14. Chapter Fourteen #2
“If what you describe is true, then yes. This entity has formed a connection to your soul. When you tell it to leave, you must mean it completely. Every part of you must reject its presence, or it will find the opening—the part of you that still welcomes it, however unconsciously—and return.”
My stomach twists and flips several times. Every part of me must reject him. But how can I, when some traitorous corner of my soul lights up at his presence? When I’ve started looking forward to his visits, and the strange peace I feel when he’s near?
When the thought of being truly alone again makes me feel hollow in an unfathomable way?
“What if I can’t?” I whisper, the question slipping out before I can stop it.
Father Laurent studies me, his gaze penetrating and confident even as I squirm under the attention. “Then perhaps you should ask yourself why. Why would you wish to keep something that disturbs you enough to seek help?”
The question simmers between us, unanswerable.
Because I don’t know. I don’t understand why part of me clings to Ash’s presence even as another part runs from it.
Why his words about belonging elsewhere resonate in places I didn’t know existed within me.
And forget about explaining why the thought of saying goodbye forever feels like losing something I never knew I had.
“I should go,” I mumble, shooting to my feet. “Thank you for your time.”
Father Laurent rises as well, concern etched across his features. “Wait. I didn’t mean to upset you. If you’d like, we could try a blessing, or—”
“No,” I cut him off, already backing away. “It’s fine. I’ll figure it out.”
I turn and hurry for the main doors, my face burning with emotions I can’t name. Shame, maybe. Confusion, for sure. Sadness…definitely.
The priest called Ash an it. A thing. Father Laurent’s description sliced me harder than this entire situation. Because he’s more than that, isn’t he? And he has a name.
I push through the heavy doors and suck in a deep, freezing breath; the icy air is a welcome shock against my heated skin. The steps stretch before me, leading down to the path that will take me back to the city, but I pause.
“Did you hear all that?” I ask without turning around.
“Yes.” His voice comes from directly behind me, deep and clear. Close enough that if he were human, I’d feel his breath against my hair.
“And?” I prompt when he doesn’t continue.
“The priest is not entirely wrong,” Ash confirms after a moment. “I cannot remain in your perception without your permission—without some part of you that welcomes my presence.”
My chest tightens, ribs squeezing my lungs until each breath becomes a conscious effort. “So if I truly wanted you gone, you’d have to leave? For good?” A shiver skates through my body as a whisper of something grazes the exposed part of my neck.
“Yes.” The single word carries a weight of sadness that makes my throat ache in response. “If every part of you rejected me, I would be forced to wait until your next life to try again.”
I whirl on him, blood boiling in my veins.
“And you’d do that? Just keep following me through life after life, waiting for me to say yes?
Never considering that maybe, just maybe, there’s a reason I keep saying no?
” A couple halts their descent from the building, eyes wide.
I pay them no mind. Why should I care about what they think of me any longer?
Their steps scurry past me, both avoiding my gaze before they’re out of sight.
Ash remains a statue as he watches me. His gaze burns.
“I would wait forever,” he answers. “Because you are mine, Maven. As I am yours. It is the nature of our sou—”
“You keep saying that, but it doesn’t make any sense!
” My voice rises, echoing. A group of kids glance my way, their expressions a mixture of concern and discomfort at the woman shouting at nothing.
I lower my voice, not needing to add traumatized children to my long list of fuck-ups, as I shift closer to Ash.
“How can any of this be true when I don’t believe in ghosts or gods? None of it is possible.”
“Your belief or disbelief changes nothing,” he replies, his tone maddeningly calm. “The truth exists regardless of your acceptance of it.”
My shoulders fall. “I just don’t understand what you want from me.”
He steps closer, the air around him crackling with energy that raises the hair on my arms. “What I want from you, Maven Talmay, is what I have always wanted: for you to remember what you are.” My chin rises as the distance between our bodies closes.
I search the fabric over his face, wishing so badly that I could touch it in this moment.
“And what is that?” My question is a mere whisper, barely audible, asked regardless that I know what he’s going to say. Because him this close is scrambling my brain, and I need to hear him say it once more.
“Mine,” he says, the word vibrating through every cell in my body.
We’re both breathing hard, neither willing to break contact. He’s right here, and yet I cannot touch him.
When you tell it to leave, you must mean it completely. Every part of you must reject its presence.
I know what I should do. The rational, sensible course of action. Command Ash to go and never come back so that I may reclaim my life and my understanding of reality.
But as I stand here, surrounded by everything that is him, I’m forced to confront an uncomfortable truth: I’m not sure I want him gone.
Not yet.