🇲🇽words from rae🇨🇦

"So what you were saying before, about how you haven't, you know, done the thing with anyone before?"

Bartholomew, already annoyed at the prospect of deflecting even more personal questions, barks his words at her a bit more harshly than intended. "They are just words, you can say them without having committed them. Romantic entanglement, sexual relations, fucking, just pick one and say it!"

"I know you're just tired and stressed and you're not yelling at me, you're just yelling," sputters out quickly as she tries very hard not to cry again. She takes a breath to steady herself and keeps going. "Did you mean it when you said you've never," she looks down at her toes as "had romantic relations?" comes out in a whisper just barely above silence, "Not with anyone?"

Feeling only slightly ashamed of how he's been speaking to her, Bartholomew let's out a heavy sigh, a sound Jheryl recognizes as the closest thing anyone will ever get to an apology from him. "I have not. With anyone." He sets his small bag on the bed and starts digging through it, as if he's preparing for the work to be done, but its mostly a distraction to avoid conversation.

"Have you ever been in love?"

He answers quickly, but without as much obvious annoyance. "Also no."

Jheryl falls unusually silent, prompting Bartholomew to turn around and look at her. She's just standing there with a terribly confused and almost hurt look on her face. After a moment long enough to wonder if she's been paralyzed, Jheryl says quietly, "I can't imagine never having loved anyone."

"I said I've never been in love, I didn't say I have never loved." The irritation has returned to his voice, mostly towards himself for letting out a tiny bit of honesty that will surely prompt more questions, and he returns his attention to his bag.

"Oh," Jheryl chirps, suddenly full of curiosity. "Can I ask-"

Bartholomew snatches his bag off the bed and spins around to nearly shout "NO" an inch away from her face. He spun back around just as quick, but Jheryl could still see the anger burning behind his eyes. Bartholomew stows his bag under the foot of the bed and as he climbs in, Jheryl begins to speak again, not knowing what to say, just not wanting this to be how tonight ends. "I-"

He interrupts with a stern "goodnight" and puts out the lamp.

The room feels so much darker and smaller now, but somehow the space between the two of them feels endless. Jheryl sits on the edge of her bed, thinking about everything thats happened that brought her here. She left home for this, she left her family, her friends, everything familiar and comfortable, for this? For what? To die lonely and scared, side by side with a man who cant stand her? As she feels her entire life that was so full of joy just getting washed away, the tears start falling. And she doesn't know if they'll ever stop.

Bartholomew, fuming at the intrusive questions, lies there in the dark. Why does she need to know all these things? Why so many questions? Why does she care? Why does she care so much about someone she barely knows?

And whose fault is that, Bartholomew?

As he starts to calm and the pounding in his head starts to quiet, he hears her sobbing. Fuck. Could he ignore her? No, even he isn't so cruel. Reluctantly, he sits up on the bed. He can't bring himself to look at her right now, so he stares down at the blanket as he hears her sobs start to fade. Her voice trembles and tries to apologize. "I'm sorry if I'm keeping you up-"

"I did love someone once." He pauses, wondering if he will continue, and with how much honesty.

Jheryl, shaken and now in shock at this offering of conversation, says nothing.

"My twin. Our mother had one of each, a girl and a boy. All the rest after us were boys. Where I'm from, its the mothers who hold the power and the daughters who inherit. Money, land, titles, and all the weight of responsibility.

When we were young, my twin and I were inseparable. I believed it would be that way forever. But after our father died, things changed. My devoted, protective twin became distant. We spent a lot of time apart over the next two years until our tenth birthday. Its an important one for daughters, and after hours upon hours of prep and preening, we escaped to our secret place in the woods just beyond the furthest gate. That's when I learned what love really is. Resentment, betrayal, suffering. Only if there are no daughters will a son inherit anything. My twin, my dearest friend, my..." Bartholomew paused, knowing there's no going back, but not being able to stop himself.

"My brother. He looked me in the eyes and said, 'Father made me promise to protect you, sister. But hes not here to save you now.' I'll never forget the smile on his face.

My dear twin brother attempted to end my life that day. But he was clumsy and my spells were quicker than the knife in his hand.

The hard part was the choice I had to make after. I could tell the truth of what had happened and go on with my life, being raised to lead while watching the shadows for another attempted assassin, and going mad from the shock and the guilt as I follow the path I had no choice but to follow. Or... not that.

So I switched our clothes, cut off my hair, and summoned a wolf to tear the body to shreds enough so it could not be said that it wasn't me. I died on my tenth birthday, and returned to my home filthy, bleeding, and in tears because I had just seen my 'sister' being eaten by a wolf. I tried to fight it off of course, as a loving brother would. Look mother, I have the scars to prove it.

Bartholomew had no talent for magic, so no magical deception was expected or investigated. And it was easy to charm the few who asked questions. The birthday party turned into a funeral and we went on with our lives. Except that I went on with his."

He finally looks up from his lap to stare at the ceiling, and Jheryl can see tears streaming silently down his face. He lets out a ragged breath before finally turning to meet her gaze.

"So. Now you know."

"Wow, thats..." there are about twenty million things she wants to say right now, "thats really heavy."

He nods slightly in agreement before saying, "Seemed lighter when it was a secret."

"Then why did you tell me?"

"You happen to be the one stuck with me," rolls off his tongue closer to his usual smart-ass comments that Jheryl is so used to. Its not an answer, but it makes her feel a little better anyway.

"Well yeah. But you could've just kept it a secret. But you didn't. "

Bartholomew takes his time choosing his words now. "I suppose, I just wanted someone to know before I die."

"We might not die." Even Jheryl is surprised by her positivity returning. "And thank you for trusting me with your secret, even if you didn't have options."

"Oh I dont trust you, I never trust kind people."

Normally she would take this as an insult, but its been a wild night, and she grabs onto the compliment instead and her smile starts beaming."You think I'm kind?"

"Irritatingly so." He can't see too well in the darkness, but he can definitely hear her smiling and it lightly tugs at the corners of his mouth. "But I dont really have to worry about whether or not a kind hearted chatterbox can keep my secret since, again, we are dying tomorrow."

"I know I talk a lot, but you may have noticed I tell a lot of embarrassing things about myself. Like a lot. But I dont talk about other people."

"That is a point."

"I talk about myself so other people might feel less embarrassed talking about whatever they need to talk about. And it works it really does. I keep a lot of secrets. And I'll keep yours too," crossing her arms, "since we're not actually dying tomorrow."

"If you tell anyone-"

Not letting him finish the empty threat, Jheryl dismisses it with "you'll kill me, I know," while waving one had in the air. "What was your name?"

"My name?" He laughs. He actually laughs. "We were both named after our father. Bartholomew and..." he clears his throat, "Bartholomina." The mood in the room has lifted so drastically, neither of them can keep a straight face and Jheryl struggles to choke down a laugh, clamping her hands over her mouth.

"Oh go ahead. Even my father thought it was ridiculous." Jheryl laughs so hard, she rolls back and kicks her feet in the air. Bartholomew smiles and lets her laugh herself out before continuing. "My father called me Mina."

"Mina. Its pretty."

"It is."

"Do you think you'll ever go back to it?"

"I don't suppose it matters since we are dying tomorrow."

"And if we dont die tomorrow?"

Bartholomew is lost in thought for a moment. "No. I left her behind ages ago. It would be... unkind, I think, to resurrect one who has been at rest for so long."

"I understand." The tears and the laughter have both quieted, and sleep starts to overtake them both as Jheryl asks one more question.

"Are we friends now?"