing themup.”
He put his hand over hers, and stilled her movements. “You play a dangerous game.”
“You keep telling me that. And yet, I find myself consequence-free. I imagine you want to tuck it in yourself.”
He did so, and she took his jacket off the back of the chair as well, putting it into place. She left the jacket open, let the top two buttons on his shirt undone.
“You don’t need a tie. For the shirt or for your hair. Leave it like this. You keep thinking that you have to step up to the podium and be the man you were before. But you’re not. You’re the man you are now. Look at you.” She moved out of the way so that he could see himself in the mirror, and he lowered his head.
“Look at yourself,” she repeated.
He lifted his head slowly, and she could see the moment his eyes met his own there.
Then she moved to him, and she reached up and unhooked her necklace.
“You’re strong, Cameron McKenzie. You do not need to be the Cameron McKenzie you were before. I cannot be the Athena I was before I was taken to my family. I don’t even remember who I was. I can only be the Athena I am now.” She turned him toward her, and put her hands on his chest. She could feel his heart raging there. “I am the Athena that I decide to be. Your warrior goddess. Thank you. For giving that to me.” She put her hand over his, then slipped it from where he clung to the vanity, and turned his hand palm up.
Then she pressed the necklace into his hand.
