“And what are you worried about?”
“That everyone will think I’m the weak link. I don’t want to be the weak link!”
“Doyouthink you’re the weak link?”
“No. Iamstruggling with these side effects, I will admit that. But it’s just one part of me.” That age-old frustration of always having to prove myself to others bubbles up, and the anger helps chase away some of the self-disgust. “Everything else about me is still the same. I’m still an asset. I always have been.” Then I glance away as worry blows through me again. “But I’m worried that ifpeople know about this one thing that I’m struggling with, it will make them think that I’m untrustworthy and unreliable again.”
Draven heaves a long sigh. Dropping his hands from my cheeks, he instead reaches towards one of the glass jars. I blink at him in surprise as he holds up the jar in front of my face.
“What’s this?” he asks.
I stare at the jar. Small carrots float around in the clear liquid inside, and there is a label on the front written in neat script which reads:Pickled Carrots.
Confused, I look up from the jar to meet Draven’s gaze as I answer, “Carrots?”
He nods. Then he sets down the jar and picks up another one. I watch in bewilderment as he rips off the label on that second jar and slaps it onto the first one. The first label is now covered by one that reads:Pickled Onions.
Draven holds up the jar in front of my face again. “And now? What is it now?”
I glance down at the new label, which is almost falling off, before studying the carrots that still float inside. With a confused frown on my face, I meet Draven’s gaze again and reply, “Uhm, carrots?”
“No. Look.” He points at the label he just put on it. “See? It says onions.”
“Well, yeah, but it’s still carrots inside.”
“Exactly.”
I just stare at him in bewilderment. He lets out a soft chuckle at my utterly befuddled expression.
Then he turns serious again as he points to the jar. “No matter how much I try to tell you that this is onions, it’s still carrots inside.” He sets the jar down before locking eyes with me again. “So it doesn’t matter what someone elsethinksyou’re made of orsaysyou’re made of. It still doesn’t change what you’reactuallymade of.”
A baffled laugh, full of sheer relief escapes me. The wholedemonstration with the carrots and the onions is so ridiculous and absurd that it actually works.
He lets out another chuckle as well when he hears me laugh, and the pain in his eyes is replaced by only love as he looks at me.
“That was a very cute explanation,” I tell him, a smile on my face.
“Thanks. I worked hard on it.” Then seriousness blows across his features again, and his eyes turn grave as he leans back in his chair while raking his fingers through his hair. “I’ve struggled with things like this too, you know. For two hundred years, my people thought I was a traitor. But I knew that I wasn’t. So it didn’t matter what everyone else thought I was. It didn’t change what I really was. Took me decades to truly come to terms with that, though.”
Just hearing him admit that he has also struggled with things like this somehow makes me feel much lighter, and it makes me realize that I can be incredibly wrapped up in my own head sometimes. As if I’m the only one who is battling insecurities. But I’m not. Everyone is fighting their own war. I tend to always assume that everyone else is perfect and that I am the only one who has flaws, which is why it’s so difficult to admit those flaws out loud.
But I need to. I’ve been trying to convince myself that I can do this on my own. That I can handle this addictive side effect of my magic all by myself. But the truth is that I can’t. I need help.
So I drag in a bracing breath and finally speak the words that I should have said months ago. “I need help, Draven. I know that it doesn’t make me weak, but I’m still really struggling with the side effects of my magic.” I rub my temple while that incessant urge continues throbbing inside my skull. “That warm, comforting feeling of pleasure I get is incredibly addictive. Even now, during our whole conversation, half of my mind isn’t even listening because it’s busy begging me to use my magic again so that I can feel that pleasure.”
“Then let me carry half of it,” he says.
I blink at him. “How?”
“You can attach your own emotions to other people, right? Even emotions that you normally can’t create. Like love. And when you do, it lets them feel half of the emotion and decreases that emotion by half inside of you.” His eyes are dead serious as he holds my gaze. “So attach this feeling of addictive need to me. That way, each of us will only feel half of it.”
My heart beats hard as I stare back at him. “You want me to…?”
“Of course I do.” He draws soft fingers over my cheek. “I’ve already told you. You are not alone anymore.”
I swallow against the sudden thickness in my throat. My heart swells with so much love and gratitude that it feels like it’s going to burst.
“I love you,” I choke out. “So much.”
