43. Chapter Forty-Three #2
“Men are unimaginative and boring,” I shoot back. “They’re threatened by me. Why would I tolerate that? Do you want me to tolerate that?”
“Kyrielle,” she says patiently. “Have you paused and considered why you’re so defensive about this right now?”
My lower lip wobbles as my voice trembles. “Maybe you’re just hurting my feelings.”
She shakes her head slowly. “Kyri, I’m not trying to hurt you. In fact, I’m hoping you take this conversation at face value; I’m trying to make sure you’re thinking things through before you dive so deep you both drown.”
Talia is nothing but reasonable and motherly. She literally plucked me from the streets and gave me a life I barely deserve. It’s the only reason I’m not screaming at her, even though I want to. Mainly because a part of me knows she’s right.
If I’m not careful, I could hurt Trinte. Deeply.
A tear tracks down my cheek as I whisper, “I just want to help him.”
Talia leans forward so no one else can overhear our words. “But you need to ask yourself why. You’ve never backed down from a challenge, but are you positive you aren’t treating him as a project? As one of the women you’ve helped build a future from their traumas?”
Her questions leave me speechless. Because I don’t know. Part of my motivation is definitely due to the guilt I’ll always carry about Orliana. But Trinte and I have gone far beyond that. Our connection is deeper than trauma.
Right?
There simply isn’t enough space from him right now. These last few weeks, he’s consumed my thoughts. It’s terrifying and exciting. My rule about not dating anyone from the battle gym feels so frivolous now. A barrier that doesn’t need to exist.
But he claims there’s more to know. So much that he’s half-convinced I’ll walk away if I know it all. Would I bolt if I knew everything?
I don’t know.
Everything feels so confusing right now.
Talia must see every thought playing out over my face because she reaches out a hand. Mine shoots out, clutching hers like an anchor.
“Baby, I’m not trying to upset you,” she murmurs, her own eyes watering in empathy.
“But you need to be careful. Trinte has told me some things; not a lot, but I’ve put enough together.
The first day when I read him, it was … dark inside, Kyri.
He deserves someone who will love him regardless of where he exists inside his trauma each day. ”
I know she can sense everything storming through me; I’ve never cared if she reads my emotions. She’s a Siphon, just like Orliana, so she can read, remove, and share emotions, as well as read auras. So of course she knows more about Trinte than he’s probably shared.
He deserves someone to be protective of him like this.
The tears are free falling now. I duck my head, ashamed to be crying in a coffee shop. “I think that could be me. I’m trying to let it be me.”
“I think it could be you, too, baby,” she murmurs. “I really do. During that argument, I saw the way you balanced one another. And don’t think I missed the way you two looked at each other.” She laughs. “I’ve never seen such a heated argument about a chair.”
I snort, wiping away the tears and releasing a shaky chuckle. “This might be the most intense coffee talk of my life.”
“Moms are supposed to guide with some shoving involved.” Talia releases my hand after one final squeeze.
Talia sips her coffee as I collect myself. Space from Trinte is a good idea.
Is it?
Ignoring the stupid, annoying little voice of doubt, I smile at Talia. “Thank you for caring enough to say something. I’ll think about what you’re saying.”
After taking another sip of my tepid latte, I say, “I don’t want to hurt him. But I’m …” Looking away from her sharp gaze, I admit, “I’m afraid there’s not enough space inside me for all the love he has to give.”
Talia hums. It stings that she doesn’t refute it. Does she agree? Am I so broken that Trinte could love me, and I’d only be able to accept a scrap of it?
When she still doesn’t answer after a minute, I lose my patiences. “Are you going to disagree? Tell me I’m unlovable or something?”
“Are you unlovable, Kyri?”
Now we’re back to the Siphon therapist-talk. “Can you please stop therapying me and answer the question?”
“I’ve loved you since you resembled a wet rat, Kyrielle,” she says patiently. “But we accept the love we think we deserve. Do you think you’re worthy of his love?”
Why does she sound like Fynn? Did he take that phrase from her or vice versa? This conversation is becoming unbearable because the answer is no, I don’t think I’m worthy. But do I have to feel worthy in order to accept it?
I make a show of checking my phone. “Oh, look at the time. I have to go.”
Talia watches me stand, amused. Not challenging the blatant lie. She comforts me with a deep hug. When I try to pull away, she gathers me closer.
In my ear, she murmurs, “I think you’re incredibly worthy of everything you want.”
Allowing myself to revel in her words, I tighten my hold. Without her, I’m not sure where I’d be. Even when she rescued me, it took years for me to work through some things. She never wavered or doubted me. This conversation has been painful, but she’s trying to help.
Emotional all over again, I say, “Thank you. I love you.”
Talia releases me, tears in her eyes again. “I love you, too.”
Her eyes bore a hole in my head as I rush out of the coffee shop, gulping fresh mouthfuls of air. I wish Orliana were available, but I don’t want to distract from her vacation. Not over something like this. A text conversation won’t begin to address these things.
But as I take off for the gym, ready to punch some things, my perspective on this complicated situation shifts.
I just need time and space to be sure.