It was strange, the way it didn't get easier. It wasn't easy when she'd told Mateo. It wasn't easy when she'd told Tal. And it wasn't easy to tell Harper, for all that he was a surrogate father to her. But somehow, she managed to speak on, fumbling for the words and trembling, forcing herself to push through her pain and discomfort so that she could just get through the story and be done with it. For that was all she really wanted: to be done with it. To go back to the way things were.
To go back to being normal in a way that she wasn't sure she ever would be again.
Maybe that was why she kept forcing herself to tell her friends. Maybe she was hoping that one of them could convince her, somehow, that this wasn't her fault, that she wasn't just weak, that this didn't have to define her. And each time she'd opened up, her friends had all told her the same things.
Maybe it was different with Harper because he was like a father. Maybe it was the Attuned bond that made it obvious that he wasn't just telling her what she wanted to hear. Maybe it was just the repetition, hearing the same refrain over and over again.
It wasn't your fault.
The reassurance brought tears back to her eyes and she shuddered against Harper's chest, eyes filling with tears she'd long since thought spent. But it was! she thought, and through the bond, Harper would feel all of the pain and the doubt and the blame, and even the ugly pinch of anger that just wouldn't go away, and underneath it all the blanket of all-encompassing sadness that something innocent had been stolen, never to be replaced again. Even if the man hadn't finished what he'd started, she'd still be forever broken, wouldn't she?
But she could feel his love, protectiveness, empathy, and sorrow, his insistence that she listen and take his words to heart. And it was that, more than anything, that began to loosen the knot in her chest.
Just when she thought she'd gotten a handle on her emotions, Harper admitted that he'd been through the same thing, too, and her head jerked up to look him in the eyes, suddenly reflecting his own emotions back at him. "I'm sorry," she whispered, horrified that someone she cared so deeply about had been through the same - worse - than her. But then she realized that, were their positions reversed, she'd be telling Harper the exact same things he was telling her.
That it wasn't his fault.
And again came tears that she hadn't known she'd been holding back, and this time when she buried her face against his chest, it came with a rush of relief and appreciation that hadn't been there before.
To go back to being normal in a way that she wasn't sure she ever would be again.
Maybe that was why she kept forcing herself to tell her friends. Maybe she was hoping that one of them could convince her, somehow, that this wasn't her fault, that she wasn't just weak, that this didn't have to define her. And each time she'd opened up, her friends had all told her the same things.
Maybe it was different with Harper because he was like a father. Maybe it was the Attuned bond that made it obvious that he wasn't just telling her what she wanted to hear. Maybe it was just the repetition, hearing the same refrain over and over again.
It wasn't your fault.
The reassurance brought tears back to her eyes and she shuddered against Harper's chest, eyes filling with tears she'd long since thought spent. But it was! she thought, and through the bond, Harper would feel all of the pain and the doubt and the blame, and even the ugly pinch of anger that just wouldn't go away, and underneath it all the blanket of all-encompassing sadness that something innocent had been stolen, never to be replaced again. Even if the man hadn't finished what he'd started, she'd still be forever broken, wouldn't she?
But she could feel his love, protectiveness, empathy, and sorrow, his insistence that she listen and take his words to heart. And it was that, more than anything, that began to loosen the knot in her chest.
Just when she thought she'd gotten a handle on her emotions, Harper admitted that he'd been through the same thing, too, and her head jerked up to look him in the eyes, suddenly reflecting his own emotions back at him. "I'm sorry," she whispered, horrified that someone she cared so deeply about had been through the same - worse - than her. But then she realized that, were their positions reversed, she'd be telling Harper the exact same things he was telling her.
That it wasn't his fault.
And again came tears that she hadn't known she'd been holding back, and this time when she buried her face against his chest, it came with a rush of relief and appreciation that hadn't been there before.
