Page 103 of A Grave Not Made For Mourning
He holds my hand in his. “It’s all right. There’s nothing to be scared of.”
“There’s everything to fear.”
I sit up abruptly. Is this what I felt for Ma, the Weapon, before my father took it from me? This fear? Is this what replaced it? My hands are shaking. I’m shaking.
I love you becomes I’m scared of losing you becomes I’ve lost you.
“Wendy? Just hold me. Okay?” Azaire reaches for me.
I take off my gloves for the second time today. I put my hands on Azaire. Hold him. I can do that. I can hold him.
I hold him. He is tangible tranquility.
He is peace when I’m in peril. I feel him. All I feel is him.
He is the love I’ve found in limbo.
There is no need for the boy when I have Azaire.
I breathe him in, every second that I get this touch. He’s all I want, all I need. How couldn’t I see it sooner? How much time did I waste in fear?
But Azaire’s not scared. For once, I’m not either.
My heart beats a little faster. It feels more like a hum. A high.I love you.
I dare myself to say it, to spit it out.
I open my eyes again, and he opens his.
Before I can say a thing, Azaire asks, “What happened?”
It’s a strange thing to lose feelings. I remember they were once there, yet I cannot feel what they were. I cannot even feel their absence. Something is missing, I’m aware of it, yet I am not searching for the thing gone.
“My dad made me forget my feelings about the Weapon,” I admit.Weapon. It sounds silly now—like a play on words. I lick my lips and look at the willow tree out his window. “I remember begging him not to, and now I can’t remember why I cared at all.”
“It’s okay.” Azaire nods through his disappointment. “That’s okay.”
“It’s not,” I say in realization. “Not to you… You want to save people.”
I want him to let go of the Weapon, too. He’s in a direct line of danger because of it.
He glances down at me, where I rest on his chest. “I want them to have the chance to save themselves.”
“All I want is you. You’re the only thing I can remember feeling.”
My face is in his hands again. His eyes race through mine, searching. “You have more than me, Wendy,” he breathes. “Don’t let him take it from you.”
The sharp pricking of déjà vu peels away at me. It’s Azaire’s.
But something else is mine…
Prophecy. Desdemona. Calista. Stone.
The end of everything.
Something beyond the Weapon, and perhaps worse.
That’s what I have. That’s what’s there. It’s all I can remember feeling. But it still feels faint. Even Ma.
