“How did you expect me to react with a confession like that?” she demanded. “I’m very angry that you didn’t tell me before. I really loved you or thought I did. Was that something you forced on me?”
“I can’t do that,” he pleaded. “You should know that.”
“Really? I should, should I?” Her tear-filled rage grew. It was not so much the fact of what he told her, it was that he chose now to tell her, after she had given herself to him both physically and emotionally. Had she known this before she could have made a rational, informed choice. She did not go into things blindly—it was not how she was, full disclosure always with everything.
“Let me explain.”
“Explain, really? I don’t think you need to explain. I fully understand what you are. What I want you to explain is where they are. Why can’t I see them now that you’ve told me your little secret?”
“Because they are gone, it was part of my punishment.”
She glared at him and turned back to the window. In the reflection, she could see that her mascara ran making her eyes look like blue and black butterfly wings. She laughed at the thought of wings. He misread her laughter and stepped closer to him. She saw his pale movement in the glass and turned around quickly.
“Don’t come near me.” The tears burned her eyes. He stopped. His face filled with grief. “You should’vee told me this at the beginning before I…”
“Would it have made any difference?”
“Yes, I would’ve stayed away from you, knowing that any second you could be taken back into the fold.”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen anytime soon.” He grimaced, glancing over his shoulder. “Besides they don’t grow back and I wouldn’t be able to fly home.”
She fought the smile that wanted to brighten her face.
“It’s just not something that you should’ve kept from me, asshole.” Her mood began to soften. “It does explain some things though.”
Read all the entries at Wakefield Mahon’s blog.