~Love her, mate. You and me, we’ll figure something out, but listen to her. I’m still getting the sense something’s not right, but haven’t put my finger on it yet. Maybe you could use that alleged ultra-squishy frontal lobe of yours to figure it out. ~
With that, they’re gone.
Here it comes.
The Artist Takes His Lumps
RAFE
Idon’t know what to do after what happened.
Between what he said, I said, and she said, I don’t want to open my mouth for fear of what’s going to come out. Guilt, anger, depression, resentment, fear, love, angst, frustration, self-loathing—the host of bloody emotions coursing through me is enough to put someone in the loony bin. Not to mention what my primary told me when the bird snooped in our thoughts. It puts everything into another layer of perspective that I can’t fathom.
My wife turns her head to look at me. “I want to start by saying that I love you. I’m not sure I realized how much until I was afraid you were going to disappear forever.”
Chewing on my lower lip, I shrug, giving away nothing until I know what I’m supposed to feel or say. I’ve been in this place before, and I have to get a feel for what she wants. I can do whatever it is. It might hurt for a bit, but I’ll get there. I did last time, and I will this time. I sound more confident than I am, but I must be. I need her to tell me what to do or say to keep from losing everything all at once.
“I’m sorry, love.”
“You thought you were losing me not that long ago. We seem to keep hurting each other.”
I nod, still avoiding looking at her. “I don’t think it’s intentional, pet. Things are murky in the beginning. It happened to them at first, too.”
“True. I keep forgetting that because it seems so long ago now. You and he—” She shakes her head then stops, leaving me to wonder where she’s going.
“It’s fine. I won’t do anything that hurts you.” That’s all I’ve got. I’m not giving someone else the power I gave that prancing prose writing git who destroyed things the last time. I won’t admit it all and let it be a fun game to use my pain against me. I’ll do what needs to get done, but I will not share my terms.
“They had a good long while to get comfortable with each other, to build trust, before either of us even popped into the picture. That’s a lot of alone time.”
Her brow furrows as if she’s processed my words. “Why? You mean that you’ll end it with him. Why would you do that?”
“If it hurts you, I will do it.” I shrug, not wanting to expound much more. “I love you, and you’re that important to me.”
Her expression darkens, and she growls. “He’s your mate. You love him, Rafe; I know you do because I feel it. If you stop with him because it would hurt me, then what happens with the other mates? Where do I draw the line? Where do you? When is it okay to say you can’t have what you want or who you love because it hurts me? You more than love him; you crave him.”
I can’t look at her.
Her voice cracks, but her words are a familiar song. This will never be okay, and it will never work with the four of us. As much as she may want the cat, she cannot deal with me and her mate. It’s always going to be painful and ugly. I feel it. She’s comparing it to the others, and she knows I’m tied to them by bonding only. I haven’t been with any of them since her.
“I was going to give you to him. Bow out. Give you the ring back and let you have him. Go away.”
I lift my head and give her a serious look. “It’s not like you. Without you, I would have left, regardless of anyone else. I would do it because you are my other half; you make me whole. There’s no reason to be without you. I don’t want to be given to anyone; I’m not a bloody toy!”
“I thought you were like Wilde, accepting me to get to him.”
I snort, shaking my head.
Oh no, she does not know. The Wilde she knows is not the real one.
She does not know what being Wilde means. She does not understand how awful that comparison feels or how much his death spared her. She’s never seen how terrifying that love of his can be. He didn’t want her or the bird; he wanted to control and merge power. He craved power over the most powerful, unreachable people in his universe. He almost wormed his way in.
We are all the luckier that he did not.
“I never expected, planned, or even considered what happened with your mate would happen.”
“Expected? No, I don’t think you did. Wanted? Hoped?” She turns her face away, and I can’t bring myself to fight the distance. “Wilde didn’t love me. Whatever path he took—accidental or purposeful—is moot now. He’s gone from both of our lives for the time being, but I can’t say for sure that he won’t come back to yours.”
Again, problems with the bloody writer. Christ, I hate him more than I ever loved him at this point.
