Chapter 7 Constantine #2
She stiffened when she not only heard my words but felt them.
Her eyes were on her plate, but instead of taking a bite, she pushed a red prawn away from the mashed potatoes.
There was no hesitancy or bewilderment, like she knew exactly what I referred to.
But she didn’t say anything, just held her silence, like she actually considered coming clean.
But she didn’t. “You don’t confide in me either, Constantine.”
It felt like a slap in the face, but it was true. I hadn’t shared any of myself with her at all. Whenever she asked, I sidestepped the question or rejected her entirely. I barely said a few words at all.
I grabbed the bottle of wine and refilled my glass.
I was about to tip the bottle toward hers, but I realized she hadn’t touched it at all, even though I was on my third glass.
I set the bottle aside, then sat there, not interested in the food on my plate.
“I’ve struggled to let it go. Struggled to move on and accept this new identity.
Don’t misunderstand me, I have no regrets about the decision I made.
But I feel lost every day, like I don’t know who I am anymore. ”
Her eyes lifted to meet mine with a sadness that somehow rivaled my own.
“I wait for it to get better, but I suspect it’ll never get better.
The world sees me as a coward who chose exile .
. . instead of as a man who did everything he could to protect his woman.
I used to be respected, but now people despise me.
Like all the good things I did in my life never happened.
It was all erased the moment Darius defeated me in a game of checkers because he was playing chess.
” I didn’t want to share any of this with her.
It was so fucking painful to say out loud.
But I knew if I wanted her to confide in me, I had to do the same.
“I vowed to kill Darius and avenge my brother, but instead, I let him take the Roman Republic and my home. And now, he sleeps in my bed while my brother continues to float in an oil drum at his bedside.” I felt so fucking worthless.
I didn’t just let down my brother, but my mother as well, who deserved to have the bones she’d grown in her own fucking body.
“Constantine . . .” Her eyes welled up with overwhelming sadness, and in that moment, she reminded me of my mother. The love she had for me was beautiful and genuine and endless. Without actually saying it, she showed me that she didn’t think all the horrible things I’d just said.
She was just heartbroken for me.
“There has to be something that can be done—”
“No.” It was not worth the risk. I’d already watched Darius put a gun to her head, and I couldn’t do it again.
I knew if he got his hands on her, he would do something infinitely worse.
Would break all of Medusa’s bones and force me to listen to her cry.
There was nothing he could do to me physically that scared me, but just a single scratch on either of them could bring me to tears.
“Giving it all up for you was the easiest decision I’ve ever made.
But living with the consequences . . . that’s another beast.”
“I’m sorry this happened. I wish it had turned out differently. I hate seeing you like this.”
“I know, sweetheart,” I said. “And I hate seeing you like this too.”
She held my gaze for another second before her eyes darted away, avoiding the question I didn’t ask.
I’d shared with her, so I expected her to share with me, no matter how painful or difficult.
But she either looked at the house or the sky or her plate . . . and never at me.
Because she didn’t want to tell me how Darius had hurt her. Didn’t want me to know she had nightmares about it. That she hadn’t really been herself since he’d laid a hand on her. That she didn’t trust she would ever feel safe again. That she didn’t trust me to protect her after I failed her.
Was it one of those . . . or all of those?
But she held her silence and looked progressively more uncomfortable, paler in the face, colder in the lips.
“Talk to me, sweetheart.”
“I—I can’t.” She inhaled a deep breath, turmoil bright in her eyes.
“Yes, you can. I can handle it.”
“I’m just not ready.” She suddenly rose to her feet, the chair moving backward over the tile from her momentum. Then she walked back to the house and left me to sit there alone with dinner that neither of us would finish.
I didn’t go after her. Wouldn’t force her to confide in me. Wouldn’t force her to do anything she didn’t want to do. But I felt even more worthless, knowing I was the reason she suffered . . . and she wouldn’t even let me fix her. Wouldn’t let me do anything to help her.
The sun was completely gone now, and only the lights from the city and the coastline were visible. A summer breeze moved through my hair as I sat there alone, Medusa lying on one of the nearby couches.
I grabbed my full glass of wine and downed it in a single gulp.
Then I reached for hers, which hadn’t been touched all night, but I stopped before my fingers made contact.
I stared at the glass of white wine as hard as I’d stared at her face.
Then I slowly pulled my hand back as the realization hit me.
Hit me like a bolt of lightning on a cloudless day and triggered an earthquake below my feet.
But a second later, the world went still.
And I smiled. Smiled wider and harder than I had in a very long time. I felt an inexplicable joy that brought me to the clouds. My heart suddenly doubled in size as my love reached new heights. In an instant, my whole world changed—for the better. “Oh, sweetheart . . .”