Ivan is going with me. I'm glad. I'm also annoyed. Annoyed that I feel so weak and quailing, so much that I feel the need to have him with me.
But then...if a woman can't feel a little weak over the murder of her own folks, what can she feel weak over?
So, I should forgive myself for this temporary lapse in strength. Right?
I'm trying not to think too far ahead. To what might be waiting for me in Trestlebridge, when I speak to Barnwell. My imagination is not my friend at times like these. I can't stop seeing visions of skeletons, tossed carelessly into a pit, limbs twisted and broken.
I was able to let that scar heal over. After they died. It took a long time, and it hurt like hell. But it eventually healed. Sort of. Now it's going to be torn open anew. One way or another, I will bleed.
Has anything good ever happened up there? No, not since Pa and Ma were with me. Once they were gone, every time I set foot near that damn gorge, something awful was waiting. Anger, violence, hurt, brokenness, betrayal. I haven't crossed that bridge in years and I don't want to now.
Ivan sleeps like a baby. Look at him. Sweet, beautiful Ivan. He deserves so much better. He'll argue against that till we're both blue in the face. But it's still true. I accept that he doesn't think so. But I know so.
One of these days, I should fight back. Not let him soothe me and disarm me when I feel the anger and the grief boiling over. He's never seen me...at my worst. Would he be horrified to see me hurt someone? Would he feel disgust? Would his adoration suddenly turn into scorn? It's almost too easy to picture his face. Shock. Then...understanding. "She was never what I thought she was..."
Aye, just keep torturing yourself with your thoughts, Narys. Bloody brilliant of you.
Poor man. So sweet, he is. So adoring. He pours out his heart without holding anything back anymore. He knows how to stroke my hair and whisper calming things, quieting things, counters to all the burning, raging, distraught garbage that I can spew. He has a hush for every fear, a gentling for every temper, a comfort for every heartbreak.
It's so strange. I don't understand it. I don't understand how he feels so...so familiar. But he's so different from me. It's so easy to be near him. I don't have to hide any of the mess. I can curse and scream and threaten and weep. Nothing shakes him.
He just...accepts me.
I don't want to go home.
