Amy went into the first bathroom she could find.
Bringing them something to drink had been nothing more than an excuse, so when she came back, she didn't have to do it with the drinks they had asked for. It wasn't necessary, no.
But, even if she later chose to do it anyway out of kindness, she needed this now.
A moment of peace and quiet. Outside, in the hallway, she would feel too exposed even though no one was there. In here it was different. Even though, like in the hallway, another person could walk in at any moment. Breaking the illusion.
Sometimes an illusion was enough. Sometimes it was all one had.
With her hands placed on the sides of the sink, squeezing tightly, Amy looked at the mirror.
She didn't like the look of the girl who returned her gaze.
She had never liked the way she looked. The way she dressed, the way she moved, none of it was hers.
It wasn't Amy's, it was the Sunderland's.
Something that had been forced upon her. She would say overwriting her original personality, but there was nothing to overwrite.
From birth she had been like a living doll.
That was why she had chosen the path of a soldier.
What no one had expected of her. Not her father, not even herself. To have a chance to define herself, outside the influences of her "family".
She had given everything to get this chance. It was the only thing she had dreamed of for years.
And she was throwing it away.
She had taken the first step in her new life full of energy. Ready to change herself, or discover herself. She wasn't sure what was the most appropriate way to put it, really, although she had never wanted to believe that "this" was what it was.
Being honest with herself, the former was closer to the truth.
Maybe it wasn't what they had made her out to be, but at first, she had acted like someone she wasn't in order to become the person she wanted to be.
Looser, without measuring her words, as she thought normal people behaved.
And she had immediately attached herself to the first person she saw who seemed as out of place as she was. Her chest had filled with the hope that this was the right path after all.
But what little determination she managed to muster was quickly crushed.
During the attack.
When she woke up, she felt it. That she had been on the brink of death. That everything had changed. That... probably, she wouldn't get anywhere, even if he kept running.
But she kept running. Too stubborn to give up.... No, since she had only one option, she kept running without looking back.
At any moment she could turn back, if she wanted to.
Back to a life of luxury.
To a life where she didn't have to fear death.
But that wasn't quite right.
Because Amy Summerland had been dead for a long time. Being on the brink of death was when she had felt most alive.
When she had most valued her miserable life, clinging desperately to it.
But that experience had given her no illusions that anything would change.
She had fallen then and had not yet been able to get up.
Desmond and Christina... Without realizing it, she had become a hindrance. Amy had remained close to them, but only physically. The distance between the three of them had only increased. Rather, the distance between her and those two. Because those two were getting closer and closer; with every step their relationship took, she was being pushed aside, and she had the feeling that she would never, ever, ever be able to find her own place.
The latter was further proof that what she was thinking was true and not just paranoia of her own.
Throwing her out of the room to talk about something privately with Desmond. Something that was for his ears, but not hers. As if she wasn't part of the team. And Christina had said it so matter-of-factly.
Amy bit her lower lip hard.
She didn't resent her for it.
She really didn't. She was aware that everyone earned their place in life, whether it was within a company or among people, and she had failed to earn a firmer and more essential place on the team.
Even though they had fought side by side, alone, to try to rescue Desmond just last night....
Even though she had been the one to carry her through the forest, looking for help, as she bled out in her arms....
They simply weren't as close as Christina and the boy.
They didn't have the same trust in each other.
If it weren't for the fact that she knew it wasn't possible, no way, she would say that Christina and Desmond had entered into a relationship without her knowing. That that was why they were so close, so fast, while she had been left behind, eating dust.
But it wasn't like that, and there wasn't even any interest.
Desmond had given her the impression that he was the kind of person who, if she tried to flirt with him, would never once notice.
As for Christina, she seemed unaware of the effect that the way she behaved could have on the boy. Her... easy closeness...
Hugging him without a second thought and many other things.
Treating him as if they had teamed up with a third girl, almost. Without the invisible barrier that usually existed between boys and girls, especially at this age. As if they were of two different species.
But no, neither that nor anything like it was happening.
The problem was hers. And fixing it was in her hands.
She clenched her fists.
But she wasn't sure how to go about it. Christina had hinted so matter-of-factly, that she should leave the room, that she hadn't even bothered to ask if she couldn't stay and listen to whatever it was she had to say. If she didn't- if she didn't deserve to hear it.
She had simply accepted Christina's will like an obedient doll.
Without questioning her, without once thinking of herself.
As she used to do with the creature she had to call father.
As if nothing had changed, as if she had not taken a single step since that day. It was a crushing feeling that made her want to puke her guts out. Amy didn't want to feel this way anymore. Amy didn't want to
(back to the darkness)
to remain a mere doll, until the day I die.
I want to become a real girl, she thought.
Amy laughed, looking back at her mirrored self.
It was a laugh without restraint. Without dignity or elegance, moreover, in her voice there was... she seemed to notice something bordering on insanity. In other words, it was not a proper laugh for the heiress of Summerland. It was hers, it was Amy's, ugly or not. Crazy or not.
Yes, it was real, even if it was only a small piece, a broken fragment, of the Amy that the monster had striven to drown.
But whether she would have the chance to live and die as herself was no longer the only question that mattered to her, she realized. Rather than worry about whether she wanted to change or find herself, about what the monster who played her father had left of her, about all those things, she ought to worry about a more fundamental question.
Even if all her wishes were fulfilled, would there be anyone to feel her true self and appreciate it? Appreciate her as she was?
At the moment, the answer to that question was a pimple.
That made any progress she might have made or would make in the future insignificant.
Ah, she had a long road ahead of her. Too long a road.
"I understand," Desmond said, slowly and haltingly.
Yes, hearing her statement, he had felt as if his soul had slipped out of his throat. But he should have expected it. He had been deluded to believe that Christina would just forgive him, no, that she too saw what he did as something she didn't even have to forgive.
As nice and even logical as the girl had made it sound, this had been the only possible outcome from the beginning.
From the beginning?
Sure, he had been deluded from the beginning. Otherwise, he would be far away from here right now. Next to Abigail. But he had preferred to believe that he had left behind something that could be rebuilt.
The lies were attractive. The ones you wanted to hear, the ones you told yourself, especially.
He smiled mockingly to himself, briefly.
"What do you understand?" Christina asked in a voice that gave no hint of the feelings inside.
"You lied for her sake. So that the team wouldn't fall apart. But you have no intention of forgiving me. I understand that. If I were you, I wouldn't forgive you. I... I wouldn't even talk to you. Because I'm the kind of person who gives his trust slowly, with difficulty, inch by inch. And when my trust in someone takes a hit, it doesn't falter. It collapses completely. Like I said, we are... not the same. But similar in many ways."
"Yes. We do resemble each other," Christina said. "Yet you're wrong."
"In what exactly?"
"In everything. I made Amy leave not to talk about you, but about myself. It's something I don't want her to hear, but I feel I can confide in you."
"Really?"
"Why wouldn't it be true?"
"It's just that I... I can't believe it. That things have worked out so easily for me. So conveniently. I thought I'd have to earn this."
Christina shook her head gently. She didn't seem irritated, though, although she couldn't say she was pleased by his actions either. Something in between, he supposed.
"Okay. We'll discuss that another time, if you don't mind. I have to tell you something important before Amy gets the urge to come back, and I haven't even started yet."
"Yeah. I'm sorry, go on."
Her problem, whatever it was, was more important than his seemingly unfounded concerns, after all.
Surely the only one who could convince him that he had nothing to worry about, really, he could breathe easy, was himself.
And he could only convince himself of that with time.
Would he have enough time?
"I don't know if I can go through with this," Christina said, and it was like an even darker echo of his thoughts.
Desmond tensed like a bowstring. He forgot to even breathe.
Precisely because this was about her and not him.
"What do you mean?
"What was the last time you felt weak?" The girl answered his question with another question. "And I mean really weak. Unable to change anything, at the mercy of the forces conspiring against you, physical or otherwise. Do you understand what I mean?"
I thought so.
"I..." He searched inside himself for the answer. "The first time I killed someone. Things changed quickly for me after that and, before I knew it, I had lost my fear. "
Yes. Before he knew it.
Until he uttered those words, he hadn't realized it. It had taken him many years to realize that he had lost an important piece of humanity even before he came to know that he could be resurrected.
The fear of pain, of death even. That was humanity's most deeply ingrained fear for good reason.
He couldn't remember feeling weak even once during the attack.
He had always felt... like he was in control of the situation, though that hadn't always been the case.
But there was one more time. Yes.
"Last night," he added hastily. Last night, when that... that whore," he spat, "that filthy abomination blackmailed me with your lives. Yes. That was the last time after so many years.
And, having this life, it surely wouldn't be the very last.
He left that unsaid. Because it didn't need to be said.
"It doesn't count," Christina said. "It's my fault for not making it clear, but feeling weak for not being able to save someone or change their situation, that doesn't count. I was just talking about yourself."
"I see."
"In any case... We're similar in that too. I've never felt weak. Never, not once, since I was a child. Because I knew, even if I couldn't express it properly, that I was a special, blessed existence. A one-in-a-million miracle. How could I feel weak when, since the age of six, I have seen adults look at me with fear in their eyes and avert their gaze? As if I were a wild beast that could pounce on them at any moment to satisfy its primal instincts."
Desmond was speechless. Not that it wasn't something normal, but this... this was too much for him to think clearly enough to say anything. Even if it was incoherent stupidity.
Shadow magic was indeed a miracle. A blessing.
They should have been proud of it and revered her power. But fear? Suspicion? He had no idea how it would affect a girl to be looked at like an animal, but....
No, he did know.
He was looking at the result of those experiences, after all. What he didn't know was distinguishing the changes from what Christina would have been even if she had the blessing of a normal life, without particularly remarkable magic.
"You met me in a moment of weakness, but, though I was frightened, I didn't feel weak. What almost reduced me to tears was... the hostility of people I didn't even know yet. That they were capable of that for no particular reason. It's not that I'm an innocent child who thinks human beings are better than that, but, for some reason, when people harass me, I can- can- I just can't...."
That explains her contradiction, he thought clinically, as if he wasn't feeling bad for her.
But of course he was.
He felt as if his heart was being crushed.
Christina stood for a long moment, long enough for Desmond to think she'd shut up and wouldn't continue.
She didn't, however.
Before that she gave him an unexpectedly hard look for a few seconds. Long enough so that he couldn't tell that it had been a figment of his imagination. Long enough to wonder what he had done wrong this time.
"But I didn't feel weak. I knew, all along, that if they seriously wanted to do something to me I could tear them apart with my magic. Without the book, even, in an emergency situation. I knew I was like a lion in a mouse cage. No matter how many mice you put together, you can't beat a lion. There is not even the possibility of that existing as a miracle whose possibility is close to zero...."
Christina looked away from her slightly clouded eyes and turned them towards the window, wearing a bitter smile with which she seemed to be mocking herself.
"That's how confident I felt in my own strength. Of course I was. Life had never once contradicted me. It had simply proved to me time and time again that my way of thinking was the right one..... Until tonight. Tonight, lying on the floor, bleeding to death, feeling that if I fell asleep I would never wake up.... Then I knew what it was like to feel weak for the first time since I came out of my mother's womb. Do you understand what that is?"
"No," Desmond admitted. "I thought I would understand, but I don't. I can't even imagine."
Except maybe if I live ten more years. When my "immortality" comes to seem normal to me.
"You chose this life not once thinking you might fall in battle."
He didn't understand what it was like to feel that way, but he understood where she was going with it. They were two different things.
"Exactly. Not a single one. I really used to think that, even though I am as fragile as any human being, that my power would allow me to crush all enemies in my path. And now..."
She took a deep breath.
"You must think I'm pathetic, but now I don't even know what I'm doing. "
"No," Desmond said softly. "That's not pathetic. That's human."
Christina thought for a long time, and Desmond didn't push her, he let her go at her own pace. Partly because it was best for her. Partly, though not the biggest part, because he was in no hurry for the conversation to resume.
This was much harder and more intense than any battle he had been in.
It was a battle of sorts, but not one he knew how to fight.
"So you could say I've regained some of my humanity from this," Christina muttered at last. "But I don't feel good at all."
Desmond grimaced.
"I..."
Christina looked back at him for the first time in a long time. Or at least it had seemed like a long time to him, but it surely hadn't been long since she had turned her head away from him.
She returned the favor. She was patient with him, too.
"Why did you choose this life?"
"Huh?"
"You said you don't know if you're going to be able to go through with it. But does the fact that you now feel... vulnerable change the reason you came here?"
"No. No, not really. I probably won't find a more correct way to live no matter how hard I look. But I wish things were that simple.... If I'm afraid, then I should risk my life anyway. There are few people who can say that. As if it were natural. Going back to the life I had before doesn't seem like an option, but I'm afraid. I'm so afraid, Desmond."
For the first time she seemed to him the same person as when they first met. No contradictions, no cracks.
This was nothing strange. It wasn't magic.
He had simply been blessed with the opportunity to see her from a different angle. Like a precious gem, it shone regardless of which way the light fell. It was resplendent.
Desmond swallowed the lump in his throat.
He didn't know what to say.
He didn't know what to say, but even an idiot like him understood that this case didn't matter. He had to say something, whatever it was. Here and now. Or else their relationship would suffer irreparable damage. He couldn't stay silent while she opened her heart to him. Or worse, start babbling like an idiot. Again.
He had to...
He had to prove he deserved this chance, dammit.
"You can always count on me."
"If I stay, you mean," Christina replied with a bitter smile.
"No. Whatever you decide, wherever you go, you can always count on me. I swear. This... may not fix anything. I don't even understand why you think you have no choice, and whether it's true or not. But I won't abandon you. And I will... I will try. I can at least promise you that."
"I know. I know I can trust you, and you're tipping the scales in your favor. But I don't know if it's because I want to go through with it or because that's what you want."
"I don't know what you mean."
"The reason I gave up my easy life to pursue the life of a soldier. I... I'm not myself. Shadow magic has many hidden facets. One of them is that it forces me to feel the emotions of people who are close to me, when I use my powers. But I cannot not use them. My magic is always active, though in a passive way."
Desmond swallowed hard. He was learning too many things about his partner, today. Too many things that left him with a bitter taste in his mouth.
He wished they were talking about happy things.
About how much she loved her family, or something. Anything. Sharing bright memories. But their conversations always went in the same direction, it seemed.
They were similar. Precisely because of that, they were not compatible.
Instead of being each other's missing pieces, they were destroying each other as they tried to join hopelessly.
"I know what you're thinking. Maybe what I'm looking for is nowhere to be found. If I'm freaking out about this, I might as well give up the soldier's life and the idea of leaving with family, and retreat to the mountains to live the rest of my life as a hermit, uninfluenced by anyone but myself."
I wasn't thinking about that.
I hadn't had time to think about that sort of thing. About practically nothing.
"I'm afraid of the future, of other people... and of myself. I'm full of fear. Trembling at every shadow. Like a child." Christina hid her head in her hands, let out a shaky sigh that told him she was about to burst, to burst into tears. "Like a child," she repeated, sounding very tired.
Desmond put his hand on her shoulder, but he couldn't bring himself to take the last step and hug her.
He didn't understand her at all. He was now aware of the real distance between them. That they were two very different people, who had come from a different place and had traveled different paths.
It seemed almost... arrogant, to expect to meet and complete each other as if it were natural.
He said they ran the risk of destroying each other. But even that was a gross exaggeration. Hurt her. That was as far as it went.
Hurt her like now.
He couldn't say anything, couldn't hug her to try to comfort her. Well, he could, but it wouldn't do any good. That knowledge was what was holding him back.
He didn't understand her.
Yes, he didn't understand her at all.
Their experiences were too different. He hadn't been through anything like what she had confessed to him.
So what meaning could his words have for her?
What power could his embrace have?
Nothing, that was the answer. Nothing, of course. Christina needed help, but he wasn't the one who could give it to her. She had kicked the wrong person out of the room.
Yes, that was the right thing to do. Get up, get up right now and go get....
Desmond paused.
Christina, still covering her face with her hands, had finally burst into tears. It had only been a matter of time, of course. Why was he reacting as if that was inconceivable?
Ah, fuck, fuck.
Desmond hugged her. Even if he was arrogant, even if he couldn't fix her at all, even if his poor attempts would only make things worse in the long run, he couldn't stand by and do nothing with Christina crying in front of his eyes.
He would regret it forever. In fact, he was already deeply regretting waiting so long to hold her.
What was he really afraid of, he wondered? Of her? Of what might happen to her?
Or of myself?
"This is why I didn't want Amy to stay," Christina breathed softly against his chest. "Because I knew things would end up like this, sooner or later. And I didn't want her to see me like this. Looking so pathetic... But you're different. Because, as with all other people, I can read you like an open book. And we are alone. No noise, no interference."
She put a hand on his chest, creating some distance between them. In a physical sense, that is.
But this position seemed more intimate to him than the previous one.
Not that his thoughts were wandering in the wrong direction. He wasn't looking at this situation in a vulgar way, driven by his momentary impulses, ignoring the woman who was suffering in front of his eyes.
Intimacy had nothing to do with sex. In fact, it was just the opposite.
This was true intimacy, not two rutting monkeys sweating all over each other.
He didn't understand her. That fact hadn't changed. But, despite that, he felt closer to her than to any of the other people who had passed through his life.
To say so felt like a betrayal of Abigail. But it was the truth.
He admired and loved Abigail because she was a special existence superior to humans, for reasons that had nothing to do with immortality. She was a goddess. Someone to revere, but unattainable through normal means.
Christina, on the other hand, was just another lowly human. She was on the ground, just like him.
This... This wasn't so bad, no.
He could get used to this.
"I can read you like an open book," Christina repeated. "You're an open book, like a child."
He supposed he should have been offended. But she said it so softly, so self-assuredly, that Desmond nodded without rancor.
Besides, if she hadn't hit the nail on the head, then she wasn't far from the truth either. He was a child who wanted nothing more than the warmth and security of his mother's embrace.
"You don't care about my weakness. "
"Of course I do!"
Christina laughed.
"Chill, I didn't mean it in a bad way. I know you care about me. What I meant was that your perception of me hasn't changed for the worse. The last thing I want is for anyone to feel sorry for me. Amy would never have looked at me the same way again, after all. Never. But you... You're different.
Was she right about him? She supposed she was right. In nothing she had told him today was there any reason to treat her differently.
Everyone felt fear, and different ways of hiding fear was what people called strength. Courage.
Christina needed to vent, so I would be here to listen and support her.
But, when this conversation was over, things would go back to the way they were if this was what she wanted. If she truly didn't hold a grudge for the backstabbing the night before.
Speaking of things he didn't understand, he didn't understand why she was so convinced that Amy would treat her differently if she told her about this.
But hey, for whatever reason, that played in his favor.
He should be pleased that Christina felt he could be honest with him and not Amy.
If it had been the other way around, he would have been crushed.
Yes. It was the first time he had thought about things from the other girl's perspective. To be fair, he hadn't had much time to think about anything other than what Christina had been telling him so far.
In any case, it would be unpleasant, wouldn't it? Or was he going in the wrong direction again because he was different from the others?
Maybe Amy wouldn't mind, wouldn't see it as a problem.
She wouldn't see it like he did.
Or it would be worse than he had imagined, if she found out that Charlotte had made him leave the room for this, with an excuse.
It would be best if she never knew. That was important, too, but he had to answer.
"I wish there was something I could do to help you." His voice trembled.
Christina hugged him back.
"This is more than enough. Believe me," she whispered in his ear.
"Yes," Christina replied.
Amy entered the room, carrying what they had asked for. A cup of tea probably not too hot at best, considering how long she had been gone, and a glass of water.
But he didn't care. The water was better cold than hot without exception.
The most important thing about that was, in any case, that she had actually brought them. So she hadn't realized Christina's intentions, probably for the best.
If even Amy hadn't picked up on it on her own, how had Christina expected him to understand? She had been too subtle.
Amy extended the tray toward them, Desmond took his glass, Christina her cup. Then Amy set the tray down on the small table beside the bed. A silence fell between them that didn't seem to be the kind that happened naturally when there was little or nothing to say, and the people involved were comfortable with each other.
No, quite the opposite.
Christina took a few sips of the tea, lowered her arms, bringing the cup down to her lap covered by the white sheets.
She stared at Amy.
"I didn't make you leave the room because I didn't trust you," Christina said, "I think I proved that to you last night, that I would trust you with my life, literally. I just didn't want you to hear something. For personal reasons."