He reaches out for me. "Caroline, you have to understand?—"
But I step out of reach. "I don't want you to touch me," I croak. "Not with… not withthose hands."
It's funny to look back and remember how much I loved his hands when I first saw them. They're big and strong, scarred and tattooed, capable and beautiful.
And now, hideous. So fucking hideous.
Because those hands shoved my mom and dad into their graves.
Those hands heaped the cemetery dirt on top.
Those hands etched names into the tombstones. Afon took my parents from me. And he thought, if he just strung out the story long enough, that I'd forgive him for what he did.
I keep backing up, as far away as I can get.
He doesn't chase me like I thought he would. He just sits there on the edge of that ridiculous bed, big and still, taking it. Not flinching, not even once. Letting me hit him with it because he thinks he deserves it.
I think, for the first time, I agree.
Hedoesdeserve it.
"You should have told me a long time ago," I say. My eyes are burning. "Before I—before we?—"
I can't finish it.
Before I chose you.
Before I started to dream.
"I have to—" I press the heel of my hand to my mouth. Tonight's coq au vin dinner sits heavy and sick in my stomach. "I need air. I need to not be in this room with you anymore."
I turn and start to flee. I almost make it to the door before he speaks again.
"I'm not asking you to forgive me," he says. "There's nothing to forgive, because there's no making it right. I knew that we'd end up here from the moment you walked out of those trees. I've known it every single day since, and I let you in anyway, because I'm a selfish bastard." He draws in a shuddering breath. "But you asked for the truth. Eyes open. And I'd rather you walk out of here hating me with the truth than stay here loving a man who never existed."
I stand in the doorway with my hand on the frame, my back to him, but I can't make myself turn around, because if I turnaround and see his face, I don't know what I'll do. Will I scream? Break the lamp?
Or worse: will I cross the room and bury myself in his chest the way I did the night the fear caught up with me?
I can't, I can't do any of those things, because every one of them feels like a betrayal of the two people who used to make me crepes the morning after the screaming.
I came up that mountain for the whole story. I told Afon I was a big girl. I told him I could take it.
I was wrong.
"I can't believe I picked you," I say hoarsely. "Eyes open. What a fucking joke."
"That's the thing about eyes open, Caroline. You can only ever see what's in front of you. But the past is always one step behind."
I slip out and pull the door closed behind me. I run down one hallway, then the next, and the next, taking turns at random, until I find a small alcove out of the way, with no signs of life in any direction.
Once I'm alone, I slide down the wall until I find a miserable, uncomfortable seat on the cold marble floor of this stranger's palace. With my knees to my chest, I let the ugly tears come. They feel like drops oozing from a rotten wound.
But that's okay. There's no one to see me. The halls are empty. Even Wolf is asleep two corridors away, dreaming whatever dogs dream.
It's just the truth I asked for and the future I hoped for, and the wide, wide chasm between them.
31
