34. She is going to be my tragedy
He lets out a deep sigh. Then mumbles something under his breath.
It sounded something like "She is going to be my tragedy," but that wouldn't make any sense, right?
Instead of asking him, I begin to lightly massage his head, doing circling motions with my fingertips.
He has been through a lot.
"What does it feel like, leading a wolf pack?"
He sighs again, his eyes still closed, and I stare at his face and his long lashes. When he's calm like this, he looks so young and... beautiful.
"Heavy," he answers in his typical short-worded way.
"Why?" I ask, not willing to let him off that easily.
To my surprise, he actually answers.
"It feels like a responsibility and a burden at the same time.
Sometimes I have to make decisions I don't want to.
Sometimes, even though I want to do the right thing, I end up hurting the pack.
I want everyone to participate, to ask questions, to be involved in decisions, but sometimes when the pack is unsure or too agitated, someone has to keep a calm, level head.
Someone has to make the decision. They respect me for it, but sometimes they also hate me. "
I'm quiet for a moment, processing. He just told me more in thirty seconds than he said the past days.
"Hate is a strong word."
"It is. But it's the truth. There are quite a few people who hate that I'm with you now."
"I apologize," I say, feeling guilt suddenly wash through me.
"Don't. Like I said, I carry both with pride—the responsibility and the burden."
"Thank you for telling me," I say quietly.
When he opens his eyes for a second, I immediately say, "Close them."
With a light, amused growl, he does.
"Right now you don't have to bear the responsibility alone. I can help...We can share it."
He goes completely still for a moment, then reaches up to touch my cheek gently.
"Thank you," he says, his voice rough and strained, and there's something in the way he's looking at me now that wasn't there before—something hungry and vulnerable all at once.
"Have you ever had someone to share the responsibility with?"
"No," he says quietly. "Not really. There are advisors, but in the end..." He trails off.
"In the end, it's all on you."
"Yes," he says, his voice having a rough, commanding edge to it now.
I'm quiet for a moment.
"I took care of my aunt when she was sick. For three years."
He clears his throat. "How old were you?"
"Fourteen." My voice catches."I felt so alone then, and I still do." I pause, feeling tears threaten.
"As a Communicator, I'm not really with the humans, and I'm definitely never with the wolves. I exist somewhere in between, belonging nowhere."
My voice goes unsteady. "Fuck, I just... I just want to belong somewhere." The admission feels raw leaving my lips, and I feel his thumb brush across my cheek, catching the tears.
He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, then closes it again.