His words carry the weight of five long, lonely years.
I bite down on my bottom lip to stay strong for him, for now.
“I keep trying and—” He shudders. “Every time I just make itworse. They were just rumors before, but it’s true. All I do is hurt people. Bash was right. I should have left like he wanted. It would be better if I wasn’t here. I should have let them take me. I should have let them kill me—”
I grip him so hard my nails dig into his skin.
“Don’t youdareever think that. Don’t you dare!”
He can barely keep his head up.
“Will. Will, look at me.”
Panic strangles my chest, my throat. How do I save him? How do I pull him out of this?
“They won’t listen. Especially now. They’ll never stop coming for me. You should—” He wraps his fingers around my wrists and pulls me off. “You should go. You should hand me in. You shouldn’t be here.Why did I take you with me?I’ve ruined it for you. I’m so stupid—”
“No. I’m staying right here.”
“Just leave me. Justgo.”
“No.”
“You should hate me. I almost killed you. I almost killed Bash. Howell—I’m—”
“Will,look at me.”
He’s choking, unable to see through the pools in his eyes, through the storm in his mind.
“I’m here and I am not leaving you,” I say.
I force his chin up to meet my eyes.
Will holds my gaze for a few watery seconds.
He erupts into tears again, this time falling onto my shoulder and clinging to my back. I hold him until his sobs retreat, until my shoulder is damp. It’s what Howell would do after all. Stay calm and stoic, collect yourself to rescue others. Be a shield, a protector, taking pride in the smallest of tasks, knowing just how important it is to those who need it. I’ll persevere and bear the weight so Will doesn’t have to. So he isn’t alone.
“Why are we even trying to help them, Fliss? Why are webothering?” Will asks, muffled into my coat. I sit him upright and wipe his wet cheeks with my sleeve.
“Because it’s the right thing to do. And you are a good person, Will. I will try as many times as it takes, until Morgana faces justice and you are free.”
His shoulders sag, like gravity itself is a punishment.
“They don’t deserve your help,” he whispers. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Yes, you do. You deserve to be happy,” I say. “I’ll come for you no matter what. I’ll walk beside you for as long as I can. I won’t leave you.”
Will closes his eyes and exhales.
Quieter now, he says, “That sounds nice.”
“I think so too.”
“Stay. Please. I didn’t mean it.”
“I know.”
He leans his forehead against mine, and I stroke his jaw with the backs of my fingers. His grief hangs like a ceiling of wisteria, his sorrow heavy and insurmountable. We sit in sadness, in silence, and soon his tiredness takes over. Slowly, his breathing steadies.
