“You were right, problems with my family didn’t give me the right to…” This time I’m not a fly stuck in his amber eyes; his eyes aren’t trying to trap me, they’re trying to say sorry, they’re looking for forgiveness.
I’m sure my blue eyes are saying no. Forgiveness is a long way from here. I find myself shaking my head.
Zale takes my hand. “I know it’s not…” He struggles to find the right words. ”I know it’s going to take a long time for you to forgive me. I accept that. And I deserve your hatred.”
I slip my hand out of his and step away to sit down. “That’s the problem, I don’t hate you. Can’t seem to anymore.” In my mind I see those bruises and cuts on his skin, that sadness in his eyes, the lost boy behind the sometimes arrogant, sometimes charming smile. “This just feels like a dream, like it never happened…” I see a look form on his face. “No! You can’t be wishing I can deny it, that I’m going to pretend it was a dream. Because it happened Zale, don’t go thinking I’ll forget it. I…”
I stare at a poster on the wall behind him. It’s a painting by Monet, and it’s just like the one I have at home. I used to love it and I’d look at it, illuminated by moonlight, before falling asleep. “And it was a nightmare. It gave me nightmares.”
I get up to leave but he stops me. “I’m sorry.” And he lets go, knowing that there’s nothing else he can say that will make it better.