Eventually, though, it will blow up in an irreversible way.
It can be something small. One of us may say or do something that tips her over her metaphorical edge, and all our relationships fail.
I won’t pretend my brothers and I are the experts on handling trauma.
We aren’t. By any means.
We have, however, crawled out of the pits of hell much stronger and better gods.
Revenge has always been a powerful motivator for us to overcome what we’ve been through. We have an even better reason now.
Her.
“Amick.” Along with her broken whisper, her first tear falls free.
“Come here,” I command, but my hands have already wrapped around her.
Her strong, resilient, trembling body straddles mine with ease and I hold her tight.
She doesn’t sob or scream, but a river flows from the crook of my neck and down my chest as she breaks in silence. My soul thrashes in the confines of my ribcage, frantic to comfort hers.
My hands travel down her sides until they find their way underneath her shirt. I rest one against her lower back, while the other cradles the back of her neck.
I hold her tenderly, unwilling to let her go until she gets it all out. I don’t rush her or try to say anything to make her feel better.
I let her feel whatever she needs to feel.
Countless minutes pass us by before sniffles echo around my otherwise silent room.
No part of me wants to let her go, but she uses my chest as leverage to push herself up until she’s sitting on my lap. She doesn’t speak as she uses her shirt to clean her tears from my skin.
Even after I’m completely dry, she continues her rhythmic wiping and gathers her thoughts.
Her hands fall against my abs and her knuckles run over their grooves mindlessly.
“You’re right. Mellcom and Jeremiah…” She squeezes her eyes closed and shakes her head. “I can’t go there yet.”
The reality that’s settling over her hurts me. She sees it as clearly as I do. They were her biggest supporters, yet greatest torturers.
It was the most confusing and agonizing kind of love she’s ever experienced, and she doesn’t know how to process that.
I don’t push.
“There have been so many times over the years I’ve tried to convince myself my parents were dead. That’d be the only thing to keep them from me for so long. I thought if I made myself believe that, I could run away. Escape Oddian. I hated the thought of living in Abernie, but I told myself, that’s where I’d go because I’d make Lambrit come with me, and they have the largest library in the regions.
“No matter what story I’d spin in my mind, none of them resulted in my parents’ deaths. There was always something deep inside of me that kept telling me I was wrong. Wherever they are, they just can’t get to me. I started obsessing over the mortals in the nonmagical realm, thinking maybe, somehow, someway, they found a way there. I eventually convinced myself it was impossible, but my obsession just shifted.
“That’s why I’d visit the barrier to the Unclaimed. I thought maybe they’re in there, and I’ll be able to sense them. I’d get a sign somehow, then I’d cross it. That never came. They never came. And I don’t know if I can forgive them. I’m so mad at them.”
Her breath fans across my chest, and I lay my hands on her thighs. “You don’t have to forgive them right now or ever.Anyof them. I have no intentions of everforgiving or excusing what my sperm donor has done. You have every right to be mad at them. It’s okay.”
She nods. “If they return, they’ll have to find me. I can’t keep holding on. I don’t want to anymore. I want to move forward.”
“Then moving forward is what we’ll do. Together. You, me, my brothers—our Valtrue—and the sporadic group of beings joining us.”
She snorts and I tilt my head at her. That small sound rolls into manic laughter as she stares at me with light filling her eyes. I didn’t say anything humorous, at least not on purpose, but whatever I said, she’s finding joy in it and that’s fine by me.
“Does it bother you we’re all so different?”
