Some of this is bigger than Derrica, bigger than what they have been to each other or could be to each other. Athessa unspooling this reminds Derrica of being in the infirmary, and someone uncovering a wound.
"Trying is enough."
Especially in this, in trying to repair all the hurts she's carrying. Derrica doesn't have any spells that can do such a thing. She squeezes Athessa's hands gently in her own, watching her face closely.
"And it's not just me helping you out of the water. I know there are so many people who love you," Derrica presses. "You can lean on us, when it's too much."
An offer shaded with the same tone of Athessa's letter, an offer to be present when things are too difficult. Maybe it would be easier for Athessa to accept than it had been for Derrica.
It isn't easier. Not now, when she's felt like a burden to so many, a disappointment to others, selfish and cowardly to herself.
There are so many people who love you. It's all she can do to keep from flinching at that, at her own immediate thought of: but not you. It's unfair, thinking like that, making so little of the love her friends give her, and making so much of what she can't have.
"It's hard. Accepting help," she admits, her grip on Derrica's hands loosening, but not retreating. Instead, she mirrors the way Derrica had traced the lines on her palm before, aimlessly and with less scrutiny. Athessa doesn't know how to read palms at all. What she sees instead is the signs of a life lived; calluses built up from wielding a staff or manning the rigging on a ship. How their hands fit together, which of them has longer fingers, whose hands are colder or warmer. Where she once kissed her wrist when Derrica pressed that palm to Athessa's cheek.
Why did she have to ruin everything by falling in love?
"Back at the bar, you said it felt like we were afraid to know each other." It should be the preamble to asking if that's still true, but she's stuck on how to phrase it. Are you afraid to know me isn't what she wants to ask. Are you afraid of letting me know you sounds too accusatory. Are you afraid to be known?
Surely Derrica can guess what the question is, and choose her own wording of it.
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"Trying is enough."
Especially in this, in trying to repair all the hurts she's carrying. Derrica doesn't have any spells that can do such a thing. She squeezes Athessa's hands gently in her own, watching her face closely.
"And it's not just me helping you out of the water. I know there are so many people who love you," Derrica presses. "You can lean on us, when it's too much."
An offer shaded with the same tone of Athessa's letter, an offer to be present when things are too difficult. Maybe it would be easier for Athessa to accept than it had been for Derrica.
no subject
There are so many people who love you. It's all she can do to keep from flinching at that, at her own immediate thought of: but not you. It's unfair, thinking like that, making so little of the love her friends give her, and making so much of what she can't have.
"It's hard. Accepting help," she admits, her grip on Derrica's hands loosening, but not retreating. Instead, she mirrors the way Derrica had traced the lines on her palm before, aimlessly and with less scrutiny. Athessa doesn't know how to read palms at all. What she sees instead is the signs of a life lived; calluses built up from wielding a staff or manning the rigging on a ship. How their hands fit together, which of them has longer fingers, whose hands are colder or warmer. Where she once kissed her wrist when Derrica pressed that palm to Athessa's cheek.
Why did she have to ruin everything by falling in love?
"Back at the bar, you said it felt like we were afraid to know each other." It should be the preamble to asking if that's still true, but she's stuck on how to phrase it. Are you afraid to know me isn't what she wants to ask. Are you afraid of letting me know you sounds too accusatory. Are you afraid to be known?
Surely Derrica can guess what the question is, and choose her own wording of it.