I'm almost positive that my mother would have raised me not to lie, that's what moms do, right? If I'm honest with myself... I can hardly remember her face, let alone remember if she ever taught me those kinds of morals, though I'm sure she would have. Right now, in this very moment...I don't think it would matter. I don't think I could tell the truth today if Cupid stood right here and demanded it. If I told the truth tonight, I have this sinking feeling that I would look back at this day and say "I should have lied"
I'm standing here in the shadows that have been my home for years, and I told myself I would step out of their dark clutches for once; I could confess everything, the feelings, the dreams, all of my silly hopes for me and him...how much I need him in my life; but I just don't think I can. His eyes are too green, like the seaweed from the lake and looking at them makes my words too hard to say. They are clotting off inside my throat making it hard to breath, let alone speak. He is looking at me expectantly, and he should! I called him here, I told him to meet me. I wanted to see him after all these years on my own. I just wanted to clear things up-but now it's all becoming too much.
The shadows of the forest are calling to me, I can feel their inky retreat whispering to me tantalizingly, and it feels impossible to stay, with him so close and so vulnerable. I know if I run now though I will just keep running, keep fading into the shadows and I don't know if I can keep living with that guilt and loneliness.
He steps closer, telling me that it's been too long and that I didn't have to stay away for all these years, that I've been missed. I feel myself grimace at those words...missed, missed by who? He looks like he wants a hug, a warmer greeting-but he doesn't push it and that makes me appreciative.
He tells me that I'm welcome at camp and he checks on my cabin for me, tries to keep it clean. I snort at that, because the he can hardly keep his own place clean-now he is trying to take care of mine? Something warm starts to bloom in my chest and I try to crush it before it shows on my face.
He is trying to reassure me that even if I stayed away from camp, I could at least keep in touch, Iris message him sometimes or something. My breathe shudders at that one- he has no idea how often I stood with a spray of water and a drachma wondering if I should call and if I did, what could I say?
He is still talking and when he reaches out to put a hand on my shoulder, my knees almost buckle. It's been two years since I've had human contact, something warm and real and solid and the fact that it's from him drives the breath from me. I can feel the blood rushing to my head and suddenly I go from choking on my own words to not being able to stop them. They all rush out in a torrential down pour of verbiage and I can't dam them. My mouth isn't listening to me, even though I'm begging it to stop. I'm watching his face change and I can't tell if it's acceptance or disgust, but the idea of either makes me want to shrivel into myself.
I knew from the beginning; I should have lied.