Sweet Lies
Chapter twenty-two
Athanasius
After going back to bed, I hear her in the bathroom, the water is running, muffling sound, but I can hear her shuffling about.
I lay in the darkness and think about what I said.
I did lie. Why? I can't say I don't know, I know why.
I wanted to be resolute and I did not want to appear weak.
I have no intention of disgracing my true form by walking this realm.
Ione is to be the bearer of my will, she will enact my wishes and I will convene with her in the form I have now.
Only her.
I know the sacrifice others have made, but not her.
I would never ask such a thing, but why did I say that?
Certainly, if anyone, I could be honest with Moireth, but in the past they have always looked for strength and resoluteness from me.
To deter now, would be to become someone else, and I have never been that.
Ione exits the bathroom. She takes my breath away every time I see her.
I've never been much for pleasures of the flesh, partaking when the need was great, it was offered to me, or I was highly tempted.
Around her? I have a need for her moans, her touches, to feel her from the inside like it's ingrained in my psyche.
I cannot function without her, and at first, I hated it, now?
I cannot think of another way of being. Me, a Primordial with my mind so enraptured by a human.
It has never happened like this before, even when she tried I was on edge.
I was content in her affections, but something was missing.
I know now that her so-called love was a farce.
I feel nothing like that from Ione, her affections are true.
The next time I fall in love, psh, I never even dreamed that.
No, it was Luciara who said it. The next time, she said I'd know better.
"Come to me rabbit," I desire her now, soft curves, gentle fragrance, and gentle kisses. "I want to hold you."
"No."
A word I am not used to hearing. She lays in bed with her back to me. "Please don't touch me."
Panic. Where has this come from? Why? Damn her. How can she elicit these feelings from me? "Why?" Sitting up, I reach over to turn on the lights. "Sit up and speak to me."
I reach for her—habit, instinct, want—but she shifts, cool as moonlight, just out of reach. My fingers close on the warm emptiness she leaves behind “Ione,” I say, softer than I mean to. “Please.”
“No, I’m fine, really I am.” She rolls onto her back like the conversation bores her. But her jaw’s too tight. Her arms folded too neat. Humans wear their pain like a badly kept secret.
“Fine,” I echo. “I suppose this is the kind of ‘fine’ that comes before someone throws a lamp.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
There it is. The venom. It stings and I—damn me—I like it. But not like this. Not when it’s pointed at me with such… finality.
“You’re angry.” I state it plainly, as if naming the storm might stop the rain.
“No.” She stares at the ceiling. “I'm just allergic to bullshit.”
“Rabbit, do not debase me, I am a Primordial, what bullshit have I given you?"
She laughs. Bitter, brittle. “That’s the thing, Athanasius. Sometimes the truth does more damage.”
My mouth opens, but no words find their way out. Because something is wrong. And somehow—I don’t yet know how—I think I put the knife in her hand and showed her where to aim.
She won’t look at me.
The silence between us stretches long enough to snap. I watch the delicate rise and fall of her chest, the way her fingers twitch like she's holding something invisible but heavy.
“Ione,” I say again, quieter now. “Tell me what I’ve done.”
She sits up slowly, touching her bonnet to make sure it's secure on her head. Her eyes finally meet mine, and they are cold—not indifferent, no, something worse. Like a door slamming shut behind glass.
“You haven’t done anything,” she says. “Not really. Just reminded me of something I forgot. That I was happy before you. That I didn’t need—” her voice catches for the briefest second, “—this.”
My stomach drops like I’ve stepped off some invisible ledge. “You were happy,” I repeat, tasting the words like they’re foreign. “Without me.”
“I was fine.” She stands, too fast. “And I will be again. You want to be free, right? Cool, let's kill the mage," She points to her finger where my ring sits. "I’ll help you. And then we’re done.”
There’s a ringing in my ears. “Done?” I stand up quickly from the bed, my fingers ache to touch her, but she holds up her hand, stopping me. “What do you mean done?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t understand,” she snaps. “Until this is over—whatever you’ve dragged me into—you’ll sleep in the other room.”
Sleep. The word lands strange in my chest. Cold. Final.
“You’re angry.” I say it again, because I’m grasping at anything.
“I’m done, Athanasius. And I’m tired.” She points at the clock indicating the late hour.
“No.” I shake my head, something restless and primal clawing its way up my spine. “You’re being emotional. Humans do this—burn things down just because they don’t understand them.”
“Oh, that’s rich,” she laughs, but there’s no humor left in it. “Coming from a death primordial. What do you know about understanding? About love?”
Ah, there it is. The sting. The little flame she throws straight at my chest.
I smirk, even though I feel something inside me fracture.
“Oh," She allows me closer, looming over her, and still this fire makes me crave her.
My hands burn from not touching her. "Look at my rabbit, she's showing some backbone.
Congratulations, you're a hare now.” I reach for her and she sidesteps me.
“I know enough to want it. Enough to know I—”
“No.” Her voice is sharp, trembling. “Don’t say it. You already didn’t.”
And just like that, I see it. The moment. The echo. The thing she wasn’t supposed to hear.
Her shoulders tremble once, just once, and she turns away before I can read more. I am a fool.
“Ione,” I try again, softer, “what you heard…”
“Doesn’t matter,” she says. “Because I believed you. And that’s on me.” She wipes her face, turning from me. "I'm going to sleep in the other room, do not follow me, do not speak to me."
She leaves the room before I can find words that matter.
I don’t follow.
The bed is too big without her.
Not in the poetic sense humans like to sigh about—but in the actual sense. A vast, cold, unnecessary expanse of fabric and silence. I lie in it like a corpse wrapped in regret, staring at the ceiling like it owes me answers.
In the next room, she cries.
Not loudly. Not like the dramatic outpouring mortals are known for. No—her grief is quiet, pressed between her teeth, swallowed into the dark. But I hear it. I hear everything.
And it’s killing me.
I don’t understand how something so soft could cut me so deeply.
I don’t understand why her pain is worse than any wound I’ve ever taken.
I only know that it is. That her silence now feels louder than her voice ever was.
That I hate this wall between us—this physical one, this other one, thick with things unsaid.
I want to fix it.
But I don’t know how to touch something without breaking it.
I want her. That much I know. Want her like breath. Like blood. Like the cold pull of the earth that calls the dead home. But I want my revenge, too. That old, burning promise I made before she ever came into my world with her firelight and her sharp tongue and her inconvenient humanity.
I close my eyes.
Revenge. Her.
Can I have both?
Do I have to choose?
My fingers curl around the edge of the pillow she once slept on, and I pull it closer—like a fool. It still smells like her. Skin and warmth and a life not meant to touch mine.
She’s still crying.
And I still don’t know how to be anything but a monster.