Page 20 of Falling in Love with A Tiny Bat

“Oh. Excellent. I suppose I retain my ability to communicate intentions in a reliable manner.”

“You want me to bully you?”

He touches a tiny kiss to Ash’s nose. “I’m looking for more of a mutual arrangement. The sort where you don’t get mad at me and make me sleep outside if I go too far. After all, I believe myself to be a compassionate individual capable of complex discussion.” His face splits in a chilling grin. “I want mutual bully. Mutual power. Mutual respect. Anunderstanding, if you will.”

“And if I won’t?”

He tsks. “Well, we will need to come to some sort of agreement. You have a stream scheduled tomorrow night, friends coming in on Friday to roleplay in thischarmingyard of yours, school starting again Monday.” He hums, seeming much too delighted. “You require me in some shape or form if you’re interested in keeping your baby and your jobs. Why not have fun with my existence? Make me sleep outside as a joke, not because you’re upset. Allow me to get back at you in an equally humorous way. Anger is incredibly erosive. We can’t change what we are to one another, snowflake. But we can be honest about ourexpectations and desires.”

I’ve learned that honesty results in trust, and trust can so easily be taken advantage of. Letting anyone know what you want means handing them something they can use against you. Humans have no fail-safes. But faeries…faeries do. “Promise me you won’t neglect consent. Out loud. So you can’t lie or escape the oath.”

He does not hesitate. “I promise not to neglect consent where it concerns touching you, snowflake. And, if you need added assurance that your consent is not limited to assumptions or verbal confirmation, I can sense the moment your feelings shift. I am not a dream eater like Pollux. I would not enjoy the flavor of fear on my tongue in most contexts.”

“Onlymostcontexts?”

Oh so sweetly, Alexios holds Ash’s tiny gray fingers. “I make no promises where fear rises from my retaliation against someone attempting to hurt my family. I may be born from feelings of defeat…but spite is definitely something I’ve grown into.”

I watch him for several long moments, and a niggling sensation rises in the back of my mind. It presses on my heart. Requesting I listen to it and react to the insanity of this situation with kindness.

I hate when I remember that I’m supposed to be kind to the people I don’t like…

I hate it so much, I begin listing my very good reasons to ignore the rules this time. Like, excuse me, Sir, Lord of the Universe, Almighty and All-knowing, I’m currently holding a piece of paper that suggests the man you want me to be kind to wants toownme. Do You not see a problem with that?

In response to my hissy fit, I recall what Alana told me about Alexios’s song being gentle and free of malice. Iseehow he is right now, with Ash. And, as a final blow, I remember that I ammore than aware how dangerous people feel.

Not even Castor himself piqued the unrest that plagued my childhood.

Everything happens for a reason, blah blah blah. For He knows the plans He has for me…plans to prosper and not to harm.

Oh, great. Now God’s writing an essay back at me, including references and drawing to mind Bible verses with theIt Is Writtenenergy we stan from the Judaean Desert arc.

After ages living beneath the hammer of religion, there’s a certain peace in the knowledge that love allows choice and doesn’t condemn mistakes. There’s a certain peace in allowing my thoughts to roam honestly and include all my messy emotions without fearing that God will hate me if I don’t suppress myself—even in my own mind.

My upbringing charged me—as a child who was barely provided enough food each day—toalways be a witness.

If I don’t feel safe,be a witness.

If I’m scared,be a witness.

If I’m in pain,be. a. witness.

My mother would pluck verses out of context that taught me it was mydutyunder penalty ofburning until nothing remainedto be a sacrifice.

Come to Me all who are wearydid not work in her favor.My burden is lightdid not lighten hers.

So I only heardserve. I only heardgive.

Guilt, to my mother, wasproof God was working on my heart. So when I felt terrible for failing to meet her outrageous expectations, she said it wasgood. Too many times she looked me dead in the eye and glorified my pain.

I don’t wantguiltto be the selfish motivation behind what I do. In case no one told her,guiltisn’t a fruit of the Spirit.

Our Father who Art in Heaven said,Come, let us reasontogether;not,Come, let me guilt-trip you into obedience.

It’s been a while since I had to fight to remember whereIstand in my own beliefs, not where my traumatic past chewed me up and spit me out.

Respectfully, God, I hate character development.

I’m…tired.

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