Chapter 70 Durvla #2
I untie the laces of my tunic with shaky hands. Removing it proves to be more exhausting than I expected, and by the time it’s off, my arms are like gelatin. I hug the tunic to my chest, covering up. Kilkenny keeps his focus on my face, not daring to let his gaze wander.
“My balance is even worse than usual,” I warn him. “I’m not sure how well …” I can’t even finish the sentence because it already sounds so pitiful and so foolish in my own head. I cannot even remove my own trousers or undergarments. Embarrassment burns in my chest.
“Are your episodes usually like this?” Kilkenny signs.
“This one is a little worse than usual.”
“I’m sorry.” His brows draw close. “Alright … Hold on to my shoulders. I’ll slide these off you and you’ll just have to step out of them.” He smiles gently before taking a knee.
My heart thuds. I don’t hold on to his shoulders; I keep the tunic hugged against my chest and shut my eyes against the dizziness that threatens to knock me over.
“I’ve got you,” Kilkenny says into my achy head, and I sway, caught off guard.
“Don’t do that mind-speak thing while I’m trying to balance.”
He smiles up at me. “Stop trying to balance and hang on to me, then,” he says calmly. He’s considerate enough to turn away from me as he settles his hands on my hips.
I sigh and drop my tunic to hold on to his strong shoulders. As he slides my trousers and undergarments down in one go, his fingers brush against my skin and I shiver. The pleasant sensation that settles in my stomach takes me by surprise, and I stare at him wide-eyed.
Kilkenny glances up at me, a brow arched. “Everything alright?”
I clear my throat, tensing as I fling my arm across my breasts. “Yes.”
He straightens and offers me his hand. “Right, let’s get you into that water before it gets cold.”
Stepping into the tub is another challenge. But once the warmth of the water surrounds me, I release a blissful sigh and slowly lay my head back against the lip of the tub. My fingers grip the edges on either side, as I’m not completely comfortable with my balance even while I’m sitting.
Kilkenny sinks down onto the floor beside the tub and regards me with such warmth that my chest quickly becomes crowded. A hot tear slips down my cheek. As soothing as this bath is, I hate how vulnerable I am right now.
Kilkenny’s back straightens—he’s immediately ready to jump into action. “What hurts?”
“What doesn’t?”
His posture deflates. He reaches out to place a hand atop mine. “Give yourself some grace.”
“I hate being helpless.”
He smiles softly. “And yet you think I’m stubborn.”
I start to laugh, but my breath catches and a sob breaks free instead.
I pull my knees close to my chest and bury my face.
For a while, there’s just stillness. Then warm water flows over my back, and something smooth and cool slides across my skin.
It takes me a moment to realize that Kilkenny is lathering my back with a ball of soap.
Then my shoulders. He pours water over my hair and coaxes me out of my position so he can unbraid and wash it.
The whole time, I sit there, holding back tears as best as I can.
It takes all my energy, sapping any lingering shyness over my nudity.
I remain still as Kilkenny lathers the front of my body with the soapy rag.
By the time the lavender soap conquers the sweat and my hair is tons lighter, my chest aches from continuously swallowing sobs.
Kilkenny helps me out of the tub and wraps a towel around me. I expect it to be thin and hardly absorbent like the ones back in Cluain Baile, but this one is plush and so soft it makes me want to curl up in bed with it and never get up again.
I hardly register anything as Kilkenny helps me get dressed. He applies soothing balms to bruises I didn’t realize I had. As he wrestles my hair into a thick braid, Iywan’s voice from my vision echoes in my mind: Things turned ugly; there were no survivors.
It feels as if someone has reached into my chest cavity and clenched an iron fist around my heart. I focus on breathing slowly through the heaviness, but the tension doesn’t loosen—it only moves up my throat, to my head.
Kilkenny sits in front of me on the bed with his legs crossed, and I stare at him with heavy, bone-tired resignation. I want to thank him, but my voice doesn’t obey me.
I can’t do this anymore, I want to say. Just leave me here.
As I open my mouth to say it aloud, what comes out instead is, “I don’t know how to go on anymore. Who do I fight for now if not for Taig?”
Kilkenny brushes a tear from my cheek and says, “Yourself. You fight for yourself.”
I’m trembling as I try to contain the ugly cry that is threatening to shatter me. I wrap my arms around my legs, attempting to physically hold myself together.
“I know I told you not to break,” he starts. “But this is the part where you give yourself permission to do so. For now. I’ll be right here to help you pick up the pieces afterward. I promise. We’ll do this together.”
My breath falters. Each word dismantles my carefully constructed dam of emotional repression, brick by brick.
A tidal wave of hurt, anger, and betrayal rises up inside of me—burning, aching, thrashing against my crumbling blockade.
Instinctively, I start to shove it all back, but then, recalling Kilkenny’s words, I give myself permission to break.
I release a shaky breath, tears following, and the emotions rush through.
The first sob loosens, and before I know it, I’m in Kilkenny’s strong embrace, crushed against his chest. I weep for my father, my mother, my brother. For Ellynne, Callum. For Carys. Osheen.
I weep for the Durvla I thought I was.
And for the Durvla I need to find.
The sobs endure until I have no tears left, until my throat is raw, and my eyes are swollen. My chest feels as though it’s been overstretched from the inside out.
At the end of it all, Kilkenny is still there, his arms offering me comfort in my moment of weakness.
I take one steadying breath after another and wrap my arms around him, not just because I need his comfort.
But because I want it.