“I don’t know why I’m like this,” I murmur.
His arms slacken an inch.
I wish I was more like you.
“It’s okay.”
The room begins clearing, but Uncle Warrose stays to talk to my dad. Shoulders slumped, husky, quivering voice. And Aunt Ruth gives us a quick pat to give him some privacy.
“Why does he always want to talk to him alone after?” I ask.
“To catch him up on everything that’s going on in Vexamen.” Aunt Ruth shrugs a petite, pointed shoulder, ruffling her curly brown hair.
“Why?” I push again.
Krimson gives me a shoulder bump.
Aunt Ruth studies my face for a moment too long, making me feel small and arrogant in her line of sight. She’s always had this elven-like beauty. I used to tell Mom that I wanted to look just like her. I wanted curly brunette hair, rich brown eyes, freckles, and to be a queen too. I even had Krimson push me around in a dining table chair to pretend it was her beautifully carved moving chair. If Aunt Ruth had to use one, it must be something to strive for. A tool for queens.
When Mom told Aunt Ruth about it, she laughed, hugged me, and said “that’s a beautiful compliment to give, little Sapphire.”
“Are you asking that question to make another insensitive dig at your father’s condition, or do you genuinely want to know why he would want to share that information?”
I shrink a little.
She nods like that small movement answered her question.
“Just because your father is in a coma, is unresponsive, and your mother can’t find him or any of his alters in the void… That doesn’t mean a damn thing.” She runs her thin hands over the wrinkles in her blood red winter dress. “Why? Because his heart is still beating. His lungs are still filling with air. He’s still alive. I’ve seen that man rise from the fucking grave. I’ve seen him take on leagues of men and win. I’ve seen him save the woman he loves with impossible odds. And in all that time, I’ve learned one lesson that remains the same.”
Her round, beautiful eyes bounce back and forth between me and my twin.
“To never underestimate the lengths Dessin will go to be with the woman he loves. Nothing is impossible for him. And after all he’s done for us, holding out hope until my dying breath is the least I can do.”
They speak of him like he is a god. I’ll never understand it.
“I’ve read about his adventures. All the myths and legends that are attached to his name,” I say coldly. Why am I like this? Why can’t I just respect their opinions and move on? Why must I always have this undying urge to prove that he isn’t as impressive as they all claim?
Aunt Ruth laughs, but there isn’t any humor in her eyes. “Read? Your eyes trailed over words on paper, and you think that does him justice? It’s one thing to hear about Patient Thirteen in a lecture at school. It’s another to witness it when death is biting at your heels.” She looks down at her lap, thinking quietly to herself. “I wish you could have been there, little Sapphire. Maybe then you’d understand the gravity of love and respect we all have for him.”
I continue to shrink.
“I understand, Aunt Ruth. I’ve always known my father was a great man,” Krimson says with both sadness and impenetrable pride.
“The greatest.” She nods in agreement.
After everyone leaves, and Isay good night to Mom, Krimson, and Grandpa, I walk through the dark house and stand in the doorway of my father’s room. It still carries that haunting scent of old books, sandalwood, and fresh linen blankets.
I watch his chest rising and falling for what feels like several minutes.
“You have them all fooled,” I say in a low, hushed voice.
He continues to breathe. To sleep. To take up space.
“They all think you’re this great hero.”
I do not often address him directly. In fact, I try to avoid this area as much as I can. But tonight was too much to handle alone. I only talk to him when I’ve had enough. When I want someone to blame. When I need to lash out without judgment.
“But where were you when Niklaus Demechnef pushed me over the Chandelier Bridge, and I had to fight the current to make it out without drowning when I was ten? Where were you when I fell out of the treehouse and broke my ankle? What about last year when Niklaus soaked my dress in ink at the ball and I left in tears?”
