“You originally needed to do what you wanted so that you could be able to control yourself, to pull the trigger, as you said, to be capable of doing things you didn’t want to do. What are your thoughts on that?”
“Need vs. want? I don’t know. I can always hire someone to pull the trigger for me. I can just put my wants into the plan in the first place.”
“Hm. And that’s such a novel thing for you. How’s Trix doing?” He didn’t sit up or look at me, but there was more focus than usual in the words.
“She has stitches, but she seemed not to be suffering any permanent damage. I don’t know, but I do know that it can’t happen again. No one can hurt her again.”
He sat up and turned to me, as if I’d spoken the code words that pierced deep into his psyche. Ah, she was his base, his morality, because he had none of his own. How bizarre. If only Philippe had someone like that, someone who he could key into so that he wasn’t what he was, but Horse wanted to be human, and Philippe didn’t. Who was my conscience? Toni, probably.
“No, they can’t,” he said in the softest voice imaginable, but I got goosebumps and my instincts screamed at me to fight or run.
“Are you working with Dirk to take down my cousin? Are you helping him to get his revenge?”
He smiled blandly. “I’m not going to war openly against anyone. War means casualties, and the families are inextricably tangled, so pulling out the roots of one means the disruption of another. I’m a gardener, clipping branches here and there, keeping the battle in the realm of business.”
I frowned at him. “You’re just going to let someone shoot a rocket at Trixie without any repercussions?”
The muscles in his jaw twitched. “As I said, I’m not going to war openly against anyone.” Yet. The word was more than implied.
Also, the war would be closed, but there would be war. Oh yes, Horse would round up his chariots and attack in the dark, so no one knew it was him. That was okay then.
I stood up and put on my shoes.
“Are you leaving?”
“I’m not going to struggle against my body anymore, so there’s no reason for therapy.” Now that I’d found out as much as Horse was willing to tell me about the serum.
He stood and cocked his head at me. “You’re joking. No, you aren’t. It’s going to take a lot of time, a lot of wading through uncomfortable feelings for you to be healthy mentally and emotionally.”
I laughed short and hard. “I’d need dozens of lives to have enough time for that. I’m permanently scarred, mentally and emotionally. That’s not going to change just because I spend some time listening to you.”
“Intimacy. Love. Self-respect. Healthy boundaries. Self-care. Positive relationships. Trust in yourself and others. Sure, you’ve got a lot to work on, but it’s not impossible, not when you’ve kept your feelings alive with your connection to music. Music is a powerful thing. You know how to use it to channel the feelings that you didn’t know what to do with. You can continue doing that once your arm heals, but until then, it’s okay to reach out. It’s okay to ask for help, and to give it in return.”
Something about those words hit me hard. It’s almost like he cared about my mental health, about me, for no reason that I could think of.
I swallowed hard and sat back down. “There’s one thing. I have an ex-fiancé who I need to talk to, but every time I think about it, I want to throw up, or I do throw up. I should just avoid him because that’s what my body wants, right?”
He frowned at me. “Tell me the story about him.”
I licked my lips, biting down at the end while my whole body tensed up like I was getting ready for someone to break my fingers. The right hand, because my grandfather hadn’t ever allowed my left fingers to be broken. Although it still made holding a bow painful, it wasn’t impossible. “We were togetherfor two years.” My stomach churned, and I grew lightheaded. I couldn’t say anything else.
“That’s all?” He raised a dark brow. “Were you happy for those two years? Sad? Indifferent? What are your feelings about it?”
“I started to trust him, and then he betrayed me,” I spat, glaring at him, daring him to force me to say more.
He nodded slowly. “So now you know better than to trust anyone else again.”
“I trust Toni. I trust her with my life.”
“I have a new assignment for you. The next time you see Clint, you ask him to forgive you.”
I stared at him, so completely confused, I didn’t have words for a long moment. “What?”
He pointed at me. “Forgiveness is the most powerful tool imaginable. When we’re hurt by someone, our feelings keep us locked in that conflict, in that pain, and whether the person is sad or happy about our pain, we keep it unless we can release, forgive, and move on. You’re locked into this pain, this betrayal, this hurt, and until you can forgive him, it will keep growing and festering until you become that pain.”
I stared at him while I trembled. “I don’t understand.”
“It doesn’t hurt him to have you hate him; it just hurts you.”
