30. Puck
She used her safe word. I knew I fucked up, but…
All I wanted was to pull her into my arms and apologize, to find some way to make it better, but she didn’t want me to touch her. The only thing I could do was respect her wishes, and she wanted me gone.
I haven’t left the hallway since. I’m terrified she needs help but doesn’t know how to ask for it. So, I’ve been sitting against the wall between our rooms for goddess-knows how long, hoping for some guidance with what to do next.
“Puck?” Larisa turns down the hall with a bottle of faerie wine in her hand, clearly on her way to comfort Lysandra after the trial today. Even when Larisa is dressed down, she looks formal. She’s wearing a pair of tailored pants with a cream silk blouse that has a rounded neckline and cap sleeves that flutter as she moves. Her honey-colored hair is tied away from her face, leaving her butterfly tattoo sparkling in the magical lights of the hallway.
I don’t answer, not even when her sandaled feet enter my direct eyeline. I’m not sure I can speak without breaking, so I focus on my hands. I didn’t realize how bad they look. I assumed the salt water would help, but they’re even worse than they were in the cave last night.
Larisa kneels and gently guides my chin up to look at her. Her brow is creased with worry. “What happened? Why aren’t you celebrating?”
“You should go check on Lysandra,” I say, my voice clogged with emotion. “She’s—she needs someone.”
Right on cue, Lysandra’s laughter filters through the doorway, but it does nothing to assuage my guilt. I want to curl into a ball and slip under the floorboards.
“She sounds fine,” Larisa says and stands, extending her hand. “Come on, this bottle isn’t going to drink itself.”
“You should be with her.”
Larisa sighs dramatically and grabs my wrist, tugging me to my feet with surprising strength. “Let me at least look at your hands before they get infected.”
I follow listlessly as she leads the way and forces me onto the green velvet couch in my sitting room. She’s quiet as she procures wine glasses and fills them with the rich, burgundy liquid. Leaving them on the coffee table, she sits beside me and takes my hands in hers, tutting as she turns them over to inspect the bits that are still lacking blood flow from the cold.
“Could have lost a damn finger,” she mutters as a ball of white light pools in her hand. She closes her eyes, murmuring a prayer to the goddess before manipulating the magic to cover both of my hands.
“Do you always thank the goddess for her gifts before healing?” I ask. Blood rushes to my hands as Larisa’s magic cleanses my wounds and encourages the skin to regenerate.
“Always,” she says, not taking her eyes off her work. Not all Fae with light magic can heal, but I’ve found that those who can are very spiritual. “I ask her to guide my healing, to help in all ways, not just physical. Sometimes, the outer injury is just a symptom of the problem.”
“Is that your way of asking me to talk?” I vacantly ask. She releases one hand, and it’s completely healed; the other remains encased in light. That’s the hand I used to check Lysandra’s pulse—it was exposed longer.
“I can tell you’re hurting,” she says simply, glancing up. I avoid her by grabbing my wine. “But I won’t pry if you don’t want me to.”
“That never stopped you before.”
“We’re not the friends we were before.”
Her statement is so calm, so devoid of emotion. I’d feel better if she was angry. We’re not the friends we were before. It’s a fact, and that feels like a punch to the gut. It’s another thing Titania took from me.
I release a long breath. “I don’t think I’m a good male.” Again, Larisa’s eyes flit to mine. “I used to think I was good, and that the bad parts of me were Titania’s influence, but lately…”
The words hang in the air for a long while before Larisa says, “You’re allowed to make mistakes.”
“It’s more than that.” She releases my hands, and I thank her. I’m not sure why I expect her to leave, but she grabs her glass of wine and tucks her feet under her body, urging me to keep talking.
I tell her everything. Everything that’s happened between me and Lysandra, everything I’ve done in the competitions to try to deceive and trick my way into victory. The only thing I leave out is the panic attack I had before I left.
“Why do you want this so badly?” she asks once I’ve finished. “You used to not want any attachments to Faerie. You couldn’t wait to get out of here.”
“I know.” I down the remnants of my wine. “I just…if I became king, everything I went through would make sense. There would be a reason I endured those centuries of torment. It would make it worth it.”
“Will anything make it worth it?”
“If it doesn’t, then why did this happen? What could I have possibly done to deserve that? You pray to the goddess; do you believe she’d allow something like that to happen without a reason?”
Larisa ponders, taking a sip of her wine. “Have you spoken to anyone about what happened all those years?”
“I don’t want to dwell on it.”
“You already are. You’re letting that time define you. Rather than working through your emotions, you’re burying them, and they’re coming out in ways that hurt people.”
“I don’t—”
“What happened right before you left Lysandra? If I had to guess, I’d say she did or said something that reminded you of Titania, and it triggered you. I don’t think you left her because you’re a bad male. I think you ran out of a sense of self-preservation.”
Larisa finishes her wine, letting me sit with her words. “You need to talk to someone, Puck. The things you went through are unimaginable. Please don’t go through that on your own, not anymore. Let someone in. It doesn’t have to be me.”
She’s right. Even now, I’m pushing her away. I think part of me is holding onto the anger that my friends didn’t notice I was held hostage in my own body. That’s what Titania wanted; she wanted me alone and broken.
I refill both our glasses until the bottle is empty. Staring into the red liquid, I say, “I don’t think anyone knows how bad it was.”
Larisa stays quiet but lays a hand on my knee.
“She made me feel like no one wanted me. For a while—” I stammer as the words fight to be released. “For a while, I thought she was the only person who cared. I— this is so fucked up.” I put my glass down and lean forward, resting my hand on my forehead so my eyes are partially covered.
Larisa shifts so she’s hunched over beside me, keeping her face level with mine, but she doesn’t press. She waits until I’m ready to talk.
“When I was released, when I went to Edina to beg her forgiveness, she asked if Titania had ever sexually assaulted me,” I say. Larisa stills, barely breathing as she waits for me to finish the story.
“She didn’t.” Her breath visibly wooshes out and her chest crumples, but still, she waits. “But I wanted her to.”
Her mouth parts. “Puck—”
“I begged her once,” I admit. “She would flirt with me when we were in public—she wanted everyone to believe we were together so my compliance made sense—but one night…I don’t know…it felt genuine. I was so lonely. So, I went to her room and I begged her to be with me.”
Larisa’s eyes mist over and she takes my hands away from my face, bringing them into her lap. She squeezes so tightly it almost hurts.
“What kind of person does that?” I ask. The memory of her sneering at me and the words she said that made me feel so worthless batter my defenses. “She ordered me to go to the Underground and find a prostitute. She was convinced I was pent up since it had been years—decades at that point, I suppose—since I had sex.”
“She forced you to have sex?” Larisa gasps, breaking her silence.
“No. She told me to find a prostitute—she was careful with her wording. I fucked one because I was lonely, and I felt like shit, and being in the arms of a female—even if I paid her—was better than spending another night alone with thoughts of Titania.”
Larisa is crying now, silently so as not to pull attention from what I’m going through, but I can see how badly my words are hurting her. That’s my fault too. I shouldn’t have unburdened myself on her.
“Stop that,” she snaps and turns my face with both her hands. “Whatever you’re thinking. Those thoughts—the ones saying you’re not wanted or not good enough, or that you’re a burden to me—that’s not what I’m thinking. That’s Titania in your head.”
“What were you thinking, then?”
A small sob escapes Larisa’s mouth, and she breaks and pulls me into her arms. She smells familiar, like cactus blossoms, and I collapse into her. “I was thinking—” she says, her face still buried in my shoulder. “—that it makes sense you would turn to Titania for comfort in the situation. I’d dare say it was bound to happen.”
“I propositioned my abuser.”
“Whatever Titania was doing to you, she became your whole world. She isolated you from everyone who cared about you. It doesn’t mean you’re weak or a bad male.” She wipes away her tears before she brushes her fingers through mine.
“I think you’re still in survival mode, and I think, to process all this, you need to talk to someone. There are some wonderful healers in my court who work with survivors of abuse. I can send one here for you.”
“I don’t know who I can trust, Larisa.”
“Do you trust me?” she asks, and I nod. “Then, trust me when I say you can trust them. If it makes you feel better, we’ll make them magically agree to keep your secrets.”
I wipe my eyes, which can’t seem to stop leaking. “Okay,” I agree.
“I hope you realize how many people love you and care for you. We—” she clears her throat, “—we’re not perfect, and we should have done more to help you. But we’re here now, and we’re not going anywhere.”
I pull her into another hug. “It was the sight of her sleeping,” I murmur. “When I left Lysandra, it was because she looked like Titania when she was sleeping. It was the first time I noticed the similarity between the two of them, and it hit me hard.”
“Have you told her this?” We break apart and both grab for our wine.
“I tried, but I kept fucking up.”
“You’ll find a way to apologize,” Larisa says with a shrug.
“I’m not sure she wants to hear it.”
“Find a way.”