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I kept this one when I found it, enjoying the texture of it in my hands.
It became an item of comfort that made me feel better whenever I was unhappy.
Holding it has always reminded me that no matter how bad things are, there is always something to be grateful for.
It isn’t working today, probably because I have been holding it ever since I gave Fox my pouch.
I open my hand and look at it, wondering if it was always just a pretty stone.
It does not seem to contain the healing power it once did.
Sighing, I curl my fist around it and lean back against the wall.
I look up as Scar walks into the room.
He shakes his head at me, clearly disappointed.
I do not try to explain myself. I simply look down at the ground.
He sits next to me, muttering, “If you hurt her, I will kill you.”
I frown at him, and it takes me a moment to understand what he’s saying.
It was rude to flinch away from our mate.
I hurt her feelings with that response.
It probably only made things worse when I walked away.
“What was I supposed to do?” I ask him, instead. “Let her arouse me with her touch and then take her roughly against the wall?”
“Well, that would have been an improvement on walking away.”
He isn’t even joking. I force myself to look up as Lita steps into the room.
She sits down on the couch, perching on the edge a little tensely.
Then, she gets up and goes to the bookshelf.
She brings the sketchpad over to the coffee table and opens it.
It takes her a second to find a pencil, but once she does, she turns the pad to a fresh page and picks up the writing tool. I glance at Scar, but he is watching her with the same pride in his stare that he used to get every time Snake or Fox learned something new as we were growing up.
She holds up the pad. She has written something.
I do not know what any of the letters are.
Nothing Scar tried to teach us about writing sank in.
It always seemed like a meaningless exercise. Now it feels like a necessity that I missed out on.
I am mad at myself. It is nothing new, but it is doubly frustrating with the knowledge that it is something I could have learned if I’d only tried a little harder.
Lita’s smile falls when she looks at me.
Scar captures her attention, making a writing gesture.
She passes him the pad and the pencil.
