Saturday. March 5, 2015
I think some part of my brain thought it would be easy to just let everything go once I made the decision to move forward, but all I’ve been doing it stuffing everything out of sight, out of mind, out of the way. I feel like I’ve made progress only to look up and see I’ve only been walking in a circle and ended up right back where I started.
It was harder this year than last. I know part of it’s because I work myself up and give the day too much meaning. March 4th is no different than March 3rd or 5th. I had the same problems the day before, just like I have the same problems now. For some reason, though, I turn that anniversary into a day that haunts me. I give it power instead of taking the control for myself. It’s just a day. I wish I knew how to treat it like one.
The first year I set fire to so many things I couldn’t even count and went on a week long bender that I couldn’t remember when I finally came to. That time in my life is such a haze, wrapped up in mindless sex and drug use. It was getting harder and harder to forget my life, to drown my loneliness, so I branched out to find new distractions. I only vaguely remember the months surrounding my meeting Sal.
Staying in my play pretend
Where the fun ain't got no end
Can't go home alone again
Need someone to numb the pain
That’s how we met. We both wanted to go numb. We used each other to feel better, to forget everything that was hurting us, but I remember the moment that all changed. It was only the second time I’d been to his house, and in as many days. He’d brought me there the night before after getting me to call in to work. Said his bed was lonely. He had so much going on, not to mention one hell of a jealous lover. I didn’t want to get in the middle of anything, no matter how good the sex was, so the next night I went over there to quit him. That’s what I told myself, anyway. Just like he had his problems, I had mine. Jeremy’s birthday was that weekend and I knew it was going to be bad. I was sad. That’s the real reason I went over there. The responsible thing to do would have been to quit Sal like I meant to, but that’s not how it went. What started out as me trying to tell him I didn’t want to make anyone jealous ended with him telling me that Rei had left. Instead of leaving like I should have, I did something only a friend would do -- I asked him how he was. Sure, he lied to me and then we ****ed, but that’s what changed everything. I realized I gave a **** about how he felt. And the sex? All the times we’d hooked up before went exactly as they should have: mind-blowing ‘forget everything else’ sex. This time it broke us both. Instead of numbing the pain, we ended up feeling something. Not for each other, mind you, but that was the night our friendship took off.
Everything changed after that. I’d found a friend. I made a few more. I built a family out of them and my life improved exponentially. They all saved me. I remembered how to find happiness in the midst of pain. I had helpmates at my side.
When the second anniversary rolled around, I was scared about what would happen, but… I was fine. Sal sat with me on the beach and we talked. I played guitar. It wasn’t hard. I didn’t even cry. I was proud of myself for growing by leaps and bounds compared to the year before. The only destructive thing I did was throw Jeremy’s ring in the ocean, a decision I regret still to this day.
But this time around… I felt like a house of cards. The smallest thing could have blown me over. Everything just seems to be weighing down on me so heavily right now. It doesn’t help that I’ve piled on the problems of others, because that’s a thing I do when I want to ignore my own.
What would I do without Salvador? He’s the best friend and lover a man could ask for. He let me lean on him when I needed to, and I needed to often yesterday. He kept me encouraging me to continue on, even when all I wanted to do was sit down and let everything swallow me whole. Sal helped me work through the tears, kept me occupied, pushed me to focus on what’s good in my life. It’s hard to remember how to keep moving forward, and I’m so grateful for his help.
That’s the thing, though. I’m starting to learn that it’s not always going to be easy. Sometimes I’m going to struggle with things I thought I’d gotten past. Moving on is not something achieved, it’s something you work at every day for the rest of your life.
-----
when i see what i should
when i see that it's good
to experience the bittersweet
to taste defeat
then brush my teeth
cause i struggle with forward motion
i struggle with forward motion
we all struggle with forward motion
cause forward motion is harder than it sounds
well everytime i gain some ground
i gotta turn myself around again
de l'esprit
Re: de l'esprit
Sunday. March 13, 2016
It’s been almost a week since I went to see Mags. Been riding the line between processing and avoiding the issue. I’d be lying if I said a small part of me wasn’t hoping they’d be able to see my side of things, even though I knew better. It’s like no matter what I do, no matter the changes I make, the strides I take, I fuck everything up. They were all I had left of my old life. That’s part of the reason I put it off for so long; I knew going to see them would end in severance. Guess it’s good that it stops there.
We talked about going to New Orleans when we left Paris. While I believe that Magdeleis and co. won’t retaliate any further, I can’t say that with any certainty about the people waiting back home.
Home.
That word comes to mind so easily because it’s familiar. It’s been home for so long, but…
New Orleans isn’t home. The Bay isn’t, either. Paris has nothing left for me. My home is here. This is where I’m living my life. I’ve got a man who wants to build something with me, friends who support me, fresh opportunities around every corner. I’m more myself now than I’ve ever been before. I don’t want to be anywhere else. We’ll go back eventually once we’re positive no one else is trying to kill me, but it’ll be nothing more than a trip down memory lane.
I’ve wanted nothing more than to walk those streets with Sal for so long now, but if I’m honest with myself I’d rather be here, digging this seemingly never-ending hole of a root cellar with him.
Home.
-----
This is where I belong
This is where I choose to stay on
This is where I belong
My home
I belong
Home
I belong now
It’s been almost a week since I went to see Mags. Been riding the line between processing and avoiding the issue. I’d be lying if I said a small part of me wasn’t hoping they’d be able to see my side of things, even though I knew better. It’s like no matter what I do, no matter the changes I make, the strides I take, I fuck everything up. They were all I had left of my old life. That’s part of the reason I put it off for so long; I knew going to see them would end in severance. Guess it’s good that it stops there.
We talked about going to New Orleans when we left Paris. While I believe that Magdeleis and co. won’t retaliate any further, I can’t say that with any certainty about the people waiting back home.
Home.
That word comes to mind so easily because it’s familiar. It’s been home for so long, but…
New Orleans isn’t home. The Bay isn’t, either. Paris has nothing left for me. My home is here. This is where I’m living my life. I’ve got a man who wants to build something with me, friends who support me, fresh opportunities around every corner. I’m more myself now than I’ve ever been before. I don’t want to be anywhere else. We’ll go back eventually once we’re positive no one else is trying to kill me, but it’ll be nothing more than a trip down memory lane.
I’ve wanted nothing more than to walk those streets with Sal for so long now, but if I’m honest with myself I’d rather be here, digging this seemingly never-ending hole of a root cellar with him.
Home.
-----
This is where I belong
This is where I choose to stay on
This is where I belong
My home
I belong
Home
I belong now
Re: de l'esprit
Sunday. March 20, 2016
--the bone grove
We arrive in a clearing covered in green moss and the fresh shoots of new grass reaching toward the sun. A sun which does nothing to warm the unnaturally cool air. We stop in the middle of the circular sanctuary beside a small rock decorated with the runic markings of an ancient language.
All at once the veil is parted. Freed from the trappings of my mortal sights, the illusion falls away to show the Grove’s true nature. Instead of a small rock, we now stand beside a large boulder. That boulder, like the glamoured stone in the false glade, is decorated in rune-work and ancient incantations. The boulder is split in half with one flat side and etchings that bear the resemblance of a single grave marker.
There she stands before us: a perfect, fearsome vision clothed in alabaster white over toffee colored skin. Beautiful in her utterly stoic plainness. Her dark hair is unbound, laying straight down her back and her dark eyes are fixed on me.
"Good morning, Canaan Devillier. Be welcome in my domain."
The ominous energy that churns within the clearing stirs inside me a healthy fear. I am surrounded by death, unable to deny the inescapable truth that there is an end for all, and all shall find it. I take a step back when I see Her; She is framed by a tall, red-veined and weeping tree behind her. Brittle shards of broken bone crunch beneath my boot. No longer do we stand on the plush form of moss and wet earth but on a dense platform of crushed, packed bone soaked through with old blood. The thick and cloying scent of decay permeates my every sense.
She Who Tends the Dead. Faye Random. Truthspeaker. Linewalker. She has many names and none. I asked her, long ago, which she preferred. I have no preference, she told me, and so I chose none.
"As you will it, Innomé,” I say to her. I fall silent as she turns to greet her son.
We lay our offering at her feet. I stare, transfixed, as the bones are picked clean before my eyes. All that remains of the stag’s body disappears into the sea of crushed, white bone under our heels. Hers is a power that chills me to the core, a foreign feeling that settles in my belly like cold iron, untouchable by even the fire that I possess.
I would be lying if I said I was not ill at ease. My only comfort is in knowing I have Salvador by my side. Were he not with me, I do not think I could stand to dwell here for very long. It is a place for the dead and those who walk its line, not the living. I look to Salvador, but I have trouble defining what it is that I see upon his face. Is it peace? Equanimity, perhaps. A quiet sort of contentment. He is at his leisure in this place.
Later, both he and She find me studying the blood tree. Salvador invites me to touch it. My hands slide across its slick surface, consisting of pulsing veins all twisted together to form a tall trunk. Its puissance is undeniable. This, I know without having to ask, is the wellspring from which Salvador draws his power to unmake all that which is made. I see him smiling at me and I smile back.
Trinkets dangle from its drooping, vine-like branches. A razor blade necklace with a heart punched through the center. The ring that Sal gave me to call upon his mother, which I gave back to him unused. The hook swords he uses sometimes. I look up its long body to the top. It is twice my height. Faye tells me it grows as He grows, a foot for every year.
I should like to see it taller than even the Redwoods, I think to myself.
The tree is the one thing in the Bone Grove, apart from Salvador himself, that I find even remotely comforting. It even has a heartbeat. I press myself to the trunk without a care for the blood that coats it, and listen to the steady beat that pulses within it.
“It’s not yours,” I decide. I would know his heartbeat by touch alone.
My eyes find Salvador’s and he shakes his head. "It belongs to a friend. I'm keeping it safe."
I make my place at the foot of the tree, resting my back against it, feeling the steady pulse of its blood-power though the thin material of my shirt as it flows up from the ground in which it is rooted. Beside me sits Salvador and beside him, Faye. We three sit together like this for so long that time begins to blur.
I learn that while She sleeps, She dreams of his life. She knows everything, and still She wants to hear it all from his lips. I do not blame Her. I, too, love to hear him speak. There is nothing he tells Her that I do not already know, every little insipid detail of the winter season. I do not interfere or invite myself into their conversation, if it can even be called that; I simply listen, even when the topic moves on to heartache and Salvador bends his head to lay in her lap. Faye combs her fingers through his hair. I hold his hand. Together we give him all that we can. She, the gentle touch only a mother can provide and I, my love for him in the warmth of my silent, steadfast presence.
Before we leave, I lay a frangible shaft of dead snapdragons on the head of the gravemarker. I cannot read the words that are written there, but the flowers are not for whomever it marks. I leave them for Her. A simple token of my gratitude.
--the bone grove
We arrive in a clearing covered in green moss and the fresh shoots of new grass reaching toward the sun. A sun which does nothing to warm the unnaturally cool air. We stop in the middle of the circular sanctuary beside a small rock decorated with the runic markings of an ancient language.
All at once the veil is parted. Freed from the trappings of my mortal sights, the illusion falls away to show the Grove’s true nature. Instead of a small rock, we now stand beside a large boulder. That boulder, like the glamoured stone in the false glade, is decorated in rune-work and ancient incantations. The boulder is split in half with one flat side and etchings that bear the resemblance of a single grave marker.
There she stands before us: a perfect, fearsome vision clothed in alabaster white over toffee colored skin. Beautiful in her utterly stoic plainness. Her dark hair is unbound, laying straight down her back and her dark eyes are fixed on me.
"Good morning, Canaan Devillier. Be welcome in my domain."
The ominous energy that churns within the clearing stirs inside me a healthy fear. I am surrounded by death, unable to deny the inescapable truth that there is an end for all, and all shall find it. I take a step back when I see Her; She is framed by a tall, red-veined and weeping tree behind her. Brittle shards of broken bone crunch beneath my boot. No longer do we stand on the plush form of moss and wet earth but on a dense platform of crushed, packed bone soaked through with old blood. The thick and cloying scent of decay permeates my every sense.
She Who Tends the Dead. Faye Random. Truthspeaker. Linewalker. She has many names and none. I asked her, long ago, which she preferred. I have no preference, she told me, and so I chose none.
"As you will it, Innomé,” I say to her. I fall silent as she turns to greet her son.
We lay our offering at her feet. I stare, transfixed, as the bones are picked clean before my eyes. All that remains of the stag’s body disappears into the sea of crushed, white bone under our heels. Hers is a power that chills me to the core, a foreign feeling that settles in my belly like cold iron, untouchable by even the fire that I possess.
I would be lying if I said I was not ill at ease. My only comfort is in knowing I have Salvador by my side. Were he not with me, I do not think I could stand to dwell here for very long. It is a place for the dead and those who walk its line, not the living. I look to Salvador, but I have trouble defining what it is that I see upon his face. Is it peace? Equanimity, perhaps. A quiet sort of contentment. He is at his leisure in this place.
Later, both he and She find me studying the blood tree. Salvador invites me to touch it. My hands slide across its slick surface, consisting of pulsing veins all twisted together to form a tall trunk. Its puissance is undeniable. This, I know without having to ask, is the wellspring from which Salvador draws his power to unmake all that which is made. I see him smiling at me and I smile back.
Trinkets dangle from its drooping, vine-like branches. A razor blade necklace with a heart punched through the center. The ring that Sal gave me to call upon his mother, which I gave back to him unused. The hook swords he uses sometimes. I look up its long body to the top. It is twice my height. Faye tells me it grows as He grows, a foot for every year.
I should like to see it taller than even the Redwoods, I think to myself.
The tree is the one thing in the Bone Grove, apart from Salvador himself, that I find even remotely comforting. It even has a heartbeat. I press myself to the trunk without a care for the blood that coats it, and listen to the steady beat that pulses within it.
“It’s not yours,” I decide. I would know his heartbeat by touch alone.
My eyes find Salvador’s and he shakes his head. "It belongs to a friend. I'm keeping it safe."
I make my place at the foot of the tree, resting my back against it, feeling the steady pulse of its blood-power though the thin material of my shirt as it flows up from the ground in which it is rooted. Beside me sits Salvador and beside him, Faye. We three sit together like this for so long that time begins to blur.
I learn that while She sleeps, She dreams of his life. She knows everything, and still She wants to hear it all from his lips. I do not blame Her. I, too, love to hear him speak. There is nothing he tells Her that I do not already know, every little insipid detail of the winter season. I do not interfere or invite myself into their conversation, if it can even be called that; I simply listen, even when the topic moves on to heartache and Salvador bends his head to lay in her lap. Faye combs her fingers through his hair. I hold his hand. Together we give him all that we can. She, the gentle touch only a mother can provide and I, my love for him in the warmth of my silent, steadfast presence.
Before we leave, I lay a frangible shaft of dead snapdragons on the head of the gravemarker. I cannot read the words that are written there, but the flowers are not for whomever it marks. I leave them for Her. A simple token of my gratitude.
Re: de l'esprit
Saturday. April 2, 2016
“If I show you, it’ll stick with you. It’ll be yours as much as mine. Are you sure?”
They say hindsight’s 20/20. I should have known better. We’ve done this before, it was just like déjà vu. I shared a memory with him, let him into my mind so he could take it from the source, see and feel and experience all that I had experienced. When it was over, I regretted the intrusion on my mind. I’d invited him in, but it was almost like a violation. Now here we were, a year and a half later, out of our fucking minds in love and making the same mistakes.
Maybe I shouldn’t call it a mistake. I just didn’t know how difficult it would be for me to differentiate. I didn’t fully understand. It’s not his fault, he tried to tell me, but I was more concentrated on wanting to better understand what was bothering him instead of worrying about the effect it would have on me when all was said and done.
“Once upon a time I gave ya memories I maybe shouldn’ve.”
It would make us even. A long time ago I’d given him something awful that I shouldn’t have. It was only fair that he give me something difficult to carry in return. But I was not prepared for what I saw.
“Close your eyes,” he whispered. “Lie back.”
When it started, it felt almost like I was in a dream. The kind of dream when you know you’re dreaming. At some point, however, I couldn’t tell where I stopped and Sal began. Suddenly it was me; it was all happening to me.
And when it was done…?
There was the briefest moment of clarity in which I knew that I was the most stupid fucking idiot on the planet. I understood, then, exactly what Salvador meant. We had laid in the sand with our feet in the water for god only knows how long as he copied his memory from his mind to mine. It had been nighttime in the dream; now that we were back in the present, I found myself staring up at the sun until it burned my eyes.
Salvador’s head was on my chest. My heart was still pounding. It felt like I was wading through tangible emotion. A thick fog, a haze. My moment of clarity came and went in the blink of an eye and suddenly I was having trouble parsing which was real -- my own feelings and the ones that belonged to Sal.
My memories -- his memories -- they made me feel… I don’t quite know. The best way I can think to describe it is the different colored waters where two seas come together. It’s all one body of water, there is nothing separating them, but they are distinctly their own. And yet not. It’s too confusing.
The memory Sal had shared with me became my own. It was as though I had lived it; it had all happened to me. I could think back and recall the scents that surrounded me, the emotions I had felt, every thought that passed through my mind at any given time. At the same time, another copy overlapped this memory that was now my own. In this copy I knew it was Salvador’s memory and not mine. But in too many places this copy was hardly visible. I couldn’t discern between the two.
The lie left me feeling ashamed. It gave me feelings that made my chest ache, and left me with a rush of love and blind devotion for a man who had taken me for himself. I liked that he had claimed me. But the truth struggled to be seen. When it shone through the lie, I was left feeling more than shame. I felt dirty and heartbroken for the man that I truly loved. Rage and fire bubbled up inside me. I was so consumed by hatred that I wanted to light the fucking world on fire.
Sal tried to keep me grounded; he pulled me up out of the enticing darkness of the lie, but perhaps it would have been kinder to leave me floundering in the in-between. Out here, in the light, it was too much for me. In some ways, the memory had been better than what I’d imagined, but in others… it was worse. So much worse. And like a punch to the gut it left me reeling, gasping for air that did not seem to fill my lungs properly. There was no satisfaction.
I let Sal try to comfort me, I could feel his body close to mine, which was trembling -- from shock? More like anger. I was doing a poor job of keeping myself contained. I tried so goddamn hard to focus on the cool touch of his hands on my neck, to look into his eyes and not let myself be swept away by my fury, but his eyes… all I could imagine was that same pair of eyes wide and confused, panicked and humiliated.
I snapped.
Salvador is mine. My love. My life.
Grief took hold of me as I thought about his being debased for the sake of someone’s amusement. Being used -- and worse, abused. There was no other word for it and it made me sick. I wanted so much in that moment to find his abuser and nail him to a tree. See how he liked being utterly helpless while I played with him. Would it be as fun for him as it would be for me when I split his belly open to paint the ground with his innards?
I hate this man.
It is just like me to lose control. Salvador refused to leave my side, and for that I am grateful. I don’t know what would have happened if he wasn’t there. I don’t know where I would be right now or what I would be doing. Something, I’m sure, that I would have regretted if only because It is probably the only thing I could ever do to make Salvador hate me. So when I dragged myself into the frigid waters of the ocean just a few feet away, he came with me. My fire fought against his ice. The ocean boiled around us as I struggled to maintain my sanity and he never let me go, not once.
When at last he was able to lead me back onto the beach, we lay beside one another atop our blanket in the sand and said nothing of what had transpired in the water. Salvador had no idea that the time we spent clutching one another, being buffeted by the waves, was my attempt at comforting him. I knew he had no idea that I found the memory unspeakably wrong. I couldn’t have put my thoughts to words out there in the water anyhow, but after we were wrapped up on the shore, I felt compelled to speak.
A part of me feels guilty for shattering his bubble of ignorance. But I’d have been doing him a disservice not to point out the wrong-doing. The truth is better, no matter how much it hurts. He deserves better, no -- the best. Nothing but the best.
I’m afraid of what I’ll do when I see him again. I don’t even want to think his name. Just the idea of it leaves a sour, acrid taste on my tongue.
That’s what I tasted in my mouth when I saw his picture this evening. At first I could only feel the lie. The swell of affection and adoration. A want and a need to feel him pressed against me. But the truth of it came swimming to the surface and my first instinct was to leave, immediately; track the son of a bitch -- yes he’s the bitch -- down. I want to kill him, but I can’t do that. Sal would hate me. It’s the only reason I haven’t already.
-----
Repulsed by the knowledge that he’d have to tolerate this man’s existence for the rest of eternity, Cane planted a hand on the wall of the bathroom stall as he leaned over the toilet and emptied his stomach of alcohol and bile. Now all he could focus on was the revulsion of having forgotten the truth for the lie. When his stomach was so empty that it ached to heave, he exited the stall. Canaan bent over the sink and let the water run for several minutes, during which he washed his hands and rinsed his mouth, then splashed some cool water on his face.
Cane finally turned the water off and reached for some paper towels to dry his face. He stared into the mirror for six whole seconds, seeing someone else’s face in place of his reflection.
“Fuck.”
“If I show you, it’ll stick with you. It’ll be yours as much as mine. Are you sure?”
They say hindsight’s 20/20. I should have known better. We’ve done this before, it was just like déjà vu. I shared a memory with him, let him into my mind so he could take it from the source, see and feel and experience all that I had experienced. When it was over, I regretted the intrusion on my mind. I’d invited him in, but it was almost like a violation. Now here we were, a year and a half later, out of our fucking minds in love and making the same mistakes.
Maybe I shouldn’t call it a mistake. I just didn’t know how difficult it would be for me to differentiate. I didn’t fully understand. It’s not his fault, he tried to tell me, but I was more concentrated on wanting to better understand what was bothering him instead of worrying about the effect it would have on me when all was said and done.
“Once upon a time I gave ya memories I maybe shouldn’ve.”
It would make us even. A long time ago I’d given him something awful that I shouldn’t have. It was only fair that he give me something difficult to carry in return. But I was not prepared for what I saw.
“Close your eyes,” he whispered. “Lie back.”
When it started, it felt almost like I was in a dream. The kind of dream when you know you’re dreaming. At some point, however, I couldn’t tell where I stopped and Sal began. Suddenly it was me; it was all happening to me.
And when it was done…?
There was the briefest moment of clarity in which I knew that I was the most stupid fucking idiot on the planet. I understood, then, exactly what Salvador meant. We had laid in the sand with our feet in the water for god only knows how long as he copied his memory from his mind to mine. It had been nighttime in the dream; now that we were back in the present, I found myself staring up at the sun until it burned my eyes.
Salvador’s head was on my chest. My heart was still pounding. It felt like I was wading through tangible emotion. A thick fog, a haze. My moment of clarity came and went in the blink of an eye and suddenly I was having trouble parsing which was real -- my own feelings and the ones that belonged to Sal.
My memories -- his memories -- they made me feel… I don’t quite know. The best way I can think to describe it is the different colored waters where two seas come together. It’s all one body of water, there is nothing separating them, but they are distinctly their own. And yet not. It’s too confusing.
The memory Sal had shared with me became my own. It was as though I had lived it; it had all happened to me. I could think back and recall the scents that surrounded me, the emotions I had felt, every thought that passed through my mind at any given time. At the same time, another copy overlapped this memory that was now my own. In this copy I knew it was Salvador’s memory and not mine. But in too many places this copy was hardly visible. I couldn’t discern between the two.
The lie left me feeling ashamed. It gave me feelings that made my chest ache, and left me with a rush of love and blind devotion for a man who had taken me for himself. I liked that he had claimed me. But the truth struggled to be seen. When it shone through the lie, I was left feeling more than shame. I felt dirty and heartbroken for the man that I truly loved. Rage and fire bubbled up inside me. I was so consumed by hatred that I wanted to light the fucking world on fire.
Sal tried to keep me grounded; he pulled me up out of the enticing darkness of the lie, but perhaps it would have been kinder to leave me floundering in the in-between. Out here, in the light, it was too much for me. In some ways, the memory had been better than what I’d imagined, but in others… it was worse. So much worse. And like a punch to the gut it left me reeling, gasping for air that did not seem to fill my lungs properly. There was no satisfaction.
I let Sal try to comfort me, I could feel his body close to mine, which was trembling -- from shock? More like anger. I was doing a poor job of keeping myself contained. I tried so goddamn hard to focus on the cool touch of his hands on my neck, to look into his eyes and not let myself be swept away by my fury, but his eyes… all I could imagine was that same pair of eyes wide and confused, panicked and humiliated.
I snapped.
Salvador is mine. My love. My life.
Grief took hold of me as I thought about his being debased for the sake of someone’s amusement. Being used -- and worse, abused. There was no other word for it and it made me sick. I wanted so much in that moment to find his abuser and nail him to a tree. See how he liked being utterly helpless while I played with him. Would it be as fun for him as it would be for me when I split his belly open to paint the ground with his innards?
I hate this man.
It is just like me to lose control. Salvador refused to leave my side, and for that I am grateful. I don’t know what would have happened if he wasn’t there. I don’t know where I would be right now or what I would be doing. Something, I’m sure, that I would have regretted if only because It is probably the only thing I could ever do to make Salvador hate me. So when I dragged myself into the frigid waters of the ocean just a few feet away, he came with me. My fire fought against his ice. The ocean boiled around us as I struggled to maintain my sanity and he never let me go, not once.
When at last he was able to lead me back onto the beach, we lay beside one another atop our blanket in the sand and said nothing of what had transpired in the water. Salvador had no idea that the time we spent clutching one another, being buffeted by the waves, was my attempt at comforting him. I knew he had no idea that I found the memory unspeakably wrong. I couldn’t have put my thoughts to words out there in the water anyhow, but after we were wrapped up on the shore, I felt compelled to speak.
A part of me feels guilty for shattering his bubble of ignorance. But I’d have been doing him a disservice not to point out the wrong-doing. The truth is better, no matter how much it hurts. He deserves better, no -- the best. Nothing but the best.
I’m afraid of what I’ll do when I see him again. I don’t even want to think his name. Just the idea of it leaves a sour, acrid taste on my tongue.
That’s what I tasted in my mouth when I saw his picture this evening. At first I could only feel the lie. The swell of affection and adoration. A want and a need to feel him pressed against me. But the truth of it came swimming to the surface and my first instinct was to leave, immediately; track the son of a bitch -- yes he’s the bitch -- down. I want to kill him, but I can’t do that. Sal would hate me. It’s the only reason I haven’t already.
-----
Repulsed by the knowledge that he’d have to tolerate this man’s existence for the rest of eternity, Cane planted a hand on the wall of the bathroom stall as he leaned over the toilet and emptied his stomach of alcohol and bile. Now all he could focus on was the revulsion of having forgotten the truth for the lie. When his stomach was so empty that it ached to heave, he exited the stall. Canaan bent over the sink and let the water run for several minutes, during which he washed his hands and rinsed his mouth, then splashed some cool water on his face.
Cane finally turned the water off and reached for some paper towels to dry his face. He stared into the mirror for six whole seconds, seeing someone else’s face in place of his reflection.
“Fuck.”
Re: de l'esprit
Sunday. April 10, 2016
I made my way through the room to find him after making my rounds; he had tucked himself into a quiet corner where he were least likely to be bothered. His smile grew the closer I got. I don’t think he knows what that smile does to me.
To think there was a time when it was rare. I remember that, you know. When he was so guarded that he kept everything hidden behind a carefully kept wall. I’m so happy he let me in.
Sal pulled me down into his lap and stole a kiss from the corner of my mouth. We sat like that, his arms tucked around my waist and one of mine around his shoulders, enjoying the contented quiet while we watched the duels. There wasn’t anything that needed saying just then. The silent intimacy of simple togetherness had me bleeding heat all over the place. I didn’t even realize it until he sagged against me, sighing pleasurably, eyelids drooping.
I like being with Sal. I like being near him. We don’t have to be doing anything crazy to keep me interested. Fuck, I’m thrilled simply to know that he wants me close. They say that only those who have lost something precious are truly capable of fully appreciating what they have. It would probably be wrong of me to claim that I feel more deeply for Salvador than someone else for their loved one, but I’ve loved and lost -- lost everything -- and I know that I don’t take any moment we share for granted. I love all of the mundane, what others might call insipid, moments of our lives. The things we do are intentional. When we’re together, I know it’s because we want to be, not because it’s habit.
He was so relaxed, so content, it probably wasn’t fair of me to interrupt that. But I did. I’m not even sure what sparked me to bring it up.
"Did I tell you Micah called me? While we was in Spain."
Sal didn’t respond right away, and when he did, it was quiet and drowsy. “No.”
I sucked in a deep breath, held it, and then let it out while crunching down on what was left of my sucker. "Yeah," I mumbled, reaching up to pluck the empty stick out of my mouth. I twirled it between my fingers and thumb, looking down at the tiny chip of blue still attached to top.
My sister and her husband told me more than a year ago that they were going on vacation. That was the last I’d heard from them. I received no invitation to their wedding, no birth announcement when their daughter was born. They didn’t even tell me where they were going. It took my killing Nash for them to contact me. And when they did? Micah made it sound like everything was peachy keen.
Eventually I stirred from my thoughts and flicked the sucker stick away. It bounced off the table and onto the floor. "Left me a message. I don' have it anymore. I deleted it. ‘So I was sitting here, enjoying the Italian sunrise, when I get a call from Nola. What the fuck did you do? Call me, you stupid fucking idiot. Love you.’” I took a drink from my beer to hide my restlessness. "Dat's what it said. Been havin' a hell of a time decidin' whether or not I should call 'em back."
It wasn’t until I felt the chill of Salvador’s power where his arm lay against my waist that I realized my mistake. I looked up at his face. There was the faintest glow in his eyes. He turned one hand off the other, whispering something under his breath. Tiny, tiny tendrils of red roots sprouted from the floor to twine around the sucker stick and dissolve it into so much dust. The minor energy flux that had pooled around us to contend with my heat dissipated and he tucked his hand back against the other right on my hip.
"I wouldn't," he murmured. "Fuck them."
I didn’t answer him immediately. My eyes were still fixed on the spot where my sucker stick had landed, dumbfounded that I’d allowed himself to make such an error. I’ve made enemies who mean to do me harm. I know first hand what magic could be done with discarded personal items, especially ones that had biological traces on them. My mind was a cloudy, murky mess of thought and emotion. Just thinking about my sister, her husband, their child… their notable absence from my life, it had driven me to distraction. What would I do without Salvador?
I shook my head to clear it of thought. "Yeah. I say dat to myself a lot." I repeated it right then for good measure. "Fuck dem." I sucked in a deep breath. "But I don' know. Another part 'a me doesn' seem ta be able ta let go."
"They left and built a new life without you, without telling you. Your niece was born, and they never told you. He calls, while we're in Spain, after... what happened." I didn’t blame him for not saying spelling it out. "What makes you think you'll be received any differently with them than you were with your friends in Paris? 'What did you do?' This says to me he's already painted you as guilty, just as they did. Why expose yourself to that?"
I’m a man who values the truth, no matter how much it hurts. That doesn’t mean I’m not affected when that truth cuts me to the quick. I just prefer it to a lie. Lies hurt even more when they’re discovered, and I always find out. I knew that Salvador was spot on with everything he said, but having it spoken with such matter-of-factness and callousness… it felt like he’d punched me in the stomach and then kicked me while I was down. I straightened up, collecting myself along with my expression, which became unreadable to anyone who might have looked in our direction. I didn’t want anyone seeing how much it hurt. Of course, I realized that Salvador would know by my reaction how his words affected me. I tried to make myself relax against him, release the tension in my spine and shoulders until I was resting against his chest again in my usual slouch, but the damage was done.
"Lo siento," Sal murmured. His arms loosened considerably and became more of a drape around my waist than an actual hold.
He tried to divert my attention to the dueling, seeking to help me find distraction in a good fight. I gave it some consideration, but couldn’t stop thinking about what he said. I twisted away from him, unwinding my arm from around his shoulders to face forward, put my elbows on my knees and stared at the floor.
"Don' be sorry,” I finally said. “It's de truth."
Salvador said nothing. The loose drape of his arms turned into just his hands settled on my hips, fingers slowly hooking through a belt loop on either side. Several minutes later, he tried again, pointing out another dueler looking for a fight. I turned it down once more. He raised a hand to touch between my shoulders and pulled it lightly down over my spine.
I'd had every intention of getting up to find a bottle of bourbon to take home with us, but the light touch of fingers sliding down the length of my spine was enough to keep me firmly rooted on Sal's lap. He knows me well. Better, I think, than anyone I’ve ever encountered. I rounded my shoulders and tucked my chin close to my chest. I loved when he did this. It didn’t matter that my jacket was in the way. As if reading my thoughts, when his hand reached the base of my spine, he tucked it up under my jacket, and shirt, to push his cool hand back up along the scales. The edges of my scales caught and raise as Sal's cool fingertips slid against the grain. I sighed in satisfaction as those same fingers stroked all the way back down the warmed, silky reptilian stripe of skin along my spine. So soothing.
"Would you like to go hunting?"
I shook my head faintly. "It ain' like-- I'm not... mad." And what I was would not be helped by a rampage through Faerie. But that he cared enough to want to make me feel better was the best feeling in the world. Salvador has always been attentive to my wants and needs. He’s here for me, supports me. I can count on him to have my back. This relationship, our partnership, is the only reliable thing in my life. So much as gone wrong, so many people have disappeared from my life, but not him. He’s here and he’s made it abundantly clear that it’s because he wants to be.
Sitting up suddenly, I twisted around to catch Sal's jaw with my nearer hand, holding him still so I could plant a kiss on his lips. Hard, but short-lived. "Thank you, though." I couldn’t thank him enough for being himself.
Sal made a surprised but also absolutely pleased noise against my mouth. He pulled one hand across the back of my right hip and smiled. "De nada." Then he tilted forward more to touch a much more gentle kiss on my lips, murmuring afterward, "Te amo."
My grip on Sal's jaw loosened up until my fingers slipped away entirely, sliding down the front of his throat and out to the side to brush a few knuckles across the tattoo hidden by his shirt. "I love you, too.”
I’ll never be able to tell him how much I really do, there aren’t enough words or ways to say it. I’ll just have to keep showing him.
I made my way through the room to find him after making my rounds; he had tucked himself into a quiet corner where he were least likely to be bothered. His smile grew the closer I got. I don’t think he knows what that smile does to me.
To think there was a time when it was rare. I remember that, you know. When he was so guarded that he kept everything hidden behind a carefully kept wall. I’m so happy he let me in.
Sal pulled me down into his lap and stole a kiss from the corner of my mouth. We sat like that, his arms tucked around my waist and one of mine around his shoulders, enjoying the contented quiet while we watched the duels. There wasn’t anything that needed saying just then. The silent intimacy of simple togetherness had me bleeding heat all over the place. I didn’t even realize it until he sagged against me, sighing pleasurably, eyelids drooping.
I like being with Sal. I like being near him. We don’t have to be doing anything crazy to keep me interested. Fuck, I’m thrilled simply to know that he wants me close. They say that only those who have lost something precious are truly capable of fully appreciating what they have. It would probably be wrong of me to claim that I feel more deeply for Salvador than someone else for their loved one, but I’ve loved and lost -- lost everything -- and I know that I don’t take any moment we share for granted. I love all of the mundane, what others might call insipid, moments of our lives. The things we do are intentional. When we’re together, I know it’s because we want to be, not because it’s habit.
He was so relaxed, so content, it probably wasn’t fair of me to interrupt that. But I did. I’m not even sure what sparked me to bring it up.
"Did I tell you Micah called me? While we was in Spain."
Sal didn’t respond right away, and when he did, it was quiet and drowsy. “No.”
I sucked in a deep breath, held it, and then let it out while crunching down on what was left of my sucker. "Yeah," I mumbled, reaching up to pluck the empty stick out of my mouth. I twirled it between my fingers and thumb, looking down at the tiny chip of blue still attached to top.
My sister and her husband told me more than a year ago that they were going on vacation. That was the last I’d heard from them. I received no invitation to their wedding, no birth announcement when their daughter was born. They didn’t even tell me where they were going. It took my killing Nash for them to contact me. And when they did? Micah made it sound like everything was peachy keen.
Eventually I stirred from my thoughts and flicked the sucker stick away. It bounced off the table and onto the floor. "Left me a message. I don' have it anymore. I deleted it. ‘So I was sitting here, enjoying the Italian sunrise, when I get a call from Nola. What the fuck did you do? Call me, you stupid fucking idiot. Love you.’” I took a drink from my beer to hide my restlessness. "Dat's what it said. Been havin' a hell of a time decidin' whether or not I should call 'em back."
It wasn’t until I felt the chill of Salvador’s power where his arm lay against my waist that I realized my mistake. I looked up at his face. There was the faintest glow in his eyes. He turned one hand off the other, whispering something under his breath. Tiny, tiny tendrils of red roots sprouted from the floor to twine around the sucker stick and dissolve it into so much dust. The minor energy flux that had pooled around us to contend with my heat dissipated and he tucked his hand back against the other right on my hip.
"I wouldn't," he murmured. "Fuck them."
I didn’t answer him immediately. My eyes were still fixed on the spot where my sucker stick had landed, dumbfounded that I’d allowed himself to make such an error. I’ve made enemies who mean to do me harm. I know first hand what magic could be done with discarded personal items, especially ones that had biological traces on them. My mind was a cloudy, murky mess of thought and emotion. Just thinking about my sister, her husband, their child… their notable absence from my life, it had driven me to distraction. What would I do without Salvador?
I shook my head to clear it of thought. "Yeah. I say dat to myself a lot." I repeated it right then for good measure. "Fuck dem." I sucked in a deep breath. "But I don' know. Another part 'a me doesn' seem ta be able ta let go."
"They left and built a new life without you, without telling you. Your niece was born, and they never told you. He calls, while we're in Spain, after... what happened." I didn’t blame him for not saying spelling it out. "What makes you think you'll be received any differently with them than you were with your friends in Paris? 'What did you do?' This says to me he's already painted you as guilty, just as they did. Why expose yourself to that?"
I’m a man who values the truth, no matter how much it hurts. That doesn’t mean I’m not affected when that truth cuts me to the quick. I just prefer it to a lie. Lies hurt even more when they’re discovered, and I always find out. I knew that Salvador was spot on with everything he said, but having it spoken with such matter-of-factness and callousness… it felt like he’d punched me in the stomach and then kicked me while I was down. I straightened up, collecting myself along with my expression, which became unreadable to anyone who might have looked in our direction. I didn’t want anyone seeing how much it hurt. Of course, I realized that Salvador would know by my reaction how his words affected me. I tried to make myself relax against him, release the tension in my spine and shoulders until I was resting against his chest again in my usual slouch, but the damage was done.
"Lo siento," Sal murmured. His arms loosened considerably and became more of a drape around my waist than an actual hold.
He tried to divert my attention to the dueling, seeking to help me find distraction in a good fight. I gave it some consideration, but couldn’t stop thinking about what he said. I twisted away from him, unwinding my arm from around his shoulders to face forward, put my elbows on my knees and stared at the floor.
"Don' be sorry,” I finally said. “It's de truth."
Salvador said nothing. The loose drape of his arms turned into just his hands settled on my hips, fingers slowly hooking through a belt loop on either side. Several minutes later, he tried again, pointing out another dueler looking for a fight. I turned it down once more. He raised a hand to touch between my shoulders and pulled it lightly down over my spine.
I'd had every intention of getting up to find a bottle of bourbon to take home with us, but the light touch of fingers sliding down the length of my spine was enough to keep me firmly rooted on Sal's lap. He knows me well. Better, I think, than anyone I’ve ever encountered. I rounded my shoulders and tucked my chin close to my chest. I loved when he did this. It didn’t matter that my jacket was in the way. As if reading my thoughts, when his hand reached the base of my spine, he tucked it up under my jacket, and shirt, to push his cool hand back up along the scales. The edges of my scales caught and raise as Sal's cool fingertips slid against the grain. I sighed in satisfaction as those same fingers stroked all the way back down the warmed, silky reptilian stripe of skin along my spine. So soothing.
"Would you like to go hunting?"
I shook my head faintly. "It ain' like-- I'm not... mad." And what I was would not be helped by a rampage through Faerie. But that he cared enough to want to make me feel better was the best feeling in the world. Salvador has always been attentive to my wants and needs. He’s here for me, supports me. I can count on him to have my back. This relationship, our partnership, is the only reliable thing in my life. So much as gone wrong, so many people have disappeared from my life, but not him. He’s here and he’s made it abundantly clear that it’s because he wants to be.
Sitting up suddenly, I twisted around to catch Sal's jaw with my nearer hand, holding him still so I could plant a kiss on his lips. Hard, but short-lived. "Thank you, though." I couldn’t thank him enough for being himself.
Sal made a surprised but also absolutely pleased noise against my mouth. He pulled one hand across the back of my right hip and smiled. "De nada." Then he tilted forward more to touch a much more gentle kiss on my lips, murmuring afterward, "Te amo."
My grip on Sal's jaw loosened up until my fingers slipped away entirely, sliding down the front of his throat and out to the side to brush a few knuckles across the tattoo hidden by his shirt. "I love you, too.”
I’ll never be able to tell him how much I really do, there aren’t enough words or ways to say it. I’ll just have to keep showing him.
Last edited by Canaan on Mon Aug 12, 2019 11:03 am, edited 1 time in total.
Re: de l'esprit
Tuesday. April 19, 2016
“What happened to the both of you to make you so distrustful?”
If you only knew. I could tell you; I could obliterate your naïve, ingenuous outlook on life so quickly and with so few words. I could ruin your innocence easily, but I won’t. You simply don’t understand. Children rarely do. I suppose I can’t hold that against you.
-----
“Is it… is it really so weird that I might like both of you? That you’re both valuable --that’s the wrong word, that you both matter to me -- for different reasons? I’ve been crossing my fingers that Sal didn’t hate me since long before I started picking up things off you, Cane.”
“You’ve given me no reason to hate you at all.”
Her smile was a dim one. “That’s good news.” Her narrow chest lifting in a long sigh, the girl pushed it out again, ruffling a few loose strands of violet. “...Sorry. I didn’t mean to … lash out like that. I just. I don’t have many feelings of my own an’ I know the difference between the borrowed ones and the ones that come from me.”
“For now.” Salvador was skeptical, though.
Seeing the girl’s smile grow deepened the set of Cane’s frown. “You misunderstand,” he interjected. “He isn’t talking about you not giving him a reason to hate you. He meant that you’re able to differentiate what’s borrowed versus what belongs to you.”
-----
I wish I could make you understand.
You asked me to teach you how to keep others from getting inside your mind, yet you admit to delving deeply into the minds of others. You don’t even know the extent of the ramifications yet. But how could you? It will likely end up being one of those things you must learn for yourself.
Learning the hard way is unpleasant, kid. Trust me.
“What happened to the both of you to make you so distrustful?”
If you only knew. I could tell you; I could obliterate your naïve, ingenuous outlook on life so quickly and with so few words. I could ruin your innocence easily, but I won’t. You simply don’t understand. Children rarely do. I suppose I can’t hold that against you.
-----
“Is it… is it really so weird that I might like both of you? That you’re both valuable --that’s the wrong word, that you both matter to me -- for different reasons? I’ve been crossing my fingers that Sal didn’t hate me since long before I started picking up things off you, Cane.”
“You’ve given me no reason to hate you at all.”
Her smile was a dim one. “That’s good news.” Her narrow chest lifting in a long sigh, the girl pushed it out again, ruffling a few loose strands of violet. “...Sorry. I didn’t mean to … lash out like that. I just. I don’t have many feelings of my own an’ I know the difference between the borrowed ones and the ones that come from me.”
“For now.” Salvador was skeptical, though.
Seeing the girl’s smile grow deepened the set of Cane’s frown. “You misunderstand,” he interjected. “He isn’t talking about you not giving him a reason to hate you. He meant that you’re able to differentiate what’s borrowed versus what belongs to you.”
-----
I wish I could make you understand.
You asked me to teach you how to keep others from getting inside your mind, yet you admit to delving deeply into the minds of others. You don’t even know the extent of the ramifications yet. But how could you? It will likely end up being one of those things you must learn for yourself.
Learning the hard way is unpleasant, kid. Trust me.
Re: de l'esprit
Thursday. April 21, 2016
"Word traveled. When I asked 'er why she was here, she told me it wasn' 'cause of anything I'd done."
"You didn't do anything at all."
"Apparently I am a fantastic villain."
"I should tell them what happened. If they want to blame somebody, it should be me, not you."
"It wouldn' change anything. Though... I'm curious now what's going on in New Orleans if people are hearin' about it all de way in New York."
"We could go. Or you could. Or I could for you."
"I don' know what I want. I'm curious, but at de same time... a big part 'a me never wants ta go back. Dere's nothing left for me. But I'll let you know when I figure it out."
-----
I wish you were here to give me advice. I wish you could tell me what to do. You were good at that. I think you knew me better than I knew myself sometimes. You always knew just what to say.
It feels like unfinished business. You know how much I hate that. I don’t know what to do, and I hate that, too. The whole situation is one big cluster****, I can’t think straight. It all fell apart so quickly, dominoes falling one after the other. All because I just had to have my revenge. That’s what started this. I thought retribution would feel better, you know? I mean, I’m glad Waters is dead, but all that happened since then because of it has only served to make me feel even worse. It didn’t bring you back -- not that I thought it would. What was I thinking? That’s the only thing that could set that part of myself at ease; changing the past, having you here with me again. But that can’t happen and all I did was mess up everything else by--
I can’t dwell on that. What’s done is done. My only direction is ahead, I have to move forward. Like a mantra I repeat it every day: Forward motion, keep going, don’t dwell.
You’d tell me to start walking. That much I know. ’You gotta start walkin’ if you wanna get anywhere.’ I am walking. I’ve been trying to keep moving, but something’s got a hold on me. Keeps me looking over my shoulder. There’s this niggling irritation that won’t… I can’t even describe it. But it won’t let me get very far. I have this feeling like I need to go there, but for what? Like I told Sal, there’s nothing left.
Our family, the one we shared, they’re beyond my reach. It’d be cruel to show myself to them now; I’d have to craft so many lies. I’d stir up heartache. I don’t want to do that, I don’t want to hurt them. Even if I kept my distance and watched them from afar… then I’d be the one aching. Even more than I already am.
The ones I left behind in NOLA are a mystery. What happened with Nash has made its rounds, though, I suppose maybe it could have been Cris who told Salome about that. Regardless, my family has made it clear that I’m not welcome after what I did. Knowing how well-loved Nash was… I expect hostility from those I called friend. So why go back? It’s not like I plan to live there again. My life is here.
The only reason I had for wanting to go back someday was… stupid, I guess. Probably wouldn’t have happened, even if none of this had fallen apart like it did. Like I said, my life is here. My life with Sal is here. But I wanted to involve him in that part, for him to know he was welcome in every aspect of my life, including the pieces that were on Earth. I tried a couple times to introduce him to what little family I had left. What can I say? He makes me happy. I feel like a new person now. I wanted everyone to see that change and to meet the man that helped spark it.
But I never got the chance, not with him anyway. And now it’s all gone to hell.
Sure, I could still show Sal around town if I wanted to, but it’s not the same. Besides, it’s not the places I wanted to show him, it was the people. People matter most to me and now the only ones I’ve got left are his friends that I made my own, so there’s no reason to go back.
Why, then, can I not stop thinking about it?
I miss sitting around the firepit in the backyard, playing music with you while we hashed out all of life’s problems. I dunno… maybe you wouldn’t have a solution. I’m starting to think there isn’t one for this and it’s just wishful thinking on my part, pretending like you’d have the answers.
Maybe I need closure or some stupid **** like that. Or maybe I just miss you terribly today.
"Word traveled. When I asked 'er why she was here, she told me it wasn' 'cause of anything I'd done."
"You didn't do anything at all."
"Apparently I am a fantastic villain."
"I should tell them what happened. If they want to blame somebody, it should be me, not you."
"It wouldn' change anything. Though... I'm curious now what's going on in New Orleans if people are hearin' about it all de way in New York."
"We could go. Or you could. Or I could for you."
"I don' know what I want. I'm curious, but at de same time... a big part 'a me never wants ta go back. Dere's nothing left for me. But I'll let you know when I figure it out."
-----
I wish you were here to give me advice. I wish you could tell me what to do. You were good at that. I think you knew me better than I knew myself sometimes. You always knew just what to say.
It feels like unfinished business. You know how much I hate that. I don’t know what to do, and I hate that, too. The whole situation is one big cluster****, I can’t think straight. It all fell apart so quickly, dominoes falling one after the other. All because I just had to have my revenge. That’s what started this. I thought retribution would feel better, you know? I mean, I’m glad Waters is dead, but all that happened since then because of it has only served to make me feel even worse. It didn’t bring you back -- not that I thought it would. What was I thinking? That’s the only thing that could set that part of myself at ease; changing the past, having you here with me again. But that can’t happen and all I did was mess up everything else by--
I can’t dwell on that. What’s done is done. My only direction is ahead, I have to move forward. Like a mantra I repeat it every day: Forward motion, keep going, don’t dwell.
You’d tell me to start walking. That much I know. ’You gotta start walkin’ if you wanna get anywhere.’ I am walking. I’ve been trying to keep moving, but something’s got a hold on me. Keeps me looking over my shoulder. There’s this niggling irritation that won’t… I can’t even describe it. But it won’t let me get very far. I have this feeling like I need to go there, but for what? Like I told Sal, there’s nothing left.
Our family, the one we shared, they’re beyond my reach. It’d be cruel to show myself to them now; I’d have to craft so many lies. I’d stir up heartache. I don’t want to do that, I don’t want to hurt them. Even if I kept my distance and watched them from afar… then I’d be the one aching. Even more than I already am.
The ones I left behind in NOLA are a mystery. What happened with Nash has made its rounds, though, I suppose maybe it could have been Cris who told Salome about that. Regardless, my family has made it clear that I’m not welcome after what I did. Knowing how well-loved Nash was… I expect hostility from those I called friend. So why go back? It’s not like I plan to live there again. My life is here.
The only reason I had for wanting to go back someday was… stupid, I guess. Probably wouldn’t have happened, even if none of this had fallen apart like it did. Like I said, my life is here. My life with Sal is here. But I wanted to involve him in that part, for him to know he was welcome in every aspect of my life, including the pieces that were on Earth. I tried a couple times to introduce him to what little family I had left. What can I say? He makes me happy. I feel like a new person now. I wanted everyone to see that change and to meet the man that helped spark it.
But I never got the chance, not with him anyway. And now it’s all gone to hell.
Sure, I could still show Sal around town if I wanted to, but it’s not the same. Besides, it’s not the places I wanted to show him, it was the people. People matter most to me and now the only ones I’ve got left are his friends that I made my own, so there’s no reason to go back.
Why, then, can I not stop thinking about it?
I miss sitting around the firepit in the backyard, playing music with you while we hashed out all of life’s problems. I dunno… maybe you wouldn’t have a solution. I’m starting to think there isn’t one for this and it’s just wishful thinking on my part, pretending like you’d have the answers.
Maybe I need closure or some stupid **** like that. Or maybe I just miss you terribly today.
Re: de l'esprit
Friday. April 29, 2016
-----
He was waiting for her on the Shanachie's fairgrounds. The amphitheater's pavilion had been covered in a large, whimsical tent that gave likeness to the sort used by traveling circuses. In the middle was a low stage, maybe thigh-high in height, that would give them ample room for the various performances that would take place in less than a week's time.
Canaan sat on the edge of the stage, framed by the white silks that hung down from a lead up above him in the scaffolding. The light pattering of rain on the tent was rather soothing -- perhaps a good thing, given how angry he'd been the night before. Today's session was sure to be a doozy, so he was thankful, for once, for the damp chilliness that hung in the air.
Every inch of Lirssa was tight as a wire. Her footfalls fell hard on the ground and vibrated up her body. As she made her way to the amphitheater, she stormed down the walkways taking as direct a route to the man on the stage as possible. Her hair was tied back. Clothing had been changed from simple flight garb to practice leotard and shorts.
Charging up to Canaan, she aimed a shove at his chest and snarled, "Selfish bitch, am I? That's what you think?"
Canaan's eyes were on Lirssa like a hawk's, narrowed minutely and never wavered. Even seated as he was, he still had a few inches on her, so it was fairly easy for him to keep upright when she made her move. Her calloused palms touched down on on the soft cotton of his baggy, long-sleeve shirt. It would be easy for her to feel the unnatural heat of his skin (warmer than usual today) through the thin fabric. He curled his lip, anger tainting every line of his expression.
So much for the soothing sound of the rain.
"Yeah. I do. Selfish little bitch of a girl who can't see the forest for the trees. It ain' like I would'a wanted ta know 'bout my friend dyin'. What'd you think to yerself? 'Nah, I ain' gonna tell Cane jack shit. It doesn' matter, Cris didn' like 'im anyway.'"
"You bastard!” Lirssa snapped. “I'm the selfish one? I lose someone who is near close as a brother to me, but by golly, let me just set aside that pain and that anger and make sure you and yours, who treated him like a leper, get the news!" She jumped up on the stage right next to him and glared down. "I'm not your fucking messenger girl, and I'm not your pet." It was too much to be still, so she began to pace. "Who told you?"
"Me an' mine?!" Canaan snarled as he got to his feet. They were bare and made little sound as he stalked after the woman to get right up in her face. "Dat asshole's de one who turned his back on us. Not de other way around. He didn' wanna be near us. He bailed, Lirssa, not me an' Sal. An' jes' who de fuck do you think you are? Presumin’ you know how much of a shit I give about him? You don' know shit!"
"And neither do you!" She could feel the heat radiating from him, and it only fed her own anger. Anger that was eating away at the shields of her gift. "You don't know, because you don't ask. You want folks to pour their hearts out to you, while you tell nothing." Hands curled into fists, and her eyes were wide and wild. "So, yeah, yeah, I don't know shit Because you won't tell. Even when I ask, you don't tell. You keep me apart. I get to be that curious thing you play with from… time to time."
Lirssa stepped away, arms spread out like she was ready to be stabbed. "So, you be mad at me. You go ahead. I'll match you anger for anger, you inflated, egotistical bastard."
The more Lirssa's shields broke down, the more Cane was able to feed off the anger that poured from her very heart of hearts. It built up inside him, growing, churning, just like the clouds overhead. The ashen sky grew darker; from light grey to charcoal and soot. Thunder rumbled overhead.
"The hell's this got ta do with anything? Me not tellin' you my goddamn life story ain' even on de same level as you not tellin' me about Cris." Cane's voice rose in volume along with his heart rate in tempo. "But see, I did ask you about dis, cher. I fuckin' asked you what was wrong. You told me y'all had a fallin' out ya couldn' fix. What de hell was I supposed ta do wit' dat? I don' get in between folks havin' issues. Ain' my business.
“Furthermore," he went on, sticking a finger in her face that practically shook from the intensity of his indignation. "I don' expect nobody ta pour their heart out ta me. You wanna know some'n? Den fuckin' ask!"
Lirssa’s arm circled swiftly, knocking his hand away from her face with the edge of her forearm as the circle came to its zenith. "I do ask. Once. One time you told me what was wrong, and I've never betrayed that confidence. I never will." Her voice had gone to the growling base of her register. Words were choked and brittle over a throat raw. "But Crispin was betrayed, his people were betrayed, and you embraced it. You couldn't stop it. Would you have? Why should I go running to tell you he had died? That's my question. Tell me why I should have stopped mourning my brother to tell the man who condoned his betrayal?"
A sudden swell of heat pulsed out of Canaan, the intensity of the cloying wave enough to be seen visibly as it rippled outward. Thunder crashed above them. The sound had the Cajun closing his eyes and drawing in a deep breath through his nose before he finally saddled Lirssa with an unsettling glare.
Her voice had dipped into the lower reaches of her tone; so had Cane’s. The deep bass pitch of his voice fairly rumbled with a growl. "Maybe you oughta look up what 'betrayal' means. Disloyalty. I don' owe fucking anything ta people who want me dead!" He'd yelled those last eight words, hurling them at her like they were weapons. "--Let alone a group 'a people who think I'm less than, beneath them. You wanna talk about folks being treated as lepers? How ‘bout you ask me how my people get treated by dem bastards?
“I never betrayed Cris -- I never gave him over to his enemies. But he sure fuckin' left me ta mine."
Anger upon anger, the heat, the rain, it all mixed together in a toxic cocktail with lack of sleep. Those words crushed and bruised Lirssa, the wall around her gift failing as the discordant notes of anger with sorrow brought them tumbling down like the fabled walls to a horn in some aged city. She stood trembling there at the inferno of his righteous rage. Her own anger turned, once more, against herself; at her failings. And she fell. The power surged out of her and into the only receptacle near to take it. Cane. The power was uncontrolled. In the in-between, Lir struggled to hold it back, feeling it pour from her like a dam broken.
It all happened so quickly. Lirssa's body deflated and Cane's seemed to lift as if he were a puppet pulled upright and taut by a string. He gasped as the surge of her power ran into him, filling him until he overflowed. They had done so many tests in the last near-year together, but nothing like this -- never the full might of her ability coupled with the entirety of his own. He'd always felt the results would be catastrophic; not something meant to be toyed with.
He had only a split second to make a decision.
The lights surrounding the stage blew out simultaneously, showering them in bits of glass and filament. The sheer volume of power coursing through him elicited a pained whine from the Cajun; muscles bunched and coiled, tense and flexed painfully tight. Rather than let the energy escape him like a supernova, which he knew would obliterate Lirssa in her proximity, Cane gathered his will and sent it up out of himself as a bolt of lightning that seared through the roof of the tent.
It was hot, it was loud, and it dropped him like a stone to the floor of a stage beside Lirssa.
She felt the power connect with Canaan, and the fear overcame the anger and the hurt. Worry and horror for what might happen scourged the rage away, and she grappled with the power, bottling it back beneath flimsy but effective walls. Too late. Too late, she saw as her eyes opened. Blinking rapidly against the blur concealing clarity, the shape across from her arrayed in the starlight of dying filament embers. And tears at last. What had she done?
"Canaan?" she whimpered.
He wasn't moving. He wasn't breathing. The Cajun lay face down in a heap. The air all around him was thick with the sharp tang of burnt sulfur and ozone. His shirt was smoking faintly, a thin tendril of sheer gray haze wafting up from one of the several holes that had been burnt into the fabric. Three seconds of utter stillness and silence. Then, all at once, he gasped like a drowning man who'd finally reached the surface of the water.
Three horrible, gut wrenching seconds tortured her. And he breathed. And she breathed. "Canaan?" She felt heavy, as if the canopy still above them lay upon her. She drug herself closer to him, fingernails digging against the smooth stage floor. "Canaan?" She brushed fingertips over the holes in his shirt, she checked him over. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Lirssa’s voice was tinny and sounded like it was coming through a tunnel from a mile away. He hummed a noise at her that was supposed to be a word, but he couldn't make his mouth work. Little by little he was able to tip his head to look her in the eye. While he felt a little like he might be sick all over the place, it was getting easier to breath by the second and the ringing in his ears was not quite so loud.
"It's--jes'--would--" He heaved a sigh, tryign to reach up over his shoulder. The man's fingertips skimmed the very edges of the scales along his neck. "See if-- open m' shirt. My scales, Lir. My scales." There was a rising edge of fear in his rasping words. Fingernails scraped at the back of his neck.
On that note of fear she heard, unnerving for its absolute rarity, Lirssa did exactly as he instructed. She gathered up the feeble strength she had and she wrenched the flimsy shirt open to see the scales. The battered and bruised beauty of his back included the majesty of his scales.
"Fine," she panted out, relief making her near feint. "They're fine. Are you...?"
Cane's sigh of relief matched Lirssa's. Everything hurt in ways he was not entirely used to. While he had rudimentary skill with atmokinesis, the heated charge of the electricity affected him in ways that other heat did not. Fire could not touch him, but lightning could -- at least until he mastered the ability to harness it correctly.
"M'fine, it's--are you?" All at once he was frantic again and trying to muster the strength to push himself up so he could fuss at her. All he accomplished was batting a hand against her after rising up on an elbow. The world spun around him; he was dizzy. "Did I hurt--tell me yer--jesus, Lir." Rough, calloused fingers tugged at one of her arms. With a grunt, he forced himself into a seated position while trying to reach for her as if he intended to pull her close.
With both hands, because one was not going to be able to press down a lily much less a Canaan even in his state, Lirssa pressed against his chest to assure him. A very different gesture from her first greeting. "I'm fine. Tired, headache--" she looked at her clothes with the burn marks from where the sparks had fallen still hot even in their long flight, "--and probably need other clothes." Glad her hair hadn't caught fire. Those hands moved from his chest to run over his arms and hands, checking by sight and touch. "I'm so sorry," she repeated. "For everything."
The Cajun let her look him over through touch; she was given a thorough once-over with a careful eye and a boatload of trust in her word that she was fine. Their concern for one another seemed to have doused the flames of passion. "People say things without thinkin' when dey's angry." Canaan gave a minute shake of the head and a one-shouldered shrug. "I'm quite familiar with it."
There was a short moment of silence which was filled only by the sound of his labored breaths. "I never stopped caring about Cris. I'm sorry yer upset, cher. But you know well as I do dat nobody here stays dead fer long. His body ain' been claimed yet. Someone'll break de rules, upset de balance. He'll be back."
Assured he was not going to die--it would have been a double death because there was no way she could have handled a third death in so short a time and would have keeled over herself--she lifted her gaze to him, and the tears started afresh. A gentle rain of tears she had not yet shed for Crispin and what he went through. Smiling through those tears, Lirssa nodded. "I've lived all my life in Rhydin. It is an unfaithful place. Unfaithful in life. Unfaithful in death. But," she sighed. "Canaan, I couldn't feel him. I went and saw his body. I dropped to the inbetween. He wasn't there."
Tears usually made Cane panic like a deer in the headlights. He barely knew what to do on the very infrequent occasions that it happened to his lover. But for once, Cane was too tired to flounder over what to do. He drew her in close, forehead to forehead, with a hand curled gently around the side of her neck. "Sal confirmed with his mother dat she hasn' claimed his body. Taneth's got 'im preserved. If dey ain' lettin' 'im go, den dere's a reason. I may not understand it, but… no one should get themselves too worked up 'fore dere's sufficient reason."
Lirssa closed her eyes, resting against him, and drew in a deep breath. The nod barely perceptible. "Mm," she made an agreeing sound. He had resources she did not, and she had to trust them. One more, long slow breath, the silent tears stopped. "I should have told you. I just...couldn't. I thought..." she stopped, "I don't know what I thought." Each answer she had led to another and another. "Too much and too little all at once."
"It's done," Cane said with a tone of finality. "Over. We got it outta our systems an' now it's behind us. We leave it dere. We don' pick it back up, we remember what we learned from it, an' we move on." Tipping his head, he brushed a chaste, friendly kiss on her cheek before letting her go.
She could do that. A smile to the kiss, and a sharp nod followed. Lirssa sat back and looked around the stage with its glittering mess. "Ummm... practice called on account of rain?" A lopsided twist to the cheeky grin, she slowly stood up and stretched one way or the other. "You call it, boss."
An amused snort escaped Canaan before he could stop it, which only made him groan in pain. A chuckle laced the sound as he nodded. "Yeah, pretty sure I need ta park my ass at home beneath some wards. Tomorrow d'oh. No excuses. Rain or shine."
She offered him a hand. "See ya home? Wouldn't want ya stubbing a toe or something. Show's not far off now."
He looked up at the offered hand and then further still to her face. "Thanks, cher, but I'm gonna sit here a while. Den see 'bout gettin' dese lights fixed. You go on." Frankly, he didn't want to move. Everything ached, especially his arms, but he did shift a foot out to bump her ankle lightly.
"Yeah.” Lirssa looked up and around, the trace of guilt slipped across her features, the smile faltering and then recrafted. He had given her leave to go, and the idea of arguing with him was batted away like an annoying gnat. "Tomorrow then, yeah." She turned, taking care where she walked, and jumped off the stage, she turned and looked back at him. "Just so as you know, and don't have to guess, you mean a lot to me, Canaan. I do care about you."
The Cajun's expression softened. A small smile formed. "I know dat, cher. But it's nice ta hear out loud. I care 'boutchou too. A whole hell of a lot, cher."
"Thank you," she smiled, and with a final nod, wandered up the walkways from the amphitheater, her path unbalanced but functional.
-----
He was waiting for her on the Shanachie's fairgrounds. The amphitheater's pavilion had been covered in a large, whimsical tent that gave likeness to the sort used by traveling circuses. In the middle was a low stage, maybe thigh-high in height, that would give them ample room for the various performances that would take place in less than a week's time.
Canaan sat on the edge of the stage, framed by the white silks that hung down from a lead up above him in the scaffolding. The light pattering of rain on the tent was rather soothing -- perhaps a good thing, given how angry he'd been the night before. Today's session was sure to be a doozy, so he was thankful, for once, for the damp chilliness that hung in the air.
Every inch of Lirssa was tight as a wire. Her footfalls fell hard on the ground and vibrated up her body. As she made her way to the amphitheater, she stormed down the walkways taking as direct a route to the man on the stage as possible. Her hair was tied back. Clothing had been changed from simple flight garb to practice leotard and shorts.
Charging up to Canaan, she aimed a shove at his chest and snarled, "Selfish bitch, am I? That's what you think?"
Canaan's eyes were on Lirssa like a hawk's, narrowed minutely and never wavered. Even seated as he was, he still had a few inches on her, so it was fairly easy for him to keep upright when she made her move. Her calloused palms touched down on on the soft cotton of his baggy, long-sleeve shirt. It would be easy for her to feel the unnatural heat of his skin (warmer than usual today) through the thin fabric. He curled his lip, anger tainting every line of his expression.
So much for the soothing sound of the rain.
"Yeah. I do. Selfish little bitch of a girl who can't see the forest for the trees. It ain' like I would'a wanted ta know 'bout my friend dyin'. What'd you think to yerself? 'Nah, I ain' gonna tell Cane jack shit. It doesn' matter, Cris didn' like 'im anyway.'"
"You bastard!” Lirssa snapped. “I'm the selfish one? I lose someone who is near close as a brother to me, but by golly, let me just set aside that pain and that anger and make sure you and yours, who treated him like a leper, get the news!" She jumped up on the stage right next to him and glared down. "I'm not your fucking messenger girl, and I'm not your pet." It was too much to be still, so she began to pace. "Who told you?"
"Me an' mine?!" Canaan snarled as he got to his feet. They were bare and made little sound as he stalked after the woman to get right up in her face. "Dat asshole's de one who turned his back on us. Not de other way around. He didn' wanna be near us. He bailed, Lirssa, not me an' Sal. An' jes' who de fuck do you think you are? Presumin’ you know how much of a shit I give about him? You don' know shit!"
"And neither do you!" She could feel the heat radiating from him, and it only fed her own anger. Anger that was eating away at the shields of her gift. "You don't know, because you don't ask. You want folks to pour their hearts out to you, while you tell nothing." Hands curled into fists, and her eyes were wide and wild. "So, yeah, yeah, I don't know shit Because you won't tell. Even when I ask, you don't tell. You keep me apart. I get to be that curious thing you play with from… time to time."
Lirssa stepped away, arms spread out like she was ready to be stabbed. "So, you be mad at me. You go ahead. I'll match you anger for anger, you inflated, egotistical bastard."
The more Lirssa's shields broke down, the more Cane was able to feed off the anger that poured from her very heart of hearts. It built up inside him, growing, churning, just like the clouds overhead. The ashen sky grew darker; from light grey to charcoal and soot. Thunder rumbled overhead.
"The hell's this got ta do with anything? Me not tellin' you my goddamn life story ain' even on de same level as you not tellin' me about Cris." Cane's voice rose in volume along with his heart rate in tempo. "But see, I did ask you about dis, cher. I fuckin' asked you what was wrong. You told me y'all had a fallin' out ya couldn' fix. What de hell was I supposed ta do wit' dat? I don' get in between folks havin' issues. Ain' my business.
“Furthermore," he went on, sticking a finger in her face that practically shook from the intensity of his indignation. "I don' expect nobody ta pour their heart out ta me. You wanna know some'n? Den fuckin' ask!"
Lirssa’s arm circled swiftly, knocking his hand away from her face with the edge of her forearm as the circle came to its zenith. "I do ask. Once. One time you told me what was wrong, and I've never betrayed that confidence. I never will." Her voice had gone to the growling base of her register. Words were choked and brittle over a throat raw. "But Crispin was betrayed, his people were betrayed, and you embraced it. You couldn't stop it. Would you have? Why should I go running to tell you he had died? That's my question. Tell me why I should have stopped mourning my brother to tell the man who condoned his betrayal?"
A sudden swell of heat pulsed out of Canaan, the intensity of the cloying wave enough to be seen visibly as it rippled outward. Thunder crashed above them. The sound had the Cajun closing his eyes and drawing in a deep breath through his nose before he finally saddled Lirssa with an unsettling glare.
Her voice had dipped into the lower reaches of her tone; so had Cane’s. The deep bass pitch of his voice fairly rumbled with a growl. "Maybe you oughta look up what 'betrayal' means. Disloyalty. I don' owe fucking anything ta people who want me dead!" He'd yelled those last eight words, hurling them at her like they were weapons. "--Let alone a group 'a people who think I'm less than, beneath them. You wanna talk about folks being treated as lepers? How ‘bout you ask me how my people get treated by dem bastards?
“I never betrayed Cris -- I never gave him over to his enemies. But he sure fuckin' left me ta mine."
Anger upon anger, the heat, the rain, it all mixed together in a toxic cocktail with lack of sleep. Those words crushed and bruised Lirssa, the wall around her gift failing as the discordant notes of anger with sorrow brought them tumbling down like the fabled walls to a horn in some aged city. She stood trembling there at the inferno of his righteous rage. Her own anger turned, once more, against herself; at her failings. And she fell. The power surged out of her and into the only receptacle near to take it. Cane. The power was uncontrolled. In the in-between, Lir struggled to hold it back, feeling it pour from her like a dam broken.
It all happened so quickly. Lirssa's body deflated and Cane's seemed to lift as if he were a puppet pulled upright and taut by a string. He gasped as the surge of her power ran into him, filling him until he overflowed. They had done so many tests in the last near-year together, but nothing like this -- never the full might of her ability coupled with the entirety of his own. He'd always felt the results would be catastrophic; not something meant to be toyed with.
He had only a split second to make a decision.
The lights surrounding the stage blew out simultaneously, showering them in bits of glass and filament. The sheer volume of power coursing through him elicited a pained whine from the Cajun; muscles bunched and coiled, tense and flexed painfully tight. Rather than let the energy escape him like a supernova, which he knew would obliterate Lirssa in her proximity, Cane gathered his will and sent it up out of himself as a bolt of lightning that seared through the roof of the tent.
It was hot, it was loud, and it dropped him like a stone to the floor of a stage beside Lirssa.
She felt the power connect with Canaan, and the fear overcame the anger and the hurt. Worry and horror for what might happen scourged the rage away, and she grappled with the power, bottling it back beneath flimsy but effective walls. Too late. Too late, she saw as her eyes opened. Blinking rapidly against the blur concealing clarity, the shape across from her arrayed in the starlight of dying filament embers. And tears at last. What had she done?
"Canaan?" she whimpered.
He wasn't moving. He wasn't breathing. The Cajun lay face down in a heap. The air all around him was thick with the sharp tang of burnt sulfur and ozone. His shirt was smoking faintly, a thin tendril of sheer gray haze wafting up from one of the several holes that had been burnt into the fabric. Three seconds of utter stillness and silence. Then, all at once, he gasped like a drowning man who'd finally reached the surface of the water.
Three horrible, gut wrenching seconds tortured her. And he breathed. And she breathed. "Canaan?" She felt heavy, as if the canopy still above them lay upon her. She drug herself closer to him, fingernails digging against the smooth stage floor. "Canaan?" She brushed fingertips over the holes in his shirt, she checked him over. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Lirssa’s voice was tinny and sounded like it was coming through a tunnel from a mile away. He hummed a noise at her that was supposed to be a word, but he couldn't make his mouth work. Little by little he was able to tip his head to look her in the eye. While he felt a little like he might be sick all over the place, it was getting easier to breath by the second and the ringing in his ears was not quite so loud.
"It's--jes'--would--" He heaved a sigh, tryign to reach up over his shoulder. The man's fingertips skimmed the very edges of the scales along his neck. "See if-- open m' shirt. My scales, Lir. My scales." There was a rising edge of fear in his rasping words. Fingernails scraped at the back of his neck.
On that note of fear she heard, unnerving for its absolute rarity, Lirssa did exactly as he instructed. She gathered up the feeble strength she had and she wrenched the flimsy shirt open to see the scales. The battered and bruised beauty of his back included the majesty of his scales.
"Fine," she panted out, relief making her near feint. "They're fine. Are you...?"
Cane's sigh of relief matched Lirssa's. Everything hurt in ways he was not entirely used to. While he had rudimentary skill with atmokinesis, the heated charge of the electricity affected him in ways that other heat did not. Fire could not touch him, but lightning could -- at least until he mastered the ability to harness it correctly.
"M'fine, it's--are you?" All at once he was frantic again and trying to muster the strength to push himself up so he could fuss at her. All he accomplished was batting a hand against her after rising up on an elbow. The world spun around him; he was dizzy. "Did I hurt--tell me yer--jesus, Lir." Rough, calloused fingers tugged at one of her arms. With a grunt, he forced himself into a seated position while trying to reach for her as if he intended to pull her close.
With both hands, because one was not going to be able to press down a lily much less a Canaan even in his state, Lirssa pressed against his chest to assure him. A very different gesture from her first greeting. "I'm fine. Tired, headache--" she looked at her clothes with the burn marks from where the sparks had fallen still hot even in their long flight, "--and probably need other clothes." Glad her hair hadn't caught fire. Those hands moved from his chest to run over his arms and hands, checking by sight and touch. "I'm so sorry," she repeated. "For everything."
The Cajun let her look him over through touch; she was given a thorough once-over with a careful eye and a boatload of trust in her word that she was fine. Their concern for one another seemed to have doused the flames of passion. "People say things without thinkin' when dey's angry." Canaan gave a minute shake of the head and a one-shouldered shrug. "I'm quite familiar with it."
There was a short moment of silence which was filled only by the sound of his labored breaths. "I never stopped caring about Cris. I'm sorry yer upset, cher. But you know well as I do dat nobody here stays dead fer long. His body ain' been claimed yet. Someone'll break de rules, upset de balance. He'll be back."
Assured he was not going to die--it would have been a double death because there was no way she could have handled a third death in so short a time and would have keeled over herself--she lifted her gaze to him, and the tears started afresh. A gentle rain of tears she had not yet shed for Crispin and what he went through. Smiling through those tears, Lirssa nodded. "I've lived all my life in Rhydin. It is an unfaithful place. Unfaithful in life. Unfaithful in death. But," she sighed. "Canaan, I couldn't feel him. I went and saw his body. I dropped to the inbetween. He wasn't there."
Tears usually made Cane panic like a deer in the headlights. He barely knew what to do on the very infrequent occasions that it happened to his lover. But for once, Cane was too tired to flounder over what to do. He drew her in close, forehead to forehead, with a hand curled gently around the side of her neck. "Sal confirmed with his mother dat she hasn' claimed his body. Taneth's got 'im preserved. If dey ain' lettin' 'im go, den dere's a reason. I may not understand it, but… no one should get themselves too worked up 'fore dere's sufficient reason."
Lirssa closed her eyes, resting against him, and drew in a deep breath. The nod barely perceptible. "Mm," she made an agreeing sound. He had resources she did not, and she had to trust them. One more, long slow breath, the silent tears stopped. "I should have told you. I just...couldn't. I thought..." she stopped, "I don't know what I thought." Each answer she had led to another and another. "Too much and too little all at once."
"It's done," Cane said with a tone of finality. "Over. We got it outta our systems an' now it's behind us. We leave it dere. We don' pick it back up, we remember what we learned from it, an' we move on." Tipping his head, he brushed a chaste, friendly kiss on her cheek before letting her go.
She could do that. A smile to the kiss, and a sharp nod followed. Lirssa sat back and looked around the stage with its glittering mess. "Ummm... practice called on account of rain?" A lopsided twist to the cheeky grin, she slowly stood up and stretched one way or the other. "You call it, boss."
An amused snort escaped Canaan before he could stop it, which only made him groan in pain. A chuckle laced the sound as he nodded. "Yeah, pretty sure I need ta park my ass at home beneath some wards. Tomorrow d'oh. No excuses. Rain or shine."
She offered him a hand. "See ya home? Wouldn't want ya stubbing a toe or something. Show's not far off now."
He looked up at the offered hand and then further still to her face. "Thanks, cher, but I'm gonna sit here a while. Den see 'bout gettin' dese lights fixed. You go on." Frankly, he didn't want to move. Everything ached, especially his arms, but he did shift a foot out to bump her ankle lightly.
"Yeah.” Lirssa looked up and around, the trace of guilt slipped across her features, the smile faltering and then recrafted. He had given her leave to go, and the idea of arguing with him was batted away like an annoying gnat. "Tomorrow then, yeah." She turned, taking care where she walked, and jumped off the stage, she turned and looked back at him. "Just so as you know, and don't have to guess, you mean a lot to me, Canaan. I do care about you."
The Cajun's expression softened. A small smile formed. "I know dat, cher. But it's nice ta hear out loud. I care 'boutchou too. A whole hell of a lot, cher."
"Thank you," she smiled, and with a final nod, wandered up the walkways from the amphitheater, her path unbalanced but functional.
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