Page 19 of Presence

He notices my reaction. I could swear his eyes flick briefly to my lips. It’s only for a moment, like a fleeting shadow cast by a cloud on a windy day. Then, he’s looking into my eyes again, his gaze devoid of any apparent desire, and I have to swallow hard against the tightness in my abdomen.

“Meaning you’re an incredible woman, through and through,” he says, his voice firm and gentle. “I’ve seen your lowest moments, whether you like it or not. That was part of the deal when you sat in that circle with your friend and called me for help. I’ve seen you, and I chose to help you.”

I shake my head, unsure of what to say.

“But the things that I...” I start, my words dying in my throat. The shame is overwhelming, like black, poisoned vines wrapped around me. I’m a slave to them, unable to speak.

“You’re scared, I get it,” Echo interrupts. “It’s normal. Fear is what makes you human, you know?”

The hairs on my neck stand as he lifts me high, higher than a safe swing. A whimper escapes my lips. He tightens his grip on the swing’s rods just enough to steady the motion but doesn’t lower me immediately. He lets the moment stretch out, with the ground uncomfortably far below.

And just as he lets go, I feel something break inside me. Like the speed of the swing, I let go of the burning inside and decide to tell this man, my protector, the thing I’m so scared to admit. I put my feet on the ground, slowing the swing, and take a deep breath.

“I came here with my mom once,” I start again. “Back then, I was just a kid, though it didn’t feel like it. My dad was gone, and my mom raised me by herself, but in many ways, I was more of a stability to her than she was to me.”

Echo remains silent, his gaze fixed on me as he listens. His stillness seems to draw the background further away. There’s no more scent of cotton candy, no warmth of the sun on my skin. It’s just me, him, and my memories.

“Coming here was...” I pause, the memories flooding back sharply, “bittersweet. It was the only time I saw her act like other mothers. She was clean off alcohol. She seemed like she cared. Then it all broke, and she got sick again. The kind of sick where you start counting days, not years. We never came back to this park. It was just back to the darkness of our home and fear. Lots of fear.”

I swing slightly, the motion almost imperceptible, as if the gentle sway could soothe the ache building with each word.

“I put that sticker there,” I gesture towards the swing’s leg, “on one of the only good days we had. She said it was a new chapter for us. She promised to never go back to the bottle again.”

I taste acid as I try to continue. “But, you know, many stories like these end with the parent’s death,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut. “Mine doesn’t. This fight my mother had with herself lasted for years. Then, one day, I just couldn’t take it anymore.”

“Right,” Echo says, coming closer. I hear the crunch of the sand as he walks towards me. Then he does something unexpected. He drops to his knees in front of me, stopping the swing and cupping my face with his hand. “Because you were scared of her.”

When he wipes away a tear, I realize I didn’t even know I was crying. I nod slowly, guilt eating me up from the inside.

“I was scared of her right up until the end,” I admit. “Whenever I saw her awake at night, I started to tremble. If I was alone in my room, I’d lock the door and leave the key in, just in case she tried to get in with a kitchen knife. Whenever she cried... I braced myself for maniacal laughter to follow. So, I ran. I left her. I abandoned the mother I had promised to stay with forever.”

Echo’s hand remains steady on my face, his touch grounding me as I navigate through the feelings my confession brings. When I open my eyes, I find a softness in his that doesn’t falter, even as the raw intensity of my emotions thickens the air between us.

His words ring in my head… “I know everything there is to know about you. And guess what? I still like you.”

How can he? How can anyone like me with the baggage I carry? The pain I’ve hoarded, the grudges I still hold, the dark thoughts that sometimes consume me... I’m not a good person. I’m tainted.

Escaping was my only option to escape the pain. But in doing so, I found a new kind of torment, just as relentless as the one I left behind. My own conscience punishes me.

“You were hurt,” Echo says, gently lifting my chin. “She was hurting you.”

“I ran,” I say, the word like a curse. He, this mysterious man I barely know, nods once, a sharp, serious gesture devoid of any smiles.

“And you did the right thing,” he responds. “As a child, you should have been loved, cherished, wanted.”

My chest tightens, and my limbs tremble. Echo’s words stir a whirlwind of emotions within me. His reassurance clashes with my heavy guilt, each battling for control inside me.

Maybe that’s why the sky turns gray, the sun hiding from me. It feels like I don’t deserve its warmth anymore.

“Listen to me, Claire,” he says, pinching my chin gently to keep me from looking away. “Running away isn’t a bad thing. You call the darkness in your heart a flaw. I call it a scar that makes you beautiful.”

His words hit deeper than I expected. Something inside me shifts, fracturing into a million pieces, then somehow begins to mend. As I look into his eyes, I see not just a supernatural protector but a reflection of my deepest fears and hopes—recognition that they matter. I matter.

This is… This being right here. He’s not rejecting me. He embraces me. I feel his warmth.

“But what about the guilt?” I ask, my voice a whisper against the growing wind. “It claws at me. It tells me I failed her by leaving.”

He stares at me, his metallic cobalt eyes fitting perfectly with the storm behind him. Despite the rumble from the sky, his voice is clear.

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