a proposal, of sorts. ✔️

eleven

The theatre went fine. And so did the ball. And our trip to the museum. And the picnic (I was confused as to the merit of that, isolated and in a park inhabited mostly by trees and glimmers, but allowed it because Trystan makes a shockingly good sandwich). Everything was fine.

Until my time was left empty. The few minutes in the bath where I had nothing to do but wash the suds off my skin. The agonizing moments before I let exhaustion collapse my body into unconsciousness. That's when my thoughts crept in to remind me of my pain. Of her. It didn't matter how I crammed my days because there were always moments for her to sink in.

Quick knocks interrupt my self-pity: excited? I glance up from my book in time to see Trystan in my doorway, door swinging behind him. He holds up two slips of paper. "My favorite band is visiting! I got us tickets!"

I can't help but laugh at his enthusiasm. "When's the show?"

His grin gets wider. "Tonight!"

He bounds off before I can even ask him what band we were going to see, but I assume if it got him so excited it could be no one good.

•••

We arrived at the location of the show an hour before the band was designated to perform at the urging of a very eager Trystan. He wanted to ensure well-positioned seats and found the only appropriate way was to arrive well before anyone else.

"So, who's playing?" I ask once we're finally seated. The chairs are wooden and splintery, and smell of the rain.

He wrenches his eyes back to my own. "The Land Pirates!" His shout barely carries over the crowd that had begun to amass. It's enough for me to hear the torture I had inadvertently been drafted for.

The Land Pirates were conveniently Rylan's favorite band.

I force my smile to remain unfaltered and instead turn my attention to the stage. I could do this. I didn't need to ruin Trystan's night.

The blurs of people moving across the stage register in my mind, but I can't bring my eyes to focus on anything.

A deep breath later I don't feel any more prepared for what laid ahead of me so I decide to find respite in the bathroom. "I'll be back in a few minutes. I need to use the restrooms," I tell him.

"Really? The band's about to start!" He points towards the stage, but I don't follow his finger.

"It's an emergency," I lie. If he can tell, he doesn't say.

It doesn't take long for me to weave my way to the bathroom: for the most part people move out of my way to let me pass. My eyes catch on each face as I walk by, in search of the familiarity of Rylan. A portion of my heart hopes to find her — to hold her again, to talk to her, to convince her that she doesn't need to leave me.

The bathroom is ugly, vomit decorating one stall and urine splashed across the other. I find myself lucky that I don't need to use the facilities until I see shit in the sink. Literal shit. In the sink. A hand over my mouth and nose can only do so much as I stumble my way back to the exit. Fortunately, the bathroom lays at the end of an emptied hallway, which serves my purposes better than the restroom could have.

Forehead and arms pressed against a dirty wall, I coax my breathing to slow. Bile rises in my throat, and I wonder absently if it's a reaction to the bathroom or the band. I rub my collarbone in the absence of my pendant, a habit I had abandoned years prior.

"Seryn?" The words are given to me as a soft whisper. I keep my eyes closed so I don't puke all over his shoes.

"What're you doing here?" I slur my question. "The band must be playing by now."

"You hadn't returned from the restroom. I was worried," he informs me, placing a hand on my waist. I turn at his request, the darkness of the hall convincing me to stand closer to him than usual.

"I'm sorry. It was just... too much," I confess, my heart sinking at my vulnerability. I don't want him to see me like this. Weak and breathless after seeing a group of strangers on a stage. "You should go back. I'll be fine."

"I'm not going anywhere." It's decisive, the way he responds, no room for argument even if I had any fight left in me.

"Okay," I breathe out slowly. The word comes out funny. My head falls back to rest against the wall again, crumpling my hair into a position I'm sure is unflattering. The pain is less muddled now, so I can actually discern my thoughts within it. I feel it more sharply, as a knife wound left abandoned. "I think the worst of it is that I feel like the monster. I did the bad thing. I'm the one who caused us both this pain. I'm the villain of her story and mine."

A deep sigh precedes his reply. His hand is still on my waist; dizzying. "You're not always going to be the angel, Seryn. The hero who does no wrong, because people like that don't exist. Everyone's a villain in someone's story."

His words sound reasonable but the logic doesn't act as a salve for my hurt. "But like this? Like I ripped her heart out and crushed it in my hand only to realize that I'd ripped mine out as well?"

"I mean, yeah, you fucked up. But I don't assume you ever imagined for it to end this way." His thumb strokes the side of my body slowly, trailing across the line of my rib. It staves off my nausea better than my pendant. I find his eyes again, quicker now because the darkness has become easier to bear.

"Does intention truly matter when the damage is so exacting?" I allow myself the break of a few shallow breaths. Then, a realization: "I need to apologize."

His hand on my body holds me in place. "No," he says calmly, with a composure I envy.

I begin to struggle against his grasp finally. His hand falls away easily, a cold handprint left in its wake. "Why?"

"Seryn, that's the cruelest action you can take against someone just starting to move on. All you're going to do by apologizing now is open wounds. For both of you." His answer is impassioned; I can feel it on my skin and in the air.

"I suppose you're right." I don't extend my olive branch any further because my disgust for myself won't allow for much more.

"The aching feeling will lessen, eventually." But what about the desire to claw my own throat out, to ensure a misery to match the one I'd wrought for Rylan?

I settle on my response after another deep breath. "I only hope I'll be able to survive until then."