"Welcome home. We've missed you," I say with a snicker, relishing the sight of the strongest woman I've ever known crumbling before me, her once formidable presence reduced to nothing but a fragile shell.
Perhaps I'm still a tad bitter about being left behind by her.
Aren is already by her side, his hands gently cradling her head, his movements urgent as he shakes her slightly, trying to coax her back to consciousness. But Idalia remains unresponsive, lost in the depths of unconsciousness.
My own mind struggles to comprehend the situation, but my tongue feels heavy and sluggish, refusing to form the words that hover on the tip of my tongue. All I can do is stare, a silent witness to the unfolding scene before me.
I recognized the potential for their return at any moment, but I let my guard down. Yet, inevitably, my past intersects with the present, catching us in a compromising position: Aren's pants unbuckled, and me, on my knees before him. It's embarrassing, to say the least. I quickly wipe my hand on my pants.
Their eyes bore into mine, expectation hanging heavy in the air, waiting for some explanation, some justification. But I find myself at a loss for words, my mind a blank canvas devoid of coherent thoughts. I had assumed I would have something to say by now, some semblance of an excuse or explanation, but I was sorely mistaken.
Cierien's mouth hangs agape, frozen in disbelief since the moment he opened the door and caught sight of the compromising scene. Wrath's gaze remains unyielding, his eyes ablaze with a simmering fury that threatens to consume everything in its path. As for Sophie, her reaction remains an enigma to me- a silent witness to the chaos unfolding before her, her thoughts concealed behind a mask of inscrutable composure.
Sophie's demeanor betrays neither excitement nor dismay at my presence. Instead, her expression borders on indifference, as if the spectacle before her fails to stir any emotion within her. Taking the first step, she bypasses me completely, her focus directed solely on Idalia's prone form.
With a practiced calmness, she drops beside Idalia, her eyes sweeping over her unconscious figure, a silent assessment of her well-being. Then, without a word, her gaze shifts to me, a silent question lurking within her gaze.
"Mind showing us to her room?" Sophie's voice breaks the silence, her tone devoid of any discernible emotion.
Definitely not excited to see me.
The indifference in her voice stings, a stark reminder of the divide that has grown between us. I can't help but scoff in disbelief at her request.
"That's what you're going with?" I retort, unable to contain the incredulity in my voice. It's true, I've been less than stellar in my behavior, and she has every right to be angry. But her apparent disregard for the situation, feigning concern for someone she clearly doesn't care about, catches me off guard. It's not the reaction I anticipated.
"I'm sorry, would you like me to drop to my knees and thank you for finally gracing us with your presence... after nearly two fucking years of thinking you were dead?" Sophie's words slice through the air, sharp and unforgiving.
I open my mouth to respond, to offer some semblance of an explanation, but she cuts me off with a bitter reminder. "Two years," she repeats, her voice rising with each syllable.
Aren flinches at her raised voice, his eyes darting to mine for guidance. I shake my head, silently accepting the repercussions of my absence, knowing that I deserve whatever consequences are to come.
"You've been alive for two years, and you haven't thought to seek me out? Hell, just a single word- a simple I'm okay would have sufficed," Sophie grits out, stepping into my space with a fury that's almost palpable.
"I wasn't ready to see them, I-" I begin, but she cuts me off with a vehement rebuke.
"Not them, me!" she bellows, her voice echoing with hurt and betrayal. "Me! Your best friend!"
"I know, I should have-" I try to interject, but once again, she silences me with her searing anger.
"Should have," she scoffs, her laughter bitter and hollow. "But you didn't. You let me think you were dead. You let me grieve you. You left me to deal with all of this alone. You left!"
"I'm sorry," I whisper, feeling the tremble in my voice as the weight of my actions bears down on me.
"You're the worst."
"I know," I concede, unable to dispute the truth of her accusation. Turning my gaze to the two men lingering in the doorway, I add, "Can we go somewhere to talk? I don't want them here."
"Baby..." Cierien's voice breaks the tense silence, but his words falter when I turn away, unable to meet his gaze.
Sophie's laughter cuts through the air, her head shaking in disbelief as her eyes rake over me with a mix of disappointment and frustration. "I don't want to hear anything you have to say," she asserts, her tone unyielding.
"We should talk in private, Soph," I plead, desperation creeping into my voice as I reach out to her.
"It doesn't matter what you want right now, Avalyn. It won't fix what you broke," Sophie insists, her words cutting through my defenses like a knife.
Despite my lack of actual anger towards Sophie, I feel myself growing defensive. I've never felt so vulnerable, so exposed. Her implication that this is all my fault stings. Even though I know I've made mistakes, I never asked for any of this.
"No? Nothing I have to say matters?" I retort, a bitter edge to my voice as I snicker at her incredulous expression. "I suppose I don't get to have an opinion on the fact that you've been living with the men who hurt me either?"
Her eyes widen for just a fleeting moment, a flicker of pain crossing her features in response to my words. I see the impact of my words, yet I press on, the bitterness in my voice palpable. "I'm so sorry that I couldn't face you, Sophie," I continue, my words laden with regret. "But even if I wanted to, I couldn't exactly do that when you were befriending the men who tried to kill me. I wouldn't be in this situation if it weren't for them, but yes, go on and tell me about how shitty of a friend I am."
"I-" Sophie begins, but her words falter, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, struggling to find her voice amidst the tumult of emotions.
"What's wrong with you?" Wrath interjects, his disbelief evident as he shakes his head in dismay.
"What's wrong... with me?" I echo his words, struggling to comprehend why Wrath is addressing me in this moment.
"Sophie had no other choice but to stay with us. We helped her in her transition. She lost her best friend, and the only people she could turn to were us. Do you think that's what she wanted? She didn't ask for any of this," Wrath explains, his words tinged with a mixture of frustration and empathy.
Empathy for her, not a shred for me. She didn't ask for any of this, but who cares that I didn't either?
While his words ring true, and I acknowledge them, they fail to quell the rising tide of anger within me. Sophie had no other choice, and I don't blame her for seeking solace with them. Right now, my emotions aren't directed at her; I'm consumed by fear. Terrified that I've irreparably damaged everything and will only continue to do so. If only I could have a moment alone with her to express my thoughts freely, without these two imposing figures looming over us. Perhaps then, I could articulate what's truly on my mind. But with their piercing stares fixed upon me, I find myself too overwhelmed with anxiety to think clearly. Instead of finding a resolution, I'm caught in a cycle of self-destruction.
Wrath's defense of Sophie only fuels my anger further. Who is he to speak on her behalf as if he knows her better than I do? I understand what Sophie had to do to survive, but the sight of them being obviously close now- my best friend and the men who hurt me- stirs up a primal urge to sabotage even more.
"And why did she lose her best friend, Wrath? Do tell, what led to it all? Whose fault was that?" I demand, finally summoning the courage to meet their gazes head-on.
Cierien stands frozen, caught in the intensity of the moment, while Wrath rolls his shoulders, meeting my cold glare head-on. "No one said you don't have a right to be angry, but don't take your anger out on her. That's not who you are, Av," he asserts firmly.
"Not who I am? You think you know me?" I challenge, my voice rising with every word, a bitter chuckle escaping my lips. "You knew me for what, three months? Go on, tell me who I am, Wrath."
"You're our brave little human who's too sweet for her own good. You're the only good thing that's left in this world. And you're ours, sweetheart. I know you're angry, but-"
"Human? I'm dead, Wrath. You killed that girl," I confess, my voice heavy with resignation. "She doesn't exist anymore."
"Of course she does," he insists. "Don't speak like that, you're still you."
"I'll never be that girl again," I declare, shaking my head with certainty.
"I loved that girl," Cierien interjects, his eyes brimming with sorrow. "I do love that girl."
"Did you love her when you were planning to rip her throat out? When you were manipulating her? When you were using her?" I spit out bitterly, unable to contain my resentment.
"You are different," Wrath insists, his voice tinged with frustration. "You won't even hear us out."
I despise the way he says it. Yes, I am different, but that's not a bad thing, and I won't let him make it one. I had to change. I had to adapt. He shattered me- flipped my whole world upside down. But I survived. I emerged from that grave, stronger and wiser than before.
"You made me like this, I won't apologize for who I had to become after what you put me through!"
He purses his lips into a tight line, nodding in acknowledgment as I steady my breathing. I refuse to avert my gaze from him, even as Sophie begins to speak to Aren about moving Idalia.
"Av?" Aren's voice breaks through the tension, seeking my approval before he takes action.
"I'm fine, go," I reply with a nod, watching silently as they exchange a few whispered words before lifting Idalia and carrying her away, leaving us alone in the wake of our unresolved emotions.
"You made a new friend?" Wrath asks once Aren is out of view, a bitter smile curling on his lips.
"Oh, are you disappointed?" I retort, my tone dripping with sarcasm. "Did you think I'd spend the rest of my life crying and reminiscing about what we shared? Did you think I'd run into your arms when we met again, like the clueless, naive little girl I used to be? Does it upset you that I've moved on- that I'm smart enough to know better now?"
"I am disappointed," he admits.
His calm demeanor unsettles me. I resent the way he looks at me as if everything will magically fall back into place and I'm just being a dramatic crybaby. But nothing will ever be okay again.
I yearn for him to experience the same anguish he inflicted upon me. I crave to witness tears cascade down his cheeks, to see his stoic facade crumble, and his knees buckle under the weight of his remorse.
Reflecting on Jeanette, I realize I've made a promise to her. However, there's no hint of remorse within me for not fulfilling it. I staunchly refuse to play the role of goodness in Wrath's life. Instead, I'll become the indelible image that accompanies him every night before he sleeps and every morning when he awakens. My presence will haunt him relentlessly, persisting until his final breath and beyond. He'll never escape my wrathful fury.
"And so I am. I'm profoundly disappointed," I retort sharply, aiming directly at his vulnerabilities. "I'm sure your mother will share in that disappointment when you have to explain it all to her."
I don't hold back, knowing exactly where to strike to inflict maximum pain. "To think she was eagerly anticipating your return. How swiftly that excitement will fade once she lays eyes on you."
His eye twitches, his body visibly tense as he demands, "What are you talking about?"
"Jeannette will despise the man you've become," I reply with a chuckle. "And, my God... I can hardly wait to witness it."
//
Alexa, play: Silver Springs by Fleetwood Mac