Page 28 of Aries

I pause as I choke up, “From the most compassionate place. I’ll tell you one thing, Aries.” I spear him with my most serious look.

“I never want to hear you apologize again. In fact—”

He interrupts, but I cut him off.

“Let me finish!” Wow, that came out so harsh. “I don’t want to hear one more apology, Aries. In fact, I want you to hear me when I apologize right now.”

Spark’s colors shift rapidly between deep purple and anxious green, unable to settle on a single hue as it senses the emotional turmoil between us.

“I apologize for freezing you out, Aries. I was hardhearted and stiff-necked and cruel, and I should have shown at least a tenth of the compassion you showed me. So, I apologize from the bottom of my heart for hurting you so deeply for such a long time.”

His mouth is hanging open, moving slightly as though he’s trying to figure out what to say but doesn’t have a clue.

“I’d love to start over, Aries. Frankly, if this happened in any other circumstance, I wouldn’t have the guts to ask for your compassion—I don’t deserve it.”

I want to look away, avoid his eyes, but I force myself to brave whatever’s there. He’s still stunned, eyes wide.

“But we’re here, locked in together for months, and there’s a lot riding on this. So, yeah, when you’re ready to put this behind you, let me know. And don’t worry, I don’t expect your forgiveness. You’re a terrific person, but even a saint would have a hard time forgiving me.”

He pauses. The silence goes on long enough that my heart begins to ache. Would he really rather fail this challenge than accept my apology?

“Your apology is unnecessary, but I accept it anyway. I can’t forgive you because in my mind, Callie, there’s nothing to forgive.”

We simply stare into each other’s eyes for long moments. Thoughts and emotions are whirling within me so rapidly I honestly don’t know what I’m thinking or feeling right now.

“It’s almost unbearable not to hold you in my arms, Callie. I wish I could. I hate to admit it, but perhaps these stupid rules will work to our benefit. We have months to learn how to communicate, months to work together, months to let what happened in that cell fade to the far corners of our minds.”

“And in the meantime, we can learn to be friends,” I chime in, though the way my body responds to his nearness makes a lie of my words. I want more than friendship.

Although we’ve shared so many truths this week, now is not the time for me to share that particular truth.

Chapter Seventeen

Aries

The first crack of thunder hits like a physical blow, sending memories crashing through carefully constructed barriers. My hands shake as I grip the Manual, trying to focus on tonight’s meditation requirements instead of the way lightning transforms our cottage windows into harsh arena spotlights.

Callie sits cross-legged on her meditation cushion, close enough that her light floral scent fills my lungs with each measured breath. After the Memory Reconciliation sessions, every time we’re near each other, the air seems charged with new awareness. Even the simple act of breathing the same air holds dangerous intimacy.

“Your heart’s racing,” she says softly.

Not a question. The thunder crashes again, and my hands tighten into fists, my nails pricking my palms.

“Aries?”

“I’m fine.” The lie tastes bitter. Spark drifts closer, its usual bright colors shifting to concerned lavender as it nuzzles my cheek. Theshimmerling’s touch feels like sunlight andcomfort, but even its soothing presence can’t quiet the roaring in my head.

Rain lashes the windows now, driven by a howling wind that sounds too much like… like…

Please, brother. Make it stop. I can’t…can’t take anymore…

Kren’s voice echoes through memory, mixing with the storm until I can’t tell which sounds are present and which are past. My hands clench harder, drawing blood where nails pierce flesh.

“You’re not fine.” Callie moves closer, still maintaining the prescribed distance, but near enough that her body heat radiates against my skin. “Talk to me?”

The power chooses this moment to die, plunging us into darkness broken only by Spark’s concerned glow and the regular bursts of lightning blazing through the windowpanes. In the sudden darkness, Callie’s breathing seems louder, more intimate. The cottage feels smaller somehow, as if the shadows are pressing us together. Lightning crashes again, and I flinch violently, memories threatening to overwhelm me.

“Come on,” Callie says softly, rising from her meditation cushion. “Let’s move to the bed, where we can share warmth. The barrier will help us stay close enough for comfort but maintain the rules.”

---