Page 60 of Of Sockets Of Stitches
“You uttered words of forgiveness and acceptance, even if you did not believe them. You freed me despite wishing to keep me shackled,” See spoke quickly. “You know that we must do things that you are not ready for. Sharing a bed will have greater effect than sharing a space.”
A chill entered me, and I crossed the room to stand before him. “You have considered a solution, which I acknowledge. But ultimately, the choice between us is mine.”
“I did all I could do to save you. To give us immortality, and save monsters too,” he said, a bite of anger in his voice.
My lips torsioned. “So you say. ’Tis my job to believe you, I suppose.”
“So we must dive into everything uncomfortable and awkward,” he pressed.
I placed a hand on his chest, and See stopped speaking. His chest rose sharply under my touch.
I said, “Youmust do nothing but consider.Imust do everything impossible. So onlyIwill do any diving. OnlyImust be uncomfortable while you must only be uncertain and hopeful of avoiding a lonely and painful existence.”
See sighed. “I wish that I could make you believe.”
“I wish that too.”
I rose on tiptoe and set my lips to his. Then I put distance between us so that I could view his horror—that I had already felt the heartbeat of.
A chaste kiss. An icy kiss.
That was what we just shared.
I told him, “I will not share a bed with you because you must hope there is a possibility of our happy destiny. If you share a bed with me, you will be convinced of the exact opposite. Yours is the easier role to play, See. So play it, and cease arguing with a queen who is very capable of weighing most of everything.”
He stumbled back, the horror not leaving his face.
See was being confronted with all he had lost—our kiss had been as our heart beating between our lips. And now he had felt all our kiss was not.
Despair was painted upon him.
He turned from me, and strode away. He returned all the way to the door of my private quarters but strode no further than setting his hand upon the door handle.
See retreated to the small lounge adjoining my bedchamber. He sat on the couch. I had straddled his lap on that couch. He had ravished me there. We had shared dizzying pleasure.
How was I meant to connect to that again?
Sharing my body felt like a culmination of my thoughts and feelings. I could only enjoy such pleasure again once I truly forgave him.
And how to forgive him?
I had to understand him. Believe him. Trust him.
I pushed back my bedcovers and climbed into bed. I did not often sleep these days, no more than an hour or two in the day. But my minds used the time to whir in peace.
In peace.
They did not whir and offer wisps today.
I stared at the ceiling and felt his wakefulness as he would feel mine. I wished to sink into the deepest and most peaceful of sleeps to spite him.
Toss. Turn.
Another creak—what felt like the thousandth—arose fromthe couch King See slumbered upon, and I threw off the bed covers.
Grabbing the robe from the bottom of the bed, I shrugged into it as I charged from my private quarters.
I left—the irony of it all.
