13. Chapter Thirteen #2
Maybe it’s working. Perhaps distance weakens whatever connection exists between us. The thought should bring relief, but a hollow ache spreads through my abdomen. I press a hand against my ribs, as if I could physically push the feeling away.
I don’t want him to go, but I need him to. For my sanity and my sense of self. The fragile autonomy I’ve built over years of being unwanted and alone must be enough for me.
“The view is quite remarkable, isn’t it?”
His voice comes from directly beside me, deep and resonant, sending a shock wave through my system. My pulse spikes, blood rushing in my ears as I grip the railing tighter.
Of course he’s here. Of course distance didn’t work, and now I’m an idiot.
My head turns slowly to where he stands, tall and imposing in that long coat. I wonder how soft it feels.
The white fabric resists the breeze, unmoving, same as the rest of his perfectly still body.
“What do you think?” he continues, gesturing toward the cityscape. “Does it compare to the view from your apartment?”
I open my mouth to respond, then catch myself.
We’re in public. There are people around—not many, given the weekday, but enough that talking to thin air would draw attention.
I glance around and spot a woman a few yards away, watching me with scrunched brows.
Great. I’ve been here five minutes and already someone thinks I’m crazy.
Well, she’s not wrong.
“You needn’t worry about appearances,” Ash says, warmth coloring his tone. “They cannot see me. To them, you’re simply a woman enjoying the view on a winter morning.” That’s what he thinks I’m worried about?
I face the city once more, keeping my voice low. “Lucky them.”
He chuckles, the sound tingling the air between us. “Why are you here, Maven? It’s unlike you to miss work without cause.”
I shrug, the motion stiff with tension. “Needed some fresh air.”
“Ah.” The single syllable carries a wealth of understanding. “And you thought perhaps I wouldn’t follow you to a public place? That distance might weaken whatever connection you know exists between us?”
My jaw tightens. Bastard knows me far too well. “Something like that.”
“You think I cannot recognize when your favor has turned against me?” There’s no accusation in his voice, only a gentle sadness that tightens my throat. “I’ve watched this play out hundreds of times, in just as many ways. I know the signs.”
I say nothing, my eyes fixed on the horizon where sky meets city in a hazy line.
“I admit, you had me convinced for a moment that you were warming to me,” he continues.
Why do I feel like a child with her hand caught in the cookie jar?
“But I should know better by now. Your soul has cycled through this routine for countless decades. It’s difficult to leave the familiar, even when it’s killing you.
Even when you don’t realize you’re making every excuse to stay. ”
Something hot and sharp rises over my skin. “Don’t talk as if you know me better than I do.”
“But I do.” The simplicity of his statement, the absolute certainty behind it, makes me want to scream. “I’ve known your soul longer than you’ve inhabited this body. I’ve watched it grow and change and struggle many times, Maven. I know when I have lost your favor.”
“Stop it.” My fingers curl into fists. “Just stop. I don’t want to hear about past lives or souls or any of it. I just want—”
What? What do I want? To be left alone? To go back to the emptiness that defined my existence before he appeared? To continue drifting from city to city, job to job, never connecting or belonging, until eventually the darkness wins and I find a way to make the next suicide attempt stick?
The thought brings me up short, and the rage collapses all at once.
Maybe he’s right. I am clinging to the familiar, even though the familiar is slowly killing me. This life is all I know. It’s miserable, but it’s mine. I understand its contours and its limits. I know exactly how much it hurts and where the pain will strike next.
What he offers is unknown. Uncertain. And it requires a leap of faith into darkness with no guarantee of what waits on the other side.
What if I say yes and he takes me somewhere I’m not happy? Somewhere I’m trapped, bound to him for eternity with no escape? Or worse—what if he takes me somewhere I am happy? What then? What happens to the person I’ve been all these years, the identity I’ve built around my pain?
A tear slips from the corner of my eye, hardening instantly against my lashes. The cold crystallizes it, turning my sorrow into something sharp and tangible.
I don’t want to feel this. Any of it. The confusion, the yearning, the fear—it’s too much. I’m overwhelmed at being forced from the carefully constructed numbness I’ve known for so long.
He needs to go. I need him to go. So I can return to my routine, to the empty but predictable existence I’ve carved out for myself. So I can breathe without this constant awareness of him, this pull toward something I don’t understand and can’t control.
“Your silence speaks volumes,” Ash says after a long moment. “You’re afraid.”
“I’m not afraid,” I lie, the words bitter on my tongue.
“I’m tired. Tired of you showing up whenever you want, talking about crazy shit.
Tired of working.” A crazed laugh slips from my lips.
“And I’m fucking tired of being here. What is the point of any of this?
Life? My head is so fucked, and you’re not helping by saying my soul needs to go with you. Do you know how crazy that sounds?”
“You don’t believe in souls?” There’s genuine curiosity in his question, as if my answer matters to him.
I shrug again, the motion a mere jerk. “I don’t know. Maybe. But if they exist, they belong to the people who have them. Not to whatever cosmic lottery assigned mine to you.”
“It wasn’t a lottery.” His voice drops lower, intimate despite our public setting. “Your soul was promised to me as a balance. A counterweight to my nature. Just as each Dark God was promised a soul that would complement and complete them.”
“And what exactly is your nature?” I’m unable to stop myself from asking. “What does the God of Longing need balancing against?” I sound bitter, and I am. I’m so tired.