by Kasia Bacon
For the love of the gods.
As if he hadn’t eradicated all of my defences already and taken command of every scrap of my mind and heart. However it looked, it had never been me calling the shots.
I’d always known I would be the first to pronounce those three words. Unspoken, they sat on my tongue like shards of glass, cutting into its surface, yet somehow I couldn’t spit them out. I’d almost succeeded in convincing myself that it wouldn’t matter if he didn’t say them back. That a part of me wouldn’t break or perish. I’d suspected—hoped—he reciprocated my feelings. Yet doubt-plagued overthinking had kept me from taking action. After a while, pretending to wait for a better opportunity had become second nature. Now didn’t seem to be the right time, either. The last thing I intended was to confess my love out of fear and jealousy in an attempt to prevent him from leaving, binding him with my words like a captive with a rope.
Was her being a woman of consequence? Did it make it better or worse? The memory of a northern archer girl with a golden braid set off a queasy swirl inside my stomach. My insecurities stirred within me, summoned to the brim by the recent events and settling on top like foam on freshly poured ale. I’d given myself a migraine, spinning different scenarios in my mind and then forcing myself to quit them, only to move on to another in the next moment.
Not wanting to alarm Lochan, I feigned sleep. I fought the internal trembling of my tense muscles, compelling my body to relax, which should’ve been its natural state after what had happened in between those sheets.
At last, his breathing evened out, and he became lax next to me.
Every time he drifted off in my embrace, I considered it a personal victory. That night, however, I would be the one to toss and turn long into the night.
Coming in 2020.