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He should have noticed something was up with her, or maybe he did, from the way she came onto him: manic, over the top, a little fake; cornering him in the hallway, whispering in his ear. It was the same persona that she approached him with when they first met: the deviant, the party-girl, the corruptor. It was a persona that by now he knew her better than, so it was jarring. And he wasn’t even really in the mood for anything, but it was what she seemed to want, so he tried to get into it.
They were kissing in her bed, in the room she shares with her sister. It wasn't discrete, in fact it was a little desperate and juvenile, which should have been another warning sign. Adaine had been informed of their activities and had been begrudgingly exiled downstairs to gossip about them and play Mario Kart, while the two of them rolled around on each other.
It’s not that it isn't nice to kiss her. She’s gorgeous, of course, and frightening, and strangely delicate; holding her feels like holding a lit firework. But this time part way through she seemed to lose her energy. Maybe she was relaxing, opening up to him, he thought, being herself a little more. Her hair is disheveled and little wisps of it are glowing in the fading sunlight. Her shirt is unbuttoned. His teeth graze her lip, gentle, encouraging, and she softly returns the bite in a way that makes him feel ignited, that makes him want to pull her closer by her waist, breathe her in, cradle her hair. She inhales, breaks the kiss, presses together their foreheads, her own brow furrowed. Does she like that? He moves his lips to her neck, and she shivers, presses against him, places her hands against his chest. He realizes a moment too slow that she isn't pushing into him, she’s pushing away, and has become stiff and unusually quiet. She starts struggling before he knows to release her and when she finally pries enough distance between them she shoots him this look, scared, guilty, accusing, and like she doesn't quite recognize him. It hurts for a moment, the rage and fear that it brings up. Fabian isn't a stranger to the feeling. Growing up, he had become accustomed to distant and unrecognizing looks from his mother, to trying to please his father, whose desires could change in an instant, who might be cold or loud or violent with no warning or cause. It's not fair, has never been fair, that the people he loves aren't capable of being mentally there for him. It's not his fault that Aelwyn is hurt, that she's looking at him with this expression of betrayal. He didn't even want any of this in the first place. He was doing it for her.
But none of this is about him, he has to remind himself. This is about Aelwyn, and he knows why she gets like this.
"Sorry. I'm sorry." He swallows his indignation.
"Don't pull on me." Her voice is guarded, frantic, and her eyes are darting around. He's still too close and she's still fighting him, so he pulls away fully and sits up in the bed. His bare chest feels cold.
Once she's no longer boxed in by his body, she curls up on her side and stares into space, before shutting her eyes very tight. Fabian feels angry again, at himself, because, really? He's just going to sit there, doing nothing, watching her like this? But what could he possibly say? He knows that she hates feeling trapped, and that he should have been more careful. But then, sometimes his carefulness upsets her too.
Maybe he doesn't love her, not in the way he thought he did, not even really in the way he used to and only thought was love before he knew anything about it, but he cares about her, and he doesn't know what to do. They are bad for each other, but not in the way they anticipated. They've never actually tried to tear each other down. It's just that their triggers and sensitivities line up in a way that sends them into these cycles where they escalate and internalize and make things worse for both of them, hardly ever resulting in blowout screaming matches, just in quiet, painful moments like this one. The mature thing is to recognize that he isn't going to make anything better, and leave.
"Should I get Adaine?"
"Yes." Her voice is small and tense and contains an immense rage. She is holding it in with the strength of her fists pressed tight against her eyelids, and then that isn't enough, and she starts to cry. "I'm sorry."
Fabian knows that it's hard for her to say that, which is why she almost never does. Of course she does, now, when she doesn't need to. But if he acknowledges it in any way, criticizes it or comforts her she will shut back up tight, and he will not be able to coax or pry her back open again. So he tries not to sound as caring as he wants to be, for her.
"I'm going to put your shirt back on first." If he asks her if she wants him to help, if she needs him to, her pride will tell him no. So he phrases it like this.
"Yes. Fine."
He doesn't think he should reach behind her again to reclasp her bra, but he puts her buttons back into place, carefully one after the other, while she lays there as stiff as a corpse.
"Please go get Adaine." She sounds very small and Fabian feels deeply, immensely, inadequate.
It must he the look on his face when he appears, still shirtless, in the doorframe, that makes Adaine and Kristen look up from the crystal screen and keep their gaze on him for a moment longer than normal, letting their digital figures idle while the AI players speed past them. There's a childlike voice in his head that doesn't want to tell them, that wants to say, I didn't mean to, I didn't do anything wrong. But instead he looks at Adaine, distressed and a little pitiable. "Can you go help Aelwyn?"
She and Kristen share a glance, and then she rushes upstairs, without saying anything.
"Well… Player 2 just opened up," Kristen offers after a pause, looking at the screen instead of him, tiptoeing around his bad mood.
"I don't feel like it."
"’Kay. You want to watch?"
Fabian can't tell if she really wants him around right now, since she's avoiding even looking at him, but he sits on the couch behind her anyway, and she leans on his legs like they're a backrest. It's something that she'd usually do to annoy him (in a friendly way), but now it seems comforting. He takes it, and doesn't ask for more than that.
“I should just go home.”
“I don’t know man. I don’t know.” There’s a long pause. “Girlfriends are hard.”
It feels like Kristen is reaching to understand, trying to comfort him without totally getting it. He doesn’t say anything, just watches her imaginary car bump skillessly across the screen.
“You’re safe. We’re at the Manor. This is our room. Kristen and Fig are here and Jawbone’s going to be home soon to cook dinner. After we eat we can read for a bit and then go to bed.” Adaine strokes her sister’s hair, her head in her lap, smoothing the mussed strands back into place. She’s letting her hold her frog. Aelwyn sniffles, and nods.
“Yes. You’re right. Thank you.” She still doesn’t like crying in front of Adaine. She steadies her breath, putting on a composed air that she still needs to feel safe, although her gaze is still farther away than usual. “To think you’re here comforting me after I’ve been so mean to you.” She’s been saying that a lot, lately. Her voice threatens to break into a sob again.
“Well, you don’t look very mean right now.”
“Hah.” Her lips twitch into a smile. “I’m sure I don’t.” She wipes some dew from under her bloodshot eye, finds a stray eyelash.
“Did Fabian do something? I’ll kick his ass if he did.”
“No, no. It’s not his fault. He’s… sweet. I should stop jerking him around.”
“Well, yes. Not that it’s only your responsibility, but for both of your sakes, maybe.”
She nods. “All he wants is to be nice to me and I never let him. I think I’ve been pretty unkind to him.”
“You might be giving him too much credit.”
'No. I think it’s true… And he can’t really handle me, can he. Not that I blame him.”
“Oh, he has no idea. He looked so pathetic when he came to get me.”
“Oh, don’t say that. It makes me feel worse.”
“It’s not your fault. And it’s true.”
She sniffs again, sits up, hands Adaine back her frog. “Thank you, Adaine.”
Adaine embraces her. “I love you, Aelwyn. And I mean it, about kicking Fabian’s ass.”
“Mhm,” her voice trembles again, and she hugs her back, and softly sobs a couple more times before pulling away and wiping her fresh tears. “I love you too. So much.”
Adaine smiles. “Do you want to come help set the places for dinner? Jawbone should be home soon.”
“Yes, that sounds alright. We should figure out how many people will be eating.” The Manor always has open doors, and various guests coming in and out of them.
“I’ll ask who’s here.”
Fabian doesn’t stay for dinner, and it’s for the best, although Aelwyn feels a little disappointed. Her crystal buzzes in the middle of it, and it’s good that it’s when she’s surrounded by people who love her, by the warmth of candlelight and homemade food and happy conversation, and not when she’s alone and sad and craving destruction.
Hi Aelwyn. I’m sorry that I hurt you. I’ll be sure to be more careful next time. If you’d like to talk about what happened I’ll happily listen so that I can know how to do things differently. I hope you have a good night. - Fabian
She debates a response, and keeps it short.
Thank you, Fabian. Have a good night. I’ll see you next time you’re here.
Part of her wishes that she could say something more caring, more vulnerable. But she wonders if it would even be honest, if she did. Right now, she is surrounded by family, and she is safe, so she puts away her crystal, and leaves it at that.