It wasn't enough—why would it have been? She'd offered him love and a greater insight into her world and he had refused it. First bluntly, then gently, then half-heartedly. His sole reason being that he was afraid of turning into his mother. It sounded flimsy even to him and yet that fear was haunting.
Every time he tried to tell her something more uplifting, the panic of seeing his mother's grave would slip into his consciousness. His body would tense and he'd push her away, creating space between them. It hurt, but some part whispered that, at least, he was doing something different from Baol and Sinead. He was creating space, recognizing his short-comings, and preventing Xandria from being dragged down with him. Shouldn't that have been reward enough? Yet when she disentangled herself from him, he felt cold. Physically and mentally. The ache made him want to reach out and touch her again but that would only be selfish—and hypocritical. Xandria was giving him the space he wanted. He should be content. "You should go." She turned away from him again and Bel frowned, his brow furrowing at the sudden rejection. His gut reaction was to refuse her but, after seeing the lines of pain on her face, he stopped himself. She should be allowed to be by herself. If that was what she wanted. Or, rather, what she needed in the wake of him denying what she wanted. The whole time, it felt like he was leaving a piece of himself behind. |