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Guilt kept Merlin from sleeping very well, his insides churning too rigorously for him to really settle down despite his exhaustion. Both the memory of Jada’s apathy and the pain in his chest—though it was mostly under control now—kept him stirring every hour or so even once the grey light of dawn had begun to filter through the trees.
Eventually he abandoned the idea of sleep and rose, trying his hardest not to disturb the makeshift bandages around his chest. He busied himself by quietly gathering more wood to stoke the fire, tending to the horses, and watching the mist roll across the lake until the others began to stir.
Then came the nervousness.
He’d been trying to think of how to apologise to Jada all morning, in between bouts of kicking himself for being so stupid as to cause such a situation in the first place. What reason did he have to doubt her? Why was it so easy for him to question her loyalty? And yet he’d been surprised when she’d offered no defence, when she’d refused to dispel Gaius’ suspicions—Merlin’s suspicions. So, did Merlin trust Jada or not?
Perhaps it was habit. Survival. Self-preservation. So many people had come to Camelot since he’d arrived, and so many of them had had ulterior motives. From Mary Collins and Tauren—who had wasted no thought on Merlin in their plans—to Nimueh and Edwin—who had gone out of their way to befriend and manipulate him—there had hardly been a new face in the city who there hadn’t been reason to doubt in some way or another.
Although, there had still been those who remained true, few though they may have been. There was Lancelot, for one. He had as good a heart as anyone Merlin had ever met, and there was no doubt in his mind that Lancelot would never betray him, even after he’d discovered his secret.
So why couldn’t he afford Jada the same faith?
Was it what the dragon had said? Merlin had promised himself that he wouldn’t let that sway his actions towards her, and now that he had uncovered the creature’s true motive, it’s words and prophecies were worth even less to him. All the creature had wanted was to be free and had cared nothing for the people Merlin had tried to help. The dragon had manipulated Merlin into doing his will, almost sacrificing his mother in the process, and Merlin would be damned if he ever let one of his “warnings” influence him again.
So, no. It couldn’t have been what the dragon had said.
What, then? Was it simply that the odds were against her? That out of all those who had arrived in Camelot besides her, only Lancelot had proven not to be a threat to the crown, the kingdom, or Merlin himself? Even Morgana had taken a turn into treason, and Merlin had always admired her bravery, her charity, her determination to always do what was right. If she could betray them all like that, then anyone could.
Jada had made no secret of her disdain for Uther. How long would it be before Morgana—or some stranger like her—convinced her to take up arms against him? And what would Merlin do if that day should come?
He shook his head, passing the back of his hand over his eyes as if to clear away the thoughts. He was getting ahead of himself. Jada was here trying to help, and so far there was little concrete evidence to suggest she was already working against the crown. So she disliked Uther—most people that Merlin had spoken to did, in one way or another. Even Gaius had admitted that Uther’s job wasn’t to be liked, and besides Arthur, Gaius was probably the person who liked Uther the most.
Jada had helped Merlin find a way to save Arthur, and she had attacked Nimueh, and she had sat with Merlin all night when they’d thought he wouldn’t live to see the morning. How could he doubt her after all of that?
He couldn’t bring himself to speak to her until breakfast was almost over and Gaius had finished eating and shuffled away to pack up his things. Jada had sat apart from the two of them, and she’d said nothing since waking besides a quiet ‘Thanks’ as Merlin handed her her bowl. It was making Merlin feel awful.
“Jada…” he began, eyeing Gaius’ back to make sure he was far enough away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to doubt you, it’s just… well, Gaius thought that it was a bit suspicious that you’d be able to face Nimueh and come out unharmed.”
He risked a glance at her, and she was looking back at him, but there was no relief in her eyes.
Nervously, Merlin tried again. “It’s just that… Well, you’ve seen what Camelot’s like. There’s always people arriving who are untrustworthy, trying to manipulate us for… for whatever reason. We have to be careful, you know? We never know who we can trust.”
“I understand that,” Jada said. Her gaze had dropped to the floor, but any relief Merlin felt at her words was soon snatched away by the awful emptiness of her voice. “But I don’t know how else I’m supposed to prove to you that you can trust me.” Her eyes turned on him, utterly hopeless, and she gave an equally hopeless gesture. “I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do.”
Merlin felt himself physically deflate. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go, either. He was supposed to apologise, and then everything would be fixed, and they could all go back to normal. She wasn’t supposed to still be hurt.
“Are you finished?” she asked, rising to her feet, and for a moment Merlin thought she was referring to the conversation. Then she gestured towards his bowl, which was empty, and he caught up in a rush and handed it to her without thinking.
“Oh, uh, yeah. Thanks,” he stammered.
Jada headed towards the lake without another word.
The rest of the journey back was equally as uncomfortable, and between Jada, the wound on his chest, and making sure Gaius was okay after his brief brush with death, Merlin hardly had time to think of anything else.
He was, however, worried about his mother. He hadn’t stopped to think as they’d rushed out of the city after Gaius, but now he’d realised that they had accidentally left Gwen to shoulder all her care while the three of them were gone. He wondered how they were going to explain that when they returned, since none of them had even left her as much as a note to explain what was going on.
With a sudden lurch of fear, Merlin remembered the letter he’d left on the floor. How much incriminating information had been included in that? Had Gwen found it? Would she mention it to anyone else?
Perhaps he did have time to worry about other things, after all.
At last, they arrived back at Camelot, the hooves of their horses clattering against the cobbled stones of the courtyard as they drew to a halt. Merlin dismounted swiftly before helping Gaius down, but by the time he had turned to Jada, she was already on the ground and handing her reins to Tyr. Without so much as a look back at Merlin, she turned and headed for the steps, hefting her bags higher up her shoulder as she went.
“Once you’ve put the horses away, you’re to come to my chambers and have that wound properly treated,” Gaius instructed.
“Uh, right. Yes,” Merlin replied, snapping his attention back. “I’ll be right there.”
He walked with Tyr back to the stables, leading both his and Gaius’ horses while Tyr brought Jada’s. Tyr seemed happy enough to chatter at him, and though Merlin doubted he was pulling his own weight in the conversation he couldn’t detect anything out of the ordinary in Tyr’s words. No mention of his imminent arrest, no suspicion—no outstanding news at all, really. Perhaps Gwen hadn’t found the letter, after all.
Once he’d bidden Tyr farewell, Merlin returned to his quarters. He’d been trying to prepare himself for whatever he’d find on the walk there; Nimueh had said his mother was safe, but what if the curse had caused lasting damage? She’d been in such an awful state when he’d last seen her, and it had been only a few days since the Old Religion had been paid its required life and she would have been able to start recovering. She was probably still bedridden, and the welts might not have cleared yet, so he had to be prepared to see her like that again.
But she was alive. And she would recover. That thought alone almost choked him with relief.
When he opened the door to see two figures sat at the table, not one, Merlin had to do a double-take. His brain noted Gaius first, sat with his back to him, but it took a long few moments for it to register that the second was his mother. She sat comfortably across from Gaius, laughing with him about something that had been said before Merlin entered the room, and her skin was clear, her shoulders unhunched, and her face bright and rosy.
“Mother?” Merlin breathed, hardly able to believe it.
Her smile turned on him and transformed into a beam, and it only occurred now to Merlin that he had almost had to face never seeing that light in her eyes again. “Merlin,” she greeted, pushing herself up from her seat and moving towards him.
Merlin had paused in the doorway, but at her getting up he rushed forwards, terrified she was going to fall or injure herself.
His mother simply laughed, batting his worried hands away playfully as they reached to steady her. “I’m fine, Merlin. Better than fine, actually. It’s like I was never even sick.”
Merlin blinked at her, somehow having ended up holding her hand, though who was reassuring who he now had no idea. In a sudden rush, all of the emotions he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding back burst forth; all the fear, the worry, the pain of the last few weeks now too much for him to handle. There was a sound like a choked sob, and then his mother was pulling him into her embrace and stroking her hand over his hair, and Merlin was leaning into her at an awkward angle to try and protect his chest.
“Come here,” she said gently. “It’s all right now. Everything’s going to be all right.”
Merlin said nothing, simply crying into her shoulder for a few minutes and letting himself be small, letting himself be soothed. At length, it began to feel as though the whole affair was being washed away; the Questing Beast, the Isle, the constant terror of death lurking just around the corner, whether it was his own or that of someone he loved.
Eventually, he straightened up, gave his mother a watery smile, and wiped at his face with a sleeve.
“My poor boy,” she said with a furrow to her brows, resting a soothing hand on his arm.
“Shall we take a look at that burn, now?” Gaius interjected.
He climbed to his feet without waiting for Merlin to agree, though in that moment Merlin didn’t think he could have found the energy to argue even if he’d wanted to. He was utterly drained and just wanted someone else to look after him, for a change.
“Take your shirt off for me,” Gaius instructed, and Merlin did as he was told, shrugging off his jacket and neckerchief, too. “Sit over there.”
Again, Merlin complied, and after gathering a few jars and bandages off the bench, Gaius sat in front of him. Carefully, he unwound the makeshift bandages they’d fashioned from Jada’s cloak all the way down until he’d exposed the wound, which still looked just as red and nauseating as when Merlin had seen it a few days prior.
He heard his mother suck in a breath. “What happened?”
He gave her a smile he hoped was reassuring. “It’s not as bad as it looks. I just got hit with a fireball. Unlucky, I suppose.”
Gaius dabbed at the wound with a cold, damp cloth, and suddenly Merlin had to bite back a hiss. His fingernails dug into the wooden arm of the chair he was sitting in.
“Sorry,” Gaius said. “This may hurt a little.”
There was nothing else for it, Merlin knew: the wound had to be treated. It couldn’t hurt more than it had the last time, he tried to assure himself. It had to have healed at least a little bit since then, didn’t it?
Clenching his jaw and balling his hands into fists, he gave Gaius a determined nod, then turned his gaze to the ceiling.
His whole body tried to jerk away as Gaius brought the cloth back again, but Merlin refused to let it. He stamped his feet wildly a few times before managing to regain control—though it was certainly a desperate, white-knuckled type of control. He tried to focus on his mother’s hand rubbing circles on his shoulder, or the sound of her voice as she tried to soothe him, but the rawness of his chest would not be so easily ignored.
The coolness of the water brought him some relief, but the usually soft fabric of the cloth now seemed to scrape at his tender skin with every touch. His fingernails bit into his palms, and he hadn’t even realised how tightly he’d been holding his breath until he felt the cloth retreat and he released the air in a rush.
“There,” Gaius said, laying the cloth on the edge of the bowl. “All cleaned up. Now I just have to get some more ointment…”
He stood, eyes already scanning the shelves for a new vial even as Merlin heard himself groan. He didn’t want to go through that again. He couldn’t.
“Not to worry,” Gaius reassured as he sat back down, jar in hand, “I’m just going to spread it on some gauze, and then spread the gauze on the wound. Now, hold still while I measure it.”
Once the gauze had been smothered in healing ointment and then bandaged carefully to his chest, Merlin at last felt able to breathe again. This method had proved much less painful after the initial contact, and already the warmth of the ointment was beginning to subside as Gaius headed away to clear up his things.
“Who did that to you?” His mother’s voice broke through Merlin’s reverie, and he turned his head to look up at her.
“The same sorceress who made you ill,” he answered. It wasn’t wholly untrue, but the simpler and more vague his story, the less likely to worry her he would be. “Don’t worry; she won’t be hurting either of us again.”
She stroked a hand through his hair again, but Merlin could not decipher her expression. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have sent you here,” she mused.
“No!” Merlin said suddenly, sitting up straighter. “I like it here. I do, Mother, really.”
“But you’re always in such danger.” She gave a sigh. “I wanted you to learn how to use your gifts; to find a place you could fit in, somewhere you wouldn’t have to live in fear anymore.”
Merlin watched her face fall, and felt his own brows furrow. Her eyes welled with tears as she continued, “If there had been any other choice, I would not have sent you here. I would not have chosen this life for you.”
Without even thinking, he reached for her hand. All his life, he rarely recalled seeing his mother cry. She’d always been the strongest, most resilient person he’d ever known.
“Mother, I’m fine. Really.” He gave her a smile to prove it. “I want to stay. I have friends here, people I love and care about, and people who… care about me. Yes, there might be some people that would do me harm, but there’s also people who would do everything they can to face them with me.”
His found his thoughts wandering back to Jada in his room facing down the door beside him with her sword clutched tightly in her hand. Pushing him out of the way of Nimueh’s attack. Telling him she’d rather stay in this world forever than do anything to hurt him.
“What is it?” his mother asked, noticing the way his face had fallen even before Merlin had.
He tried for a smile, though fell short of the mark. “It’s nothing.” A moment of silence passed as he looked down, before conceding just a fraction. “Jada and I got into an argument, that’s all.”
She sat down beside him, perching gently on the bench. “What happened?”
Merlin shook his head at himself. “It was my fault, really. She thinks I don’t trust her.”
“Where would she get that idea?”
His eyebrows quirked in a bitter kind of amusement. “I all but told her that I didn’t.”
He could hear the frown in his mother’s voice even without looking at her. “I thought you did?”
“I do,” Merlin said quickly, looking up now. “It’s just…” He floundered, unable to find the words, then made a garbled sound of frustration. “I don’t know! I don’t know why I said any of it! All I know is that I’m an idiot, and I’ve messed everything up, and I don’t know how to fix it.”
“You’re not an idiot,” his mother said, putting a hand on his shoulder again. “We all say things sometimes that we don’t mean. If you want to fix things, have you tried apologising?”
“Yes. I did the next morning, but it didn’t seem to make any difference. She still looked just as sad. Like… like I’d betrayed her.”
“She’s probably wondering why you don’t trust her.”
“But I do!”
“Then perhaps you should tell her that.”
Merlin frowned. He had, hadn’t he? Hadn’t he?
He felt himself physically deflate as he recalled his apology, realising that, no, he hadn’t. All he’d done was defended himself, digging his heels in deeper on why she hadn’t earnt his trust. No wonder she’d still been so hurt, he realised at last. All his so-called ‘apology’ had been was him telling her all the reasons he thought he was justified in distrusting her.
“You’re right,” he said. “Of course you’re right. I need-”
He lurched to his feet, looking round quickly for his shirt. It had been right there, he hadn’t moved since he’d taken it off, and yet he couldn’t see the thing anywhere.
With an amused smile, his mother reached out and picked it up from right beside him, holding the tunic out to him.
Merlin gave her an embarrassed smile as he took it. “Thanks.”
“It’s what mothers are for,” she replied with a laugh. “Stay out of trouble.”
He finished easing the tunic over his bandages and grinned. “Me? Trouble?”
His mother rolled her eyes at him as he headed for the door, and then he was turning for Jada’s chambers.
Jada had barely opened the door before Merlin was blurting, “I’m sorry.”
She looked surprised for a moment, though there was still that same sad defeat evident in her features, and Merlin half-expected her to simply close the door again without a word.
He could barely contain his surprise when she stepped back, opening the door wider to signal for him to come inside. He followed her lead and headed to the centre of the room, while Jada shut the door and turned to face him.
A few seconds of silence passed as he waited for her to say something, but it soon became apparent that she was waiting for him to speak, too.
“Jada, I really am sorry,” he began. “I shouldn’t have doubted you. I should-”
Her eyes had dropped to the ground, and he stopped, unsure how he had gone wrong already.
“Am I really that untrustworthy?” Her voice was so quiet, so small that he thought his heart might break.
“No. No-”
“Because you’re not the only one who thinks so, y’know.”
“What…” He frowned. “What do you mean?”
She gave him the briefest of glances, just a flash of grey, before looking down again. Her feet shifted uncomfortably, her thumbs hooking in the waistband of her trousers. For a long time, she didn’t answer—so long that Merlin began to think she wasn’t going to. Then, in the quietest voice he’d ever heard from her, came one word;
“Michael.”
He frowned. “Michael?”
Jada swallowed. “Emily’s father.”
Merlin felt as though he’d been kicked in the chest, all the air seeming to rush out of him at once. He didn’t understand—not fully, at any rate—but the way she’d spoken about that man before, the way she’d suddenly seemed to shrink at the mere mention of his name now, as though she were trying to fold in on herself and take up as little space as possible…
The thought of anybody making Jada feel like that ignited a fire in his blood.
And Merlin had reminded her of him.
“I just don’t understand,” she began, a sudden desperation entering her voice. “What- what is it about me?! What do I do so wrong that- that nobody…”
Merlin felt sick, even more so when her hands fell limp at her sides again. No wonder she’d been so hurt, felt so betrayed. She’d thought she could trust him, and he’d opened old wounds and then justified himself doing it.
“I do trust you,” he said softly, fervently, desperate to fix what he’d done. “I trust you with my life.”
She gave a short, hollow, huff of a laugh, not looking up. “You’ve said that before.”
Gods. He didn’t know what else to do, but he couldn’t lose her. Not like this.
His voice was pleading when he asked, “How do I fix this?”
Slowly, Jada looked up, meeting his gaze for the first time. Whatever slim swell of hope he had was soon quelled, however, when her eyes slid to the side again. With a defeated half-shrug, she replied, “I don’t know.”
A long silence followed. Merlin felt it like waves on the ocean, each second that passed pulling him further and further away from her, and though he was trying not to give up, trying to kick his way back to shore, he didn’t know what else he could do except struggle uselessly against the current.
Perhaps that was the problem. Perhaps he was too focused on trying to save himself, to get back to where they were, that he was just wasting both their energy on something that wasn’t going to work. He couldn’t get back to where they’d been, but that didn’t mean he had to drown. He just had to get out of the water in a different place.
“This is my fault, and I’m sorry,” he began, straightening up. “I don’t know why I’m so afraid of letting other people in, of relying on them and trusting them to stand by me. I don’t know why you got the worst of that when you’ve done nothing but support me since you first set foot in Camelot.”
His head tilted, his lungs a little breathless from the weight of his confession. “Maybe it’s because…”—Oh, Gods, he was really doing this—“I care about you, more than anybody else. Maybe it’s because you care about me more than I’ve ever been used to. Maybe it’s because I trust you with everything I have and everything I am, and that scares me. That terrifies me, so I have to pull back. And it’s not right, and it’s not fair, and it’s not how you deserve to be treated. It’s not your fault. You don’t have to prove anything to me, least of all that you deserve to be trusted.”
Jada was standing frozen, her eyes wide and her lips parted slightly. Merlin felt his gaze linger on them, and couldn’t help but recall the last time he’d stood in that very room wanting to kiss away the hurt that he was causing her.
“I am an idiot,” he said simply, with a slight laugh.
So much had changed since then, though the time was hardly long. Back then, when he’d thought it would be the last time he saw her, he’d been so ready to give her his whole soul. There had been no doubt about his trust in her anywhere near his mind, and all he’d wanted was to have more time with her, to tell her how much she meant to him.
Jada had tilted her head sympathetically. “No, you’re not. Quite clueless sometimes, but not an idiot.”
“Do you know the last time I stood here…” He took a step forward into the very same spot, pointing at it with a finger, “I felt… that there was nobody else on earth I trusted more than you.”
He smiled a little, though it was bittersweet. “I felt… whole. Complete. Like you had seen me for who I was, and instead of turning away, instead of being disgusted, or afraid, or wanting me to change… you smiled.”
He felt his lips quirk again, and couldn’t resist taking another step closer, tentative though it was. “I have… needed you… for so long.”
“Merlin…” Her stunned expression had returned, but her voice sounded more like a warning.
He dropped her gaze, looking down at his feet. She was right. He’d needed to say it, and he wouldn’t take it back, but now was not the time to press any further.
“We don’t need to talk about that now,” he agreed. “I just want you to know…”—He looked up into her eyes again, making sure she didn’t miss a single bit of his sincerity—“That you mean a lot to me. And I’m going to prove that. Because saying it means nothing if I keep making you feel like this.”
Jada was looking at him now with a strange expression, something like curiosity mixing with a definite level of confusion. Merlin couldn’t keep his eyes from wandering over her face; from the freckle on her cheek to the curve of her mouth, her lips still parted, then up to the little lines of confusion between her brows.
Gods, he was in trouble. Was he losing his mind? If he was, he wasn’t sure he would miss it. Not when he could just stand this close to Jada and feel so warm and safe and happy.
He returned his eyes to hers now with a soft smile, thinking that perhaps he had never really appreciated what a nice colour grey was before. Especially with flecks of charcoal in it.
Pulling himself back to the present, Merlin took a small step back. “I’m going to go now. But I want you to know that if you need anything, I’m still more than happy to help. Just ask.”
He headed past her to the door, but paused with it just slightly ajar. Jada had turned to watch him, though she still didn’t look as though she’d managed to process everything that had happened just yet, and remained rooted to the spot.
“I’ll… hopefully see you soon,” Merlin said. He didn’t wait for her to answer, not wanting to pressure her into making any commitments involving him right now, and stepped outside. As soon as the door was shut, he breathed a sigh of relief, feeling for the first time as though he’d actually managed to make some progress in righting the situation. Making it up to her wasn’t about him, he needed to remember. It was about Jada, about healing the hurt that he’d caused her, and making sure that he didn’t hurt her in that way again.
He was going to learn, and he was going to do better. But, for now, he was finally going to get some sleep.
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“They are so different.”Lamb marvels as they walk towards the road. Claire, wide-eyed at the strange objects that move faster than anything she has ever seen. She rode fast horses but the fastest one was nowhere near as swift as the cars.
Both Jamie and Lamb had tried to explain what they were. Seeing them though…
“Goodness!” Her exclamation was soft. If she wasn't clinging tightly to his arm, he wouldn't have heard her.
“They won't harm you.”
She shakes her head. “It is fascinating.”
His chest swells with pride. Her reaction is more proof, if he needed any, that they were destined to be together. She isn't scared; Lamb is reacting with more fear, she is intrigued with his time.
“I know you said they had changed,” the other man’s voice was high, “but seeing it.”
Jamie understands. In Lamb’s time, there were still Model T’s on the roads.
“How do we even get them to stop?” Claire asks.
“That shouldn't be a problem.”
They are still dressed for the 1700’s. It should be enough to get someone's attention.
He was right. As soon as they got to the bottom of the hill and took positions on the side of the road, Jamie waved to the next car that passed by. It immediately stops. The couple inside stares at them.
“Are you part of a recreation?” The lad asks them. The lass tilts her head examining them.
“Aye. Our troop has moved on without us and we need a lift back into Inverness.” Jamie answers. It is the easiest excuse for their appearance.
“We are heading that way. Climb on in.”
Jamie opens the back door for his wife. Guiding her in, he places her in the middle and tries to be inconspicuous as he helps her with the seatbelt. Lamb follows his example.
She holds fast to his arm as they start back up.
“I’m Joe Apernathy and this is my wife, Gail.”
“Jamie Fraser, my wife Claire and her uncle, Lambert Beauchamp. Thank you both.”
“How nice that your family is in the same field,” Gail says as they start down the road, “my Joe is a doctor. Sometimes it is hard to understand what he experiences.”
“Now Gail. No need to brag.”
“It is a major thing. She should brag,” Claire is trying to keep her wame steady. She hopes talking will help, “my own husband is also a healer.”
“A physician?” Joe inquires.
“Aye.” He is keeping his eyes on both his wife and Lamb. Both look a little green.
“So the reenactments are something you do as a hobby?”
“Aye. My mam is very into our history. She brought me up surrounded by it. It was a natural fit.”
“Where do you practice?”
Oh, that was a good question. He decides on the truth. “I was to be a part of Doctors without Borders. But, with my new marriage, I will be looking for a new position.”
“Understand. Marriage comes first.” Gail nods in agreement.
They are in Inverness and the car slows. Jamie feels Claire ‘s clammy head pressed against his neck.
“Is she alright?”
Lamb speaks up for the first time. Now that the car isn't moving as fast, he feels he can talk without being sick. “She is with child.”
“Oh the poor dear. Morning sickness is awful. I found flat coke helps.” Gail says.
“Thank you. I will remember that.” Even though her statement makes no sense to her. She assumes Jamie understands.
“You're welcome. First baby?”
“Yes.”
Jamie directs them to his house. Before they exit, Joe gives him his business card.
“I have a small clinic. We can always use a good doctor. Give me a ring and we will find a place for you.”
“Thank you very much. Much appreciated.”
They slip out and Claire and Lamb take several deep breaths of the fresh still air.
The house hasn't changed outside the flowers growing in the front garden. They were spring blooms when he was last here. Now they are autumn flowers, slowly browning as they start to die.
He leads them up to the door and knocks. She opens the door and stares at him.
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Kneeling on the beach, surrounded by a bird frenzy, she trembled. “I never asked people for anything. Maybe now they’ll leave me alone.”
“I’ve lived alone almost all my life, not two months! And I didn’t think, I knew a whole town was against me.”
"That’s what nobody understands about me.” She raised her voice, “I never hated people. They hated me. They laughed at me. They left me. They harassed me. They attacked me. Well, it’s true; I learned to live without them. Without you. Without Ma! Or anybody!”
He tried to hold her, but she jerked away.
“Jodie, maybe I’m just tired right now. In fact, I’m exhausted.
Please, I need to get over all this—the trial, jail, the thought of being executed—by myself, because by myself is all I’ve ever known. I don’t know how to be consoled
