27

27
Red strokes my head, her eyes fixed on the wall. She has a look on her face…it’s some emotion I can’t exactly place.

“Are you okay? Do you need something?”

She looks down at me and smiles somewhat tentatively. “No, Kyro. I’m okay.”

“Do you regret me? I mean—do you regret this?”

Red shakes her head, but her leg is trembling. Her fingers brush through my hair in an absent way, not like the calculated, amused way she normally does.

“No, no that’s not it. You’re so sweet, Kyro. I don’t think I’ve been very nice to you. It’s easy to love someone like you. But…why you…” she clenched her jaw and closed her eyes, her hands leaving me hair.

“I don’t really like nice things. I’m forceful. I’m brutal. I’m rough. Even when I don’t mean to. Nice things just get crushed. Crushed under the weight of me, of my obsessions.”

Red doesn’t look at me.

I grab her hand and put on my head. “Don’t worry about things like that. You don’t have to be nice to me. I’m not very nice. But…if you stick around. That’s the nicest thing to me.”

But that doesn’t satisfy her. Her hand is still. Her mind is occupied, eyes glazed over unseeing. Is she going to abandon me? Is that it? Has she thought better of it now?

“Red?” I can’t help the crack and my voice. My fingers itch for my pen. Why is she silent?

“You know when I was young, I was a very sweet girl. It’s probably hard to believe now. But the world hardened me. It was cruel, almost immediately.”

I try not to breathe. She doesn’t talk about herself often. Doesn’t that mean she does love me? She’s close to me, now?

“If I’m honest, I don’t know what love is. I don’t know how to. Life…life is just a thing I’m doing until I die. And if I were to put a term to how I feel for you, love would be…”

“It doesn’t have to be perfect. I know what you mean.”

Red looks down at me, her eyes wide.

“Love is like a myth. Everyone wants it. Not many people get it. Even fewer are able to keep it. I never got it. So, you don’t have anything to be measured against.”

She scoffs, and shakes her head. “What makes you so willing to accept scraps? You’re not a bad man.”

I wish that were true. I wish I could be the person I am around her. Kind, and thoughtful, attentive. The guilt free way I interact with her.

Even in the roughest moments, I don’t hurt her.

I would love to not hurt people. But it is all I know and I don’t think I have any other use at this point. An old dog can’t learn new tricks; isn’t that the saying?

“Remember when I told you I was in the war?”

She nods softly. I take her hand and rub it, stroke my thumb over her palm, my eyes glazing over.

“I…the thing I became.” I swallow. “I’m not a good person, Scarlet. I’m so glad you don’t see me that way but I’m not a good person. I don’t even deserve scraps. I’ve done terrible things in my life.”

The memories flash behind my eyes. I fist my hand, hard trying to pull myself out of.

“I’ve done unforgivable things in the name of my country. In the name of freedom I’ve never really experienced. When I was young, I was proud. And then…then I was honest.”

She meets my eyes, she opens her mouth, then closes it, her eyes darting back and forth. “I…I don’t think you should blame yourself.”

“That’s because you don’t know the things I’ve done.” I murmur.

Her eyes soften in a way I hadn’t seen. They glimmer, a tear falling from her eyes. She looks down. 

“I don’t deserve that look, Kyro. I’m not…I’m not a good person either.”

“Then aren’t we perfect for each other?”

She scoffs through her tears and shakes her head. “No. No, I don’t think we are. I think I’m ruining you. You should give this devotion to someone who can give you more.”

“I gave my devotion to a lot of unworthy masters. My country. My father. So many things I idolized. You’re the only one that hasn’t hurt me yet.”

She cups my face. “Then…then I’ll try my best not to.”

We sit with that for a minute. 

I wish I could save this moment. I wish it was engrained in me, like every evil thing I’ve done, like every drop of blood I’ve spilled.

Like every sin. Carved into my skin into the walls of my skull, into the crevices of my brain. I wish it could be there too. 

This moment. This moment of honesty. I never get to be honest. I didn’t realize how much I missed it.

She sees more of me than anyone has. And she still looks at me. Cares about me, even a little. How could I dare ask for more?

“Kyro,” she wipes a tear from my face with a tearful laugh. “Now look at us, what a pair of crybabies, huh?”

Crying? I touch my face, feel the wetness. Crying? I’m crying? 

“What does it mean?” 

She looks deeply into my eyes, searching for the answer.

“I don’t know. What do you think it means?”

“That I’m happy.”

Can’t I just stay here. Can’t I just die right now? I want this to be the last I thing I do. I want it to be fresh in my mind, the last thing I see. 

Otherwise…I’m worried I’ll forget by the time I do. 

My heart hurts, it aches in a way it hasn’t in forever. Maybe ever.

“We didn’t have dessert. I have some ice cream in the freezer. Wanna eat some?”

I nod softly. Red gets up, with a pat on my head. My vision is blurred. Tears are still rolling down My cheeks. I close my eyes tightly, trying to stop them.

Is there something wrong with me?

Of course there is. Fuck.

“I killed kids.”

I hear her pause. Why did I say that. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck—

“You wanted to?” She asks from the kitchen.

“No. In the war. I didn’t want to. I really didn’t. Who would do such terrible things?” I laugh. 

Nothing’s funny. What did I want to do? Ruin it? See how much of me she can love? Don’t I know the answer is none? 

“My father did too. He said he couldn’t look at me. Couldn’t touch me with hands that killed girls like me.”

She comes back from the kitchen with two spoons and ice cream. 

“The things we do when we’re at war…” she says offering me a spoon. “They’re unforgivable. But what can we do? What can we do now?”

“Were you?” I ask. 

She looks away, licks her lips, setting the ice cream on the table. “Something like that. I understand, having blood on your hands. Being responsible for inhuman things. Maybe we all are, whether we know it or not.”

I take her hand. She lets me. 

“The things we own are made by enslaved children. The building we live in, workers have died for. The heels we wear, the streets we walk on—the planet, nature—it’s all dripping in blood.”

I squeeze her hand. Tether her back from that place. I see her going there, I go there all the time. That wasteland of sins and blood.

We say nothing for a while. We sit in the blood together, in the guilt. We sit in that oh so familiar wasteland.

“I forgive you,” I whisper. “For the blood on your hands.”

Scarlet cocks her head, eyes half lidded, brimming with tears again. “You can’t—”

“I can. I do. I forgive you. If you can forgive me, that’s enough. I know I’m unforgivable. Maybe you are too. But if we forgive each other, maybe it’ll be bearable.”

Scarlet takes a shaky breath, leans over and presses her forehead to mine, her tears dripping into my eyes, sharing the burden of grief. They roll down my cheeks.

“Thank you forgiving me. You shouldn’t. But I forgive you too, Kyro. I forgive you.”

And even if it’s the only absolution I’ll ever get it’s enough. It’s more than enough.

She kisses me, softly. There’s no passion, just affection. Just pain. I give her mine back. 

I see now, why she smokes so much. To forget. 

We all want to just forget.