An Immortal's Favour

Jack- His Choice

The feeling pushed me forward, guided my feet closer to where I needed to be. But I may as well have been walking over hot coal; my whole body shook from the heat of the sudden white-hot anger surging through me, and turning back didn't seem like such a bad option anymore.

Why did I have to go to Yafeu, anyway? Why did I have to see him, the man who'd considered hurting another human being in the way he had an acceptable thing to do? 

Taking refuge under the awning of a shop, my head fell into my hands, and my fingers dug so harshly into the damp skin of my face that I screamed. Passers-by hurried along, finding the idea of even sparing a glance too bothersome.

The thought of Yafeu wasting away in a cold, wet cell, with nothing to do apart from counting floating dust mites in still air, didn't trigger the satisfaction that others might've felt.

So I went on.

But, even after reaching Kalamar Prison, even after lowering myself down into the stiff seat that I'd been occupying only days before, my going in the first place seemed to be nothing more than a wasted effort. In my mind, at least, that was what everything would amount to: time wasted.

Yafeu had his head bowed as I entered the visitor area, though he lifted his eyes when my footsteps neared his cubicle. In the dull light seeping through the few windows around the room, Yafeu seemed greyer than the walls around us. His lips twitched into a sort of smile- something between a smirk and a scowl.

I dropped into the seat and coughed, fingers trembling. It'd all seemed so easy when I'd planned out the visit in the morning; I'd just waltz on in. And I guess I thought I'd keep my mouth shut during the whole thing, too, because I sure as hell didn't know what to say to the man when I actually arrived.

The temperature of the air seemed to drop tenfold, and I swear I shook more violently than a desert mole rat in the Frozen Plains. Then came the talking. Why I thought Yafeu would even want to hear about how I'd tripped over a hair brush two hours earlier is beyond me. Gods, the entire ordeal was just pure torture. I didn't know which was worse: the endless stream of crap spewing from my mouth, or feeling as though I'd lose it if I took so much as a glance in Yafeu's direction.

"I can't believe you came. Alone this time, I see," Yafeu commented, his voice deadly soft.

"I don't want to be; it's terrifying." You're terrifying.

The words hurt him- I know they did -and perhaps I wanted them to. Perhaps I wanted him to endure a fraction of the pain I'd been subjected to. Petty.

Yafeu pressed his lips into a thin line, just as I took a peek at his face to see what my words had done to him. He was a man broken, a man who had...No, it'd be wrong to say he'd had absolutely nothing. I was there with him. That had to count for something, right?

"Why did you come?"

"You asked me a question, so I came back to answer it."

His shoulders shuddered, bobbing up and down violently. He pulled a hand to his mouth to hide the nervous smile that played along his lips and sniffled.

"Well?"

"Listen," I started, sounding harsher than I'd intended to. "I can't forgive you, but I'm willing-"

"Dear spirits. You can just say you want nothing to do with me. Don't put me up to this bullshit; you hate me," he said, the tears now running freely over the hand he'd clasped over his mouth. 

So, clearly, this was going nowhere, and if trying to wound me was his goal, I'd say he did a good job. Though, strangely, I felt like laughing at the absurdity of it all, at where we were, what was being exchanged between us.