Thoughts roil in his head, and he resumes cleaning her up, careful and delicate. He shouldn’t have this argument with her, but the only response he can give her for a long moment is silence; better than saying that’s not what you feel.
Finally, he says:
“The only future I want is one with you. If you cannot see a way forward for us, then I am lost.”
The road rash is an afterthought in her mind. Hopeful as he is for Valisthea, there's nothing for himself.
He's always like this.
"You think yourself lost, but always seem to think I can find happiness without you. That's never been true, either. The last year has been proof of it."
"I am not vouching for your happiness without me," he says, firmly, and there's a tick of frustration on his voice. "I am telling you that I stand by what I said in this very bed, one month ago, on a beautiful afternoon together. I want a future with you! But if you do not want a future with me, then I will persist in whatever way I have left to me, for scraps of your attention, and for Joshua, and what left there is to do for Valisthea, with hope to not be miserable myself."
"Nothing is well," Clive says, shaking his head, looking up at her, prepared to plead. "So we need not pretend anything. We must cut to the bone to excise what stands between us and our happiness, and then heal. Properly, this time."
He's right. Nothing is well. Joshua remains strong and determined but she knows his heart aches like the rest of them. They're all broken, the four of them. No wonder the jagged edges snag and cut.
She listens to what he says, letting the words settle in her chest. He makes it sound so simple. Could it be?
"I don't know." He doesn't have answers. "But it won't happen if we are skirting each other in this house, scarcely talking, and keeping each other at arm's length."
Again, she agrees. It comes with a little nod of her head.
"It was miserable the first time and worse yet now."
She can't lose both her friendship with Dion and her relationship with Clive. These past weeks have been horrifically lonely in a way that surprised her.
"I didn't know what to do. I was overwhelmed." So much happened that night. Joshua's confrontation, Dion's face, the way he yelled at her. There's much she wishes she handled differently.
"I'm sorry I was so quick to act."
When she's upset with him for being so quick to seek out Dion and hurt him, she knows she did the same, in her own way. A hurt for a hurt fixes nothing.
"It was cruel to tell you this bed was yours only just to send you away."
Clive nods, feeling a swell of hurt in his chest; it's odd to feel when he's being apologized to, but to have the pain acknowledged for being what it is, itself, a new sort of pain.
"It was overwhelming in many ways."
Joshua was upset. He'd struck Clive. Jill had defended him. Clive had left. Then Jill hadn't defended him.
Clive continues to stroke her skin clean of blood and gravel.
She meets his eyes with something distant in hers.
"I don't want you near him again," she says quietly, but sure. She doubts she will have little to say about Dion moving forward, but she'll cross that bridge once she finds the courage to seek him out.
Dion may be less understanding than Clive.
"You made a mistake. It doesn't undo all we've shared."
He could defer further comment, but in the spirit of being honest, he gives her a serious look.
"But what he did that night was the grain that tipped the scale between us. Perhaps we can talk about what that means sometime, when you are well, but I do not feel I acted out of line."
"I'm well," she tells him. Scraped and sore and sad, but some of that won't improve for some time. "I walked into Dion's cottage to find him laying in a mix of his own blood and beer. I'd like to hear how that wasn't out of line."
She's already tired. But she'll hear him out. She owes him that much.
"He's dogged me for the better part of a year with what I should do and when, and all the ways I have been an inadequate saviour for Valisthea –– for his own redemption."
That should be enough, but it isn't all of it.
Clive has to tense his jaw for a moment to find the strength to confess:
"He beat me with steel gauntlets when I left you."
It's clear by the look of surprise in Jill's eyes that this is new information. She remembers sitting on Dion's bed when he returned from seeing Clive. She can't remember if he had his gauntlets. Her memories of that time are blurry at best. The two things she remembers are how discarded she felt, and how Dion kept her from letting the despair take her.
"I wasn't aware," she says. "So you beat him with beer cans."
"I had it in my head that I'd spent enough time trying to be respectful to a man who beat me, who made my cause a vessel for his own redemption, and who lived high and mighty on the enslaved until the moment he was cast aside," he murmurs. "What was one more drink together?"
"I know Dion is far from innocent. We all have blood on our hands," she says, and yet she felt so sick with Dion's on hers. She'd grown protective of him this past year, seeing his pain and understanding much of it. Her empathy is proving to be a problem--she loves them both and understands them both and yet Dion and Clive are doomed to clash. She's not enough to bring them together.
So be it.
"You were both wrong. He should have never put hands on you to begin with."
Clive finds himself looking at her wounds, endlessly frustrated that these conversations feel like a deeper knife twist when they should feel like immediate relief. He exhales slowly. We all have blood on our hands. You were both wrong.
“So are we then all excused from our actions against each other? Wound for wound, blow for blow?”
"It's not my place to excuse you or forgive either of you. I'm upset and disappointed, but what can I do about it?" Neither seem to regret their actions. "I can only strive to keep you apart."
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"That has never been true," she tells him in the same tone. "You have never been beyond saving."
Even when in her darker, hopeless moments, the thought tries to take hold. His rage successfully took hold, but that doesn't mean he is lost.
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Finally, he says:
“The only future I want is one with you. If you cannot see a way forward for us, then I am lost.”
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He's always like this.
"You think yourself lost, but always seem to think I can find happiness without you. That's never been true, either. The last year has been proof of it."
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"How do we get there, Clive? Is pretending all is well the only route? That didn't work for us before."
Playing at man and wife.
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She listens to what he says, letting the words settle in her chest. He makes it sound so simple. Could it be?
"Where do we begin?"
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"It was miserable the first time and worse yet now."
She can't lose both her friendship with Dion and her relationship with Clive. These past weeks have been horrifically lonely in a way that surprised her.
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"Do you trust me less, now?"
She was quick to banish him from the bedroom. Quick to worry about Dion rather than Clive himself.
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"I know I hurt you on that terrible night," he says. "But to be driven out so swiftly... I have not known what to think."
He shakes his head and gently runs the cloth down her side.
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"I'm sorry I was so quick to act."
When she's upset with him for being so quick to seek out Dion and hurt him, she knows she did the same, in her own way. A hurt for a hurt fixes nothing.
"It was cruel to tell you this bed was yours only just to send you away."
She knows.
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"It was overwhelming in many ways."
Joshua was upset. He'd struck Clive. Jill had defended him. Clive had left. Then Jill hadn't defended him.
Clive continues to stroke her skin clean of blood and gravel.
"You did what you could with the situation."
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"I know you have no fondness for Dion, but I do. And will continue to, regardless of what happened. Will that damage your trust in me further?"
She sucks in a breath as he touches a particularly tender area.
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"I could live with it," he says. "As long as I am never made to endure his company again, or expected to hear about him."
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"I don't want you near him again," she says quietly, but sure. She doubts she will have little to say about Dion moving forward, but she'll cross that bridge once she finds the courage to seek him out.
Dion may be less understanding than Clive.
"You made a mistake. It doesn't undo all we've shared."
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He could defer further comment, but in the spirit of being honest, he gives her a serious look.
"But what he did that night was the grain that tipped the scale between us. Perhaps we can talk about what that means sometime, when you are well, but I do not feel I acted out of line."
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She's already tired. But she'll hear him out. She owes him that much.
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That should be enough, but it isn't all of it.
Clive has to tense his jaw for a moment to find the strength to confess:
"He beat me with steel gauntlets when I left you."
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"I wasn't aware," she says. "So you beat him with beer cans."
Tit for tat. Miserable.
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"I know Dion is far from innocent. We all have blood on our hands," she says, and yet she felt so sick with Dion's on hers. She'd grown protective of him this past year, seeing his pain and understanding much of it. Her empathy is proving to be a problem--she loves them both and understands them both and yet Dion and Clive are doomed to clash. She's not enough to bring them together.
So be it.
"You were both wrong. He should have never put hands on you to begin with."
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“So are we then all excused from our actions against each other? Wound for wound, blow for blow?”
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