Ha.
Darcy does what Darcy wants. “Yes, I sure as fuck am.”
“Yay me.”
13
I sip the delicious pecan flavored latte that Darcy brought me as we travel on his blood magic array. Darcy did a great job with this cup, too, and he brought it in one of those travel mugs that keep things warm for hours.
“This is perfect,” I sigh happily.
Darcy has had a look of smug satisfaction since we roused ourselves off the couch, and I love that look on him. He’s pretty when he’s grumpy, but happy Darcy is a work of art, and I put that look on his face.
“What’d you do today?” he asks.
“I scrubbed my floor, and then Sam and I played Skip Bo and shot the shit all afternoon after the gargoyles cleaned up her murder. She ate the green curry leftovers, so now there’s only golden left, and I’m not sure I’m willing to share that with you in the morning. You might have to figure out your own breakfast.”
The side of Darcy’s mouth lifts in a half smile as he shakes his head. “I’ve been feeding myself for thousands of years. I’m sure I can take care of tomorrow too.”
“Your confidence gives me hope. Someday I hope to know myself as well as you. Confidence is sexy, you know.”
“So I’ve heard.” He laughs, and I feel it in my chest like the bass line at a metal concert.
“What did you do? Get all the murdering you wanted to accomplish done?” I ask curiously.
Darcy’s good humor slowly evaporates, and his jaw tightens. “I didn’t do what I expected to, no.”
I offer him my hand to comfort him, and he tentatively takes it. I thread our fingers together. “It's a wonder that you don’t know how easy it is to share the burdens we carry. Even just holding someone else’s hand can do the trick to help lighten our mental and emotional load, Darcy. Trust me. Holding my hand is nothing but good for you.” I squeeze his hand to emphasize my point.
Darcy hums skeptically, and I lift the back of his hand to my lips, kissing it.
He studies me and our linked hands for a moment before his grip on my fingers tightens. “I ended up on the other side of the universe tracking down a forgotten ex-Avatar of Neutrality. They were all but insane, having had a spell fuck with ten thousand years of their memory. I spent the day providing magical therapy to that poor being, and, in the end, they recovered their memories but refused to speak with me about their experience because they need time to recuperate from the mental and emotional abuse they've suffered. Weak.”
I squeeze Darcy’s hand hard, hearing him disparage them like that. “No. You are not calling a survivor of mental and emotional torture weak. No matter what state they are in right now, they are a survivor. That’s not weak. That’s strong, and you’re not going to dismiss that like it’s unimportant or unimpressive.”
Darcy freezes in place for a moment. “You really believe that? You think survivors aren’t left weak after their trials?”
This array ride is taking longer than usual, and my leg is starting to feel a bit sore, so I lower myself to my butt, stretching out my legs in front of me and leaning back on my hands. “I’m sure that physically they’re weak and need to recuperate, but the inner spirit is a survivor, and that takes all the strength. Don’t underestimate people’s mental fortitude. Our brains do amazing things when we’re in danger and unsafe. Our brains can create whole ass people to protect us from torture. It can remove itself from the present situation to escape the torture. Our brains give us survival mechanisms that keep us safe under extreme circumstances. We develop acute pattern recognition and sensible physical strategies to keep our minds and bodies safe.”
“You’re talking about dissociative disorders.” Darcy’s intrigue blankets that statement, and I smile that he’s on the same page as me. He’s not going to call people with mental health issues weak ever again—I can see the attitude shift happening. Fucking love a guy who isn’t afraid to change his mind.
“Yeah, sure. Our brain’s way of coping with torture is what we label as mental health disorders, but just because the coping isn’t needed in a healthy environment doesn’t mean that it’s unhealthy or unnecessary in extreme circumstances when it is needed.” I finish the last of my coffee and invite Darcy to sit with me, patting the array beside me. “I don’t know about you, but I would not want to be present for long, sustained torture. I’d much rather let a person my brain creates for the specific purpose of dealing with the abuse take the reins. I’d rather not be in my own body while it’s being beaten, and the brain is capable of out of body experiences during times of high stress. It’s useful and an overall plus to the human condition, not a negative.”
Darcy squats, wrapping his arms around his knees. “Not all of us are as human as you are. Some of us aren’t human at all, we just look like we are.”
I shoot him a reassuring smile. “I’m sure complex brains of all sorts have ways of coping with trauma.”
“How do you know any of this? Are you a psych major now?” he questions curiously.
“Nah. That’s just a YouTube rabbit hole I’ve been down a couple of times. I like to keep up on the research coming out of the human psychology and neuroscience sectors. I did consider becoming a psych major, though. I took a couple of counseling classes. Did you know that I’m a certified marriage counselor? Which is hilarious because I’ve never had a relationship push past boyfriend status. Stalker Steve wanted to move in together, but there’s no way I was going to do that when he didn’t want to fuck me if I took my pants off.” It’s probably a good idea to warn Darcy about my amputation if he’s really going to fuck me into the mattress tonight and stick around for breakfast in the morning.
Disgust curls Darcy’s lips. “What in the smooth brain, koala starving in a holler full of eucalyptus? No, don’t answer that,” he orders, shaking his head. “There ain’t no accounting for some people.”
“You never did answer me why you chose that accent.” He said he invented it. (I believe it, but why?)
He blows out a breath, smiling as he watches the blurry scenery pass by. “I didn’t choose it. The translation spell that allows people with magic to hear their native language when a person with similar mental patterns speaks to them gave me this accent before it existed as a regional accent. I enjoy the cadence of it and spent a few hundred years using my magic to saturate the land of the Ozarks with it. It was tricky getting it from me to the humans in the area, but their connection to themountains eventually won. It helped that I toured as a tutor for the young’uns.”
“That’s an incredible legacy. Where are you originally from?” Seven thousand years of history is probably pretty interesting, especially for someone who isn’t a native to Earth.
