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Elia cries and cries, her tears falling quick and copiously, and every breath she takes hitches in her throat.
She cries and cries and cries as if she will die if she doesn’t.
And all I can do is stand there and hold her.
25
ELIA
“Please,” my voice hitches on the word, my breath stopping in my throat. My hands are covering my eyes, but that doesn’t help with the tears streaming steadily down my face.
“Please just leave me alone.”
I sound hysterical, and the truth is I am close to losing it completely. In fact, I have already broken down, but I am close to unraveling.
And if I unravel now, I’ll never get myself back.
When did you ever have yourself? You have lost every part of yourself with every death, with every murder. Did you ever exist to begin with?
My thoughts do not help, and I start to cry harder, my shoulders shaking as Azron stands almost helplessly in front of me.
I almost want to laugh, and I know that my laughter would be as hysterical as my tears.
He has no idea how to handle this. Not that he should have to. I love him.
I have known I am in love with Azron for a while now. But saying it to myself, even if only in my head, saddens me with the kind of brutality that I killed the xaphan with.
I love him.
“Please,” Azron speaks then. He moves towards me. My hands are still covering my eyes.
He places his large warm hands on my arms and pulls me towards him. “Please tell me how to help you.”
I shake my head, rubbing the tears away even as more tears fall.
“There is nothing you can do.” My voice is hollow, and saying the words seems to dredge up all the grief that I have been holding onto for so long.
I love him. But I can never tell him. Because if he actually knew who I was, and what I was, he would never be able to stand me.
I thought I had kept the grief at bay. I hadn’t forgotten about it. But I thought I was in control at the very least.
But now, as it comes flooding back, it comes mingled with the guilt I felt every time I killed a xaphan.
I blink, my eyes stinging as my sight is clouded by visions of bright, white xaphan wings, outstretched and bloody.
He would hate me.
“I want to help.” Azron’s voice is gentle. He is stroking my back slowly, and he has his chin pressed against the top of my head while I cry against his broad chest.
“Please.” His voice is beseeching. “Tell me how I can help.”
“No one can help.”
I’m too far gone. I’m already lost.
But Azron keeps pleading with me, and eventually he leads me over to the bed, where we sit on the edge.
And I tell him everything. Almost everything.
