[This post is from Matt’s point of view.]
Her tears fell hot against his cheeks. Matt’s mind reeled.
What the hell is going on?
He couldn’t quite make sense of the storm that had begun inside of him. Had he really loved her in a past life—in his life as Cíar mac Dúbhshláin, during his time as the Ridden Druid? How? When?
There were too many questions, ones with answers that hung just beyond his reach. His thoughts had fragmented, scattered like glass dashed against a hard kitchen floor.
And yet, he didn’t stop kissing her, didn’t push her away when she broke off the kiss. She sobbed and he put his arms around her, heart pounding hard against his ribs.
What the hell am I doing?
“You’re crying,” he said, then mentally kicked himself. Brilliant. Could you have said a stupider thing?
The problem was, he probably could have if he’d been thinking more or less clearly.
Hecate nodded, her face against his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
At least she had the grace to apologize—but what, exactly, was she actually apologizing for? There were a lot of things she could have been apologizing for, and Matt was fairly certain she wasn’t apologizing for everything.
He must have stiffened without realizing it, because she drew back and met his gaze steadily despite her apparent emotion. Hecate reached up to wipe her tears away with a thumb and took a deep breath before she spoke.
“I shouldn’t have kept going after your friends,” she said softly, then slowly stood up. “There are some things I can’t quite control. Sometimes I just…do things, things that if I was thinking clearly, I wouldn’t do. It’s been that way for a long time.” She glanced down. “It happens a lot more than it doesn’t.”
She turned away and started for the door. Matt’s voice lodged in his throat.
I don’t understand.
“I never really wanted to hurt any of you,” she said as she paused by the door. It seemed like it took a great deal of effort for her to turn, to look at him. “I just miss him. I’ve always missed him. He was the only one who ever really made me feel like I was worth something and then I lost him. I’ve been chasing that feeling ever since.”
Then she was gone, out the door, and he was alone.
That went farther that way than I thought it would.
Oh, I just wanted to share:
**We were sorting things onto shelves after moving last weekend**
Me: I’m envious of your pudding
GF: ** Looking like she’s trying to figure out what I’m on about (she has no pudding) **
Me: Jellosy!!! **grinning like a loon (holding up a box of Jello pudding)**
Note that this sort of thing is not uncommon.
And, yet, she stays! 🙂
It’s going to be fun. I don’t have anyone who has been identified as actually mentally ill at this point…not that I’ve made a solid decision on anyone’s diagnosis at this point.
Well. Unless you count Seamus’s daughter. She’s certifiable.
Actual mental illness is an interesting concept to deal with if there’s enough room in your story for it. With all the ball you have in the air, I don’t know if you want to toss that one up too.
Yeah, Seamus’ daughter is pretty non-functionally damaged.
Thom could have been truly delusional with his unwillingness to believe his reality but he self cured.
I would imagine that PTSD will be rearing its head if things calm down enough that twitch reactions are not still a survival strategy.
With people that old, mental illness would be a very interesting question. They would have habits that are so ingrained that they might be diagnosable.
ball/balls