I closed my eyes as I felt him touch them, felt his fingers brush the skin at their bases and trace them upwards, away from my back. I tried to hold the tears in, but they came out in a rush; I was crying now, ashamed of what I was. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." I sobbed over and over again; I expected him to push me away, or kill me, or something. Anything save what he did do, which was to pull me closer. I let him, because I didn't know what else to do—what was I supposed to do? I didn't know what to make of it, so I let him hold me close without saying anything. With my face pressed up against his shoulder, I could hear his heartbeat in the dark; I could tell he was scared, or worried, or... I didn't know. I didn't want to know.
I hesitated a moment, then put my arms around his waist. It was so different from any hugs I'd had before, whether from Sister Helen or anyone else. I found myself liking it. I like the way it felt, with his arms loose around me and my face pressed against his shoulder. I was scared of how it made me feel, but at the same time it felt good, and I didn't want his to let me go. I felt safe. I didn't want that to change, I didn't want anything to happen to that feeling.
"It's okay," he whispered in my ear, but I could hear his voice shaking when he said it, and his hands shaking as he pulled me even closer to him.
No, everything wasn't okay, it would never be; and it was all because of me, it was all my fault. I wanted to tell him as much, but the words caught in my throat and came out as another choked sob. I clung to him like he was my lifeline; and in a way, he was—and I think he realized that, because he started trying to calm me down.
Wanting the same thing, I tired to think about other things, calming things. If I wasn't calm and in control of myself then I wouldn't be able to find the concentration needed to push my demon-self back down, back inside. If I could do that, then maybe everything would be all right—maybe no one would notice, would think I had just gotten overly upset; and if Heero would help me with that lie...
After thinking about such things I managed to stop my sobs and hitching breaths, if not my tears. I relaxed against Heero, trusting him to hold me up—and he did, waiting quietly while I fought the momentary pain and pulled my demon-self back inside, crushing it down into the depths and locking it there for as long as I needed to keep it hidden.
Afterward, Heero didn't say anything to me. I managed to stop crying and get a hold of myself enough to push him away, and he didn't try to stop me from doing so. He stood up, and offered me his hand; I took it, and he pulled me to my feet. With his arm around my waist he walked me back down to the second floor—I was glad that there was no one on the stairs—and back to their living room which was still deserted. He led me over to one of the couches, and sat down beside me; and even then he just looked at me for a long time before saying anything. In any other circumstances his gaze would have made me uncomfortable, but I was too exhausted, both mentally and physically, to care much about it.
"Why do you fight them?"
I wasn't surprised at his question; it was understandable. He and his friends had seen me fighting and they had assumed I was just like them: another human trying to beat back the shadows. Why wouldn't he ask me why I fought them, if I were one of them? I felt the tears threatening again as I thought about my answer, and I looked down at my lap, and my hands. Heero reached over and laid his hands on top of mine.
"I..." Underneath his hands, mine curled into fists. "I-I'm not like them. I don't want to be like them... I want to... to..." His hands tightened over mine, silently tell me that it was all right, that I should try to continue. "I just want to be... to be normal, like everybody else. I never asked for this; I don't... I don't even want it. I just want everything to end, to be all right... in the end. I'm sorry... sorry that..."
I couldn't go on, but I think he understood what I was trying to say because he let go of my hands and moved closer to me, wrapping his arms around me again; and again, I let him—because what else could I do?
"It's all right. I understand."
Those words made my day—no, made my entire life, my existence—worthwhile, because I knew he was telling the truth. Just two simple words: "I understand."
