#aubris

“That’s not-” Hollis began, harsher than they’d meant to. They took a breath. This wasn’t the time. More gently, they said, “that’s not what I meant. I just thought that, with you being a witch and all, I thought maybe you were acting in self-preservation. Maybe you didn’t want us to start a war because you were worried you’d be on the losing side.” Aubrey was rolling her eyes.

“But I don’t think that anymore. At least, I don’t think that’s the only reason.” They gestured vaguely, indicating Ned’s grave, the mourners, the entirety of Kepler. “We - all of us, everyone who was there - we were angry, and we were armed, and an innocent person got hurt. This is what you were trying to prevent. You told us … you told me, and I didn’t listen.” 

For a while, Hollis didn’t think Aubrey was going to respond, but they couldn’t bring themself to walk away. They stood there silently and watched her sip her drink, which Hollis realized belatedly was wine. When the cup was empty, Aubrey finally spoke.

“If that was supposed to be an apology, you might want to try again. Or not. I’m not sure I’m in a forgiving mood, anyway.” Hollis winced internally but kept their face neutral. They had sort of been trying to apologize. They wanted Aubrey to forgive them. Why, Hollis wasn’t exactly sure.

“I’m not asking for forgiveness, Aubrey. I’m just trying to say that I understand where you’re coming from, now. I still want to protect Kepler, and it’s obvious that my way won’t work.” Hollis paused, bracing themself for rejection. They knew there was no chance, but they had to ask. They had to do something. Quietly, they added, “I want to try yours.”

Aubrey’s eyes widened, and she nearly dropped the empty cup in her hand, just barely catching it by the lip. A corner of Hollis’ lips turned up just slightly while Aubrey was adjusting her grip, but the expression was gone by the time she looked back over at them. Her eyes were narrowed, now.

“Are you asking what I think you’re asking?” Hollis shrugged with a casual detachment they didn’t feel.

“That depends. Do you think that I’m asking to join your monster hunting club?” Aubrey’s expression hardened, but then her shoulders dropped, and when she spoke, her voice was softer than Hollis had expected.

“I think that you’re still mourning your friends, and that you’re scared, and that you feel guilty about what happened to Ned. I think that you think fighting will make you feel less guilty and more in control. I think that, if you actually wanted to protect people, you would have listened to the people who have been doing this for decades instead of just ignoring them and running in, guns blaz-” 

Aubrey’s voice faltered for a second. She had started speaking louder and faster, but she took a breath and then spoke again with the same soft voice. “… with weapons. I’m sorry Hollis; I know it’s hard. I know what you’re going through. But you can’t sublimate your feelings into violence. I promise that won’t help.”

Hollis was surprised to find that Abrey was actually looking at them with sympathy, and they were even more surprised to find that her sympathy was having an effect on them. She wasn’t wearing sunglasses anymore - what was the point when everyone already knew about her magic? - and her bright eyes were piercing them to their core. They couldn’t name the emotion they felt, but it was manifesting as a tightness in their chest and an unsteadiness in their legs and an inability to speak, and they weren’t sure they wanted it to stop.

“Maybe you should talk to someone, Hollis. Like a bereavement counselor. It won’t solve everything, but it’s a good first step, at least. And maybe, one day, you’ll be in the right headspace for us to have this conversation for real.” Aubrey looked at her empty cup for a second, then at the food table. She turned to walk away, and Hollis suddenly found that their voice had returned.

“Why did you start hunting monsters?” they asked quickly, more to keep her from walking away than anything. They’d tried to keep their tone even, but the question ended up sounding more accusatory than curious. Aubrey sighed and half-turned back to Hollis.

“Because it was the right thing to do.” Then she walked away, leaving Hollis to try to look as casual as possible while standing alone at the grave of a man they barely knew and whose blood was undeniably on their hands. They'd known that they had fucked up, and they did feel guilty. But Aubrey’s condemnation made it so much worse.

Hollis made their way back to their bike. The rebar club was still there, sticking out of a bag on the side that also contained a spiked bat. Hollis felt sick to their stomach, and they quickly put on their helmet and got on the bike, trying to ignore both the weapons and the nausea. As they sped away, they struggled to keep the bike straight, as though the bag were a hundred times heavier than it actually was, and was pulling the bike off course. Hollis took a deep breath that didn’t seem to bring any oxygen.

This was stupid. They just ... Hollis took another breath as their racing heart burned up every bit of oxygen it had. They just needed to get back home. Hollis accelerated. Their fingers felt numb. They just needed to stop thinking about the stupid weapons, and about Ned, and about Aubrey. Hollis felt dizzy. They couldn’t tell whether the bike was going straight anymore. They just needed …

Hollis slowed down. Then they pulled over to the shoulder, and they stopped, and they took off their helmet and took a few more deep breaths.

They needed help.

Aubrey was right. Hollis wasn’t okay, and violence wasn’t the answer. They needed real help. They took a few minutes to calm down before getting back on the road. No sense dying in a crash because they were too proud to admit to themself that they shouldn’t be driving.