Page 89 of Haunted

She scoffs.

“I want you to heal,” I say. “Despite my inability to do so, I swear it! I believe you can.”

“How could we ever be the same? I have a smudge on my heart-center; you carry a cauldron of dark matter!”

I rake both hands through my hair, pulling the strands back slowly, buying time, considering my next sentence. My words come out forced—harsh—but purposeful. “I might have done horrible things.” My light vies for dominance in my heart-center, but I let my darkness take control. “I might use my darkness and relish the strength the energy gives me, a strength you could never understand”—my final words fall out of my mouth, contorted from the darkness inside—“but even in all my deceit, I didn’t kill one hundred and eighty-nine people.”

I instantly wish I could take my words back.

She just stares at my mouth.

Oh Creator. I’ve dealt her a harsh blow. She didn’t know. She didn’t know the exact amount.

Her eyes flash with light a second before she blasts me across the room. My head connects with the table behind me, and I collapse onto the rug.

She’s a godly warrior, shining with power. I laugh. I’ve unleashed her fury, and she harnessed her light with it.

I roll onto my side while clutching an injury. A quick assessment with my light tells me my damage. “You broke my bottom two ribs.”

She doesn’t care. Her breathing is shallow as she stares at her hands. “How do you know how many?” She digs her fingers into her chest, curling over her knees, as sobs overtake her body.

Niawen is so overwhelmed she doesn’t see me crawling feebly over to her, ignoring the pain as my ribs stab my diaphragm. I can’t ask her to heal me after the upset I’ve caused. I speak near her ear. “I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have said any of it.”

She chokes. She gasps, but she doesn’t look up at me. “Why did you?”

“You’ve triggered something in me I can’t explain. This didn’t go well. This is not how I wanted the conversation to go. I can’t give words to what I’m feeling.”

She sniffs as she rubs the tears from her cheeks. “I told you to let me in.”

“I’m sorry. By the light, I’m sorry. I’m an idiot. And I give you permission to blast me whenever you want. It’ll help you heal.”

She laughs through her sniffles and glances to the side between a crack in the fingers covering her face. I’m lying on my stomach, with my hand extended, palm up. I bury my face in the carpet, with my other arm around my head. She must have some idea how much this position hurts.

I wait for her to process. I wait for her to understand that I’m sorry.

When I peek, she’s huddled in a ball, unmoving.

Reach out, Niawen. Take my hand.

I’m blackness that needs to be filled with light.

I need you, your light.

Her blackness shrouds her heart.

Mine is a mass in a hole in my chest.

One gesture will change everything. With one decision, she can forgive me.

Decide, Niawen.

I’ll wait as long as it takes.

Her hand curls around mine.

My heart leaps, and I grip her hand in return.

She’s forgiven me.

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