Earn it. Not ask for me to give it.
This is so incredibly foreign and bewildering.
“Rip—”
“If I had done anything differently, things could’ve been avoided. I should’ve known something was wrong when Midas headed me off. I should’ve gone straight to your room afterward to check on you. Should’ve never let you leave the camp in the first place. I should’ve found you in that holding cell and saved you before he could hurt you.”
“But, Rip—”
“I should have rotted that entire Divine-damned ballroom right there on the spot, consequences be damned, because I let him fucking hurt you. I just stood there. I just stood there while he threatened to kill you. You should fucking hate me forever, blame me, because I failed—”
“Rip!” My voice lashes out like a whip, cutting off his tangent. He startles, black eyes snapping to me. When I’m sure I have his full attention, I say, “I don’t want that.”
He shakes his head, his jaw working. “I know you didn’t want me to rot everyone. Even after everything you went through, you still came down to protect me.” He scoffs in disgust with himself, as if he didn’t deserve that.
“That’s not what I mean. I’m glad you didn’t intervene.”
He rears back as if I’ve shocked him. “What?”
My nod is slow, but definitive. “I’m glad you didn’t.”
Confusion mottles his features. “How could you not have wanted me to intervene? I failed you—”
“No, you see? The problem was that I have been failing myself.”
His lips press together, and a heavy silence drops between us. I let my finger drag across the cave floor.
“I won’t lie and say I didn’t wish for you to swoop in and rescue me in the moment,” I admit. “But hindsight gives the best perspective, and I’m glad you didn’t.”
He sucks in a breath, as if that wasn’t what he was expecting at all.
“You didn’t fail me. That was on me. For so many years. Would it have been easier and more painless for me if you’d shown up? Yes. But the truth of the matter is, I needed that final straw. I don’t regret it, because I needed to snap. I needed to find my edge.”
I’d avoided it all my life, and it was jagged and painful and steep, but I found it.
“But I should’ve—”
“No,” I say, cutting him off. “I needed to do that for myself. No one rescuing me. No one fighting my fight. It had to be me. Do you understand?”
Emotion wars on his face. I can tell he still thinks he’s failed, still hates that he wasn’t there. And I understand that. I do. But…
I meet his eyes so that he can see the truth in mine. “I had to be the one to save myself.”
Something ruminative swirls in his gaze. “And you did. You fucking did,” he says, pride lacing through every letter. “But I hate that you feel guilty. Midas got what he deserved. He was the real fucking monster. Not you. If you want to blame anyone for his death, you can blame me, because I should’ve been the one to kill the bastard before he hurt you. But I can’t fucking stand that you regret—”
“Wait a minute,” I interrupt, slashing my hand through the air.
He stops, eyes pinned to my face.
And suddenly, I realize this last piece he’s been struggling with—what he’s been thinking all this time. This is the narrative that’s crooned in his ear. I’ve been fighting the memories that night, fighting the truth about my ribbons, about my wayward magic, while I left him to churn in this alone.
I look him straight in the eye. “I want you to listen to me very carefully.”
He seems to brace himself, like a man without shelter locking his knees in a torrential storm.
“Fuck Midas.”
He blinks in surprise. “What?”
“You heard me. Fuck. Midas.”
Great Divine, that feels good to say.
He shakes his head like he’s trying to clear it, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing.
“My guilt is about the innocents who got caught up in my rampage. My uncertainty is about my magic. But Midas? No. I’m glad I killed him,” I say, my tone dogged and firm. “The only thing I regret is that I didn’t do it sooner.”
He continues to stand there watching me, like he’s waiting to see a crack in the plastered lie. But he won’t find one, because I mean every word. “You’re truly glad?” he asks carefully.