It’s the first time I’ve ever had that thought. For so many years, all I’ve needed was him beside me. More and more and more of his time because the moments we had together were never enough.
When I realize he’s just rolled over again, my shoulders relax. I spent my entire childhood seeking approval and affection from people who never had any intention of giving it to me. So when Galen offered me a chance at freedom from the burden of constantly begging for love, how could I not take it? I was only eighteen years old.
And yet, here I am, five years later and still stuck in my ways. Still seeking approval and affection in the wrong places and people. Still remaining small when I was born to take up space. I bite my bottom lip and close my eyes.
What would I give to make this right?
Better yet, what wouldn’t I.
Would I give back mine and Galen’s time together? Would I take back my father’s life in replace of Galen’s?
No.
Because for all the bad Galen has done, it doesn’t right the wrongs of my father.
And the same goes for the opposite. Maybe Silas wasn’t as spiteful as Galen, but he had his many flaws. I wince, thinking ofthe scars lining my back. The lash of his whip, fresh in my mind like it was yesterday.
I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling. The wallpaper is crumbling and cracked, much like how I feel at this very moment. But through the decay it reveals something extraordinary. A tiny glimpse of the foundation that holds up the space. Beneath the tattered paper and crumbling ceiling lies another layer of paint. Completely untouched and smooth, the blue is vibrant against the rest of the dull room.
Why would someone cover up such beauty?
I look at the crumpled edges of the wallpaper again, worn down to almost nothing. Slivers of something, someone, just underneath the mask plastered on by others.
Is a person more than the things they’ve done? What about the things they could have stopped but didn’t? Perhaps we are merely a collection of our actions and inactions. Rights and wrongs.
Perhaps the most powerful thing one can do is to look at the darkest parts of themself and acknowledge them.
See them for what they are, and live despite them.
I rise from the bed and tiptoe to where my clothes are folded upon the dresser. Piece by piece, layer by layer, I dress myself in the dark.
Too soft to be a king.
Too weak.
Echoes of my childhood, words that caused such infliction, now steeling my spine.
A small, ornate mirror hangs just by the front door, and while the room is dark, I swear when I squint I can see all the mistakes I’ve made etched into my face. But now, instead of hiding from them, maybe I’ll welcome them. I run a finger over my dark brows, down the sharp line of my nose. All of those years I spent chasing this man away; myself. Hiding and becoming someoneelse's version of me. I don my cloak, the final layer, and gently open the door. My hand shakes on the knob as I twist it shut, a flicker of doubt swirling in my gut, remembering all the mistakes in the mirror.
But it’s those mistakes that have brought me here. To the precipice of change.
The hallway is quiet now that Cade’s gone, and with every step toward the door, my confidence in my choice grows stronger and stronger. I hit the bottom stair on the outside of the inn and point my chin to the night sky. The air is fresh and crisp, burning my lungs, but I accept it.
I take a final glance at the inn behind me, a small piece of my heart breaks knowing who I’m leaving behind. But my feet press forward anyway, straight to the pub where I know my guards will be playing poker or drinking.
It’s time to take a stand, Roman.I smile despite the battle I’m about to face. Because maybe it isn’t the hero that can save the world, after all. Maybe, this time, it’s the villain.
Twenty-Eight
Elora
The wolf pupsbump into a side table, a few yelps drifting over to where Sorin and I lay beside each other in our shared bed. I attempt to count the leaves on the ivy that dance along the walls, hoping the monotony of the task will lull me to sleep, but when it doesn’t, I give up and roll onto my side.
Sorin’s chest rises and falls evenly. His brows furrowed and bottom lip stuck out. I chuckle softly and trace my finger along his lip.
Must be some dream.
For someone who found out their best friend betrayed them, Sorin has taken the news unusually well. We’ve hardly spoken of Galen and what he’s done. Hardly spoken of the fact that Loxley is now destroyed. I don’t want to push him, and I know he doesn’t wish to push me. It feels as though we’re stuck. Our vulnerability hangs on a thread between us and neither one of us has had the courage to take a step forward and test the thread’s strength.
