Empress of Self-Ruin

Chapter 35: A Little More Hurt Won't Kill You Tonight

The thing about letting someone in is that there was no knowing where you would both end up. It was like a muddy grave in the rain; the unspoken corners of someone's life, and when you let them see one portion of it, it was almost like handing them a shovel. And if the person you were handing the shovel to was a tenacious sod like Arsenio Arcturus... well then.

I couldn't stop him from asking every mundane thing he could think of—every tiny detail of it. Is red still my favorite color? Why do I like black tea? What is my current favorite food? Why do I work so much?

And I was a fool—a proper one with the red nose and top hat—because I answered, and I even asked him questions in return.

When he answered one, I found branches stemming from them. Is black still his favorite color? Why has he practiced the sword so much recently? Does he still have nightmares? Has he been practicing the 5-4-3-2-1 method I showed him?

But Arsen—he listened so well. He listened as if my words were golden—perhaps some prophets he had been waiting all his days to hear. And in his eyes was tenderness; a concern that was so open, but for him was natural. This attentiveness was a part of who he was and that was—if I was honest—the most attractive feature about him.

He asked me during our long conversations if I had difficulty with my development project or if I needed help with it.

"Calypso, we're partners for life, aren't we? If you have a problem, what am I here for if not to solve it with you?"

I wasn't used to discussing my problems with anyone. Usually, I would just take it and try to solve it myself. Perhaps, it was one of the reasons I developed anger issues as of late. It was getting harder to control my emotions because I wasn't capable of solving them all by myself, yet my main consciousness wouldn't even recognize it as a problem someone would understand.

But it's different now, isn't it? I'm being asked.

It was such a simple thing and yet I was so surprised. I was deprived of this feeling for... how long?

And Arsen, he was so patient, and his reply was as sweet as honey. Undeserved, but perhaps that was why it was sweeter.

I suppose, I was holding a shovel as well—and that there were two graves.

So we dug. Two reckless people. Two graves.

It was almost morning already. The pale purple sky of dawn unmasked us. It was a day when I wished dawn would come a bit later, yet the schedule demanded an entrance, and so the sun rose all the same.

I pulled myself into a sitting position on his bed and put my head between my knees as I stared at him. He was thinner than he used to be, his cheeks hollowed and sunken, his skin pale—and even then he looked beautiful. Like a haunted painting. Like a demented hell—with his blazing red eyes and the restlessness that had settled there.

Then it suddenly kicked in. Maybe my masochistic side in my brain decided it was time to show up or was it just my defense mechanism? I just tended to fuck things up when I got too comfortable.

I did try to stop myself and think about something else. I really did try. Anything but let him know that there was a pathetic, jealous girl in my head who stomped her feet, trying to be a nuisance and not cooperating with reality.

That annoying girl wanted to know about Arsen's feelings for Phoebe. Again.

Which was silly, to be honest. Because why would I ask something that I already knew the answer to? And of course, I already knew the answer, alright? I did read the book after all.