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the fine line between love and hate
“You were not my mate nor were you the father of my child.” Her words were stubborn, as Adaeze was, but they were also true. The spotted woman was right, in her way. He did not have a right to know, because he had no part in the child’s life.
But forever on his soul would weigh the burden of ending it.
His eyes darkened and flickered away as he returned to her, “You are right, Ada. I was none of those things…” he paused the water finally cooling around him as any traces of his anger faded into a solitary, poignant question, “But what was I to you?” His eyes returned to her golden ones, dark in their demons (both new and old), “What am I to you?”
Her words fell onto his ears, partially deafened by the roar of loss and pain and shame that finally snuffed out any enraged fires. Seeing the man so downtrodden by such emotions, it was a wonder which was better: his rage or his anguish? Regardless, what the cheetah said was true: she had been a child-killer in Dorobo. His men had blamed her for the deaths of their loved ones.
Only now, he knew it to be true. She had killed loved ones; but only her own. For the sake of saving them all. Her quiet deflation, “Maybe one day I’ll… make up for the choice.”, the words shook through the fog of grief and sorrow in his mind, bringing his attention wholly on her face. His own great body was spent, both by battle and by reliving the past. It was ready to return to the present, and so his mind grasped the here and now. It focused on the woman who had poured so much truth into the waters they stood in; who lived her life by the justice he clung to, and he asked her, “How would you make up for it, Ada?” His voice was hoarse, though he leaned closer towards her. His body ached for the warm and consoling embrace of another who had lived through the horrors of the council. And he wanted to share that warmth with her.
But not yet.
But forever on his soul would weigh the burden of ending it.
His eyes darkened and flickered away as he returned to her, “You are right, Ada. I was none of those things…” he paused the water finally cooling around him as any traces of his anger faded into a solitary, poignant question, “But what was I to you?” His eyes returned to her golden ones, dark in their demons (both new and old), “What am I to you?”
Her words fell onto his ears, partially deafened by the roar of loss and pain and shame that finally snuffed out any enraged fires. Seeing the man so downtrodden by such emotions, it was a wonder which was better: his rage or his anguish? Regardless, what the cheetah said was true: she had been a child-killer in Dorobo. His men had blamed her for the deaths of their loved ones.
Only now, he knew it to be true. She had killed loved ones; but only her own. For the sake of saving them all. Her quiet deflation, “Maybe one day I’ll… make up for the choice.”, the words shook through the fog of grief and sorrow in his mind, bringing his attention wholly on her face. His own great body was spent, both by battle and by reliving the past. It was ready to return to the present, and so his mind grasped the here and now. It focused on the woman who had poured so much truth into the waters they stood in; who lived her life by the justice he clung to, and he asked her, “How would you make up for it, Ada?” His voice was hoarse, though he leaned closer towards her. His body ached for the warm and consoling embrace of another who had lived through the horrors of the council. And he wanted to share that warmth with her.
But not yet.
@Adaeze
Please tag Tembovu.
