A Gamer's Guide 347

I lean back into my chair. The candle is close again now, and the darkness is far away. She’s right in front of me, close enough to touch, crying tears of sheer frustration. 

…I don’t know what to say here. What am I supposed to do? Comfort her? I’m the problem here. When have I ever not been? “I’m sorry,” I mumble out of habit.

“I wish you wouldn’t say that,” she says, wiping her tears. “You say it like it’s easy. If I was cynical like Holly, I could pretend that it’s because you don’t mean it. All hollow pleasantries. Or maybe it’s just my heart convincing me that you’re honest, and in truth you’re nothing but shallow words that don’t mean anything. I’d like that. Then, I wouldn’t feel so shitty for not being able to reciprocate.”

“What do you have to thank me for?” I ask rhetorically. “What do you have to be sorry about?”

In the faint candlelight, her tears have turned to little stars, glimmering in her eyes—unshed. After a moment of consideration, she says, in what I believe to be true sincerity, “Many things. More than I’d like to think. Only today…” She chuckles, recalling something. “I’ve never heard Lett laugh before. Or talk so much. Do you understand how much you’ve done for him, in only a day?” Her smile turns bitter; self-deprecating. “More than I have in months, that’s for sure.” A moment passes silently between us, her brows furrowed slightly. “Thank you,” she says. The ease with which she said it appears to surprise even herself, as she soon adds, “And sorry for the way we’ve been today—Holly and I. Yesterday, too. It must have hurt terribly.”

“Not that much,” I say by reflex, because I don’t know how else to respond to everything she’s saying. “Decapitation is pretty painless, compared to… other things.”

There’s pity on her face. Why? Why would she pity me? I don’t like that. I want to leave but I can’t muster the strength to go. Something in her eyes keeps me glued to my seat. 

Saying nothing, she reaches out towards me, her body moving to briefly block the candle’s light. Her warm, soft hand touches the collar of my shirt, slipping between the fabric and my skin to pull it down just slightly. Reflected in her eyes, I see my own throat, ribbed with several since-healed lines covering the circumference of my neck. She’s so close. Her right hand is almost touching my bare skin. Even without direct touch, I can feel the warmth of her fingers. If my heart were still beating, it would be doing so at a rabbit’s pace right about now. 

She lifts her right hand to her own throat, where I notice prominent but since-healed claw marks, stretching across her throat. 

“It hurt,” she says, lower than a whisper. “I know it did. Even if it wasn’t as bad as whatever else you’ve experienced, it still hurt.” Her eyes rise to meet mine, clear and glimmering and soft in the tawny light. “Why do you excuse others but not yourself?”

Something in me melts. I can’t say why, but as I sit here, her face so close to mine, I can’t help but feel safe. So maybe it’s okay to say it. Maybe she’ll understand. “I think I’m a bad person,” I say. “I’ve got all the evidence to prove it. If I were to draw up a list of criteria for someone to be a bad person, I’d fulfil them all.” In silence, she watches me, with eyes as clear and bright as fire. “And yet,” I say, speaking so truthfully I can’t even recall having the thought before, “I don’t feel bad about it. Intellectually, I know I should feel awful about everything I’ve done. My mind knows that what I’ve done is something to regret, and I do think that I regret it, because I act as though I do. The consequences of what I’ve done are bad, so I know that I should regret what I did. But…”

Something in her eyes shifts. “I want you to know,” she says, very deliberately, “that I have a skill that makes people trust me. Does this change anything?”

“No,” I say. “It doesn’t.”

“Okay.”

The brief digression allows my mind to catch up to my thoughts. I continue, without needing to think it through first, saying, “I don’t feel bad. In truth, I don’t feel much of anything. The thought of becoming a better person is honestly a pretty shallow one for me. Being a good person, to me…” I shake my head. “It has no real meaning. When I try to imagine my future, I can’t see myself in those shoes. In truth, I think the only reason I want to be a good person is because then I’ll feel like I deserve to be loved.”

Her hand is still on my neck, absently trailing along the various scars that adorn it. I can’t tell what she’s thinking. It was easier to predict me when she seemed to hate me. Still, I know that this is better. Her eyes have moved away from my face now, instead following the movements of her fingers. “Does anyone deserve to be loved?” she mutters.

I can’t tell whether or not her question is for me. Maybe I’m also only talking to myself. Absently, I continue my line of thinking, saying, “There are a lot of people who love me for no good reason. I can’t say why, but Rice is in love with me. Lett seems to like me too, even though I only did what was asked of me. Can that even be considered true love? All I did was be there. And the only reason I was there at all was because of all the bad things I had done.”

“Being there for someone,” she says, her warm skin brushing against mine, “is the most loving thing you can do.”

“Loving?”

No longer spellbound by my scars, she looks up at me, her eyes glimmering like the candlefire behind her. “Isn’t that it?” she asks. “Isn’t that why you were there for them? Because you loved them, too?”

“Because I loved them?” What an odd thing to say. I was there because… I happened to be there. To love them…

“Are they deserving of your love?”

“My love?” I echo, dumbly. “I love them?”

“Don’t you?”

Do I? My thoughts grind to a screaming stop. Had I been standing, her question would have left me reeling for something to support myself with. Maybe even if I had been able to grab onto something, I would still have sunk down to my knees, unable to move, or think, or speak. 

There’s always been a disconnect between my heart and my head. It’s not that I act before thinking; it’s that my heart makes me act before I even consider that my emotions have to do with it. Loving someone, then, becomes more of a phrase than the worldshaking experience I’m assured it is. ‘I love you’ is just something people say to each other, with as little sincerity as ‘Goodnight’ or ‘I’ll do it later.’ But I must love people. Otherwise, I wouldn’t do the things I do for them. 

My hands come into view. Scarred and calloused and heavy with coagulated, rotting blood. Absently, I let a thought elbow its way into my head. A month ago, it would have hurt enough to kill me. Only earlier today, the mention of his name would have left me staggering and stuttering. But, now…

“What did Moleman ever do to deserve my love?”

I loved him. I loved him so much. Enough to light cities aflame. Enough to end the world, had he only said the word. But, in truth… What had he done for me?

He had been there.

When I had thought myself alone, when I had only wanted to die, when I had doubted the fact that I was even human to begin with… He had been there. Always, when I needed words of encouragement or forgiveness or acknowledgement, he had been there.

And, now that I think about it… Simel, too. At a time when mere survival seemed impossible and the world appeared to have turned on me, he was there. He sat with me in my cage and didn’t leave. He showed me the stars, foreign though they were.

Goss, Lett, Rice… I love them because they are there for me. And, curiously enough, even though I never did it consciously… I was there for them, too. In their times of need, I sat at their side. 

“Is that really it?” I mumble to myself. “Is that the only prerequisite for love?”

She smiles at me. There’s no need for any other answer. 

“But you don’t love me,” I say, putting the pieces together, one by one. “So, why…?”

“Who’s to say?” she says, letting her hand slip away from my neck. Even though she’s retaking her seat opposite me, moving further away, it doesn’t feel like she’s leaving. She’s still here, right in front of me. Present, because… “You can love someone for many reasons. Humans are lonely creatures, after all. Loving someone can be as easy as being there for them, even if you don’t like them.” Our eyes are interlocked. I can’t turn away from her anymore. Though, in truth, I don’t think I want to, either. Her smile quirks upward. “I was curious, though, about how you and Angel came to be together like this.”

“I was there for her,” I say, easily. “And she was there for me.”

She chuckles. “Same as me and Holly, then.” Her gaze drifts to the ceiling. Beneath her chin, once more, the scars of my past misdeed juts out, striking and pale. “We’ve been together for two years now, through wet and dry. The party dissolved soon after the tournament, but we stuck together. I really do love her. She’ll do things for me she wouldn’t do for anyone else.” She lowers her head to face me once more, a curious look in her eye. “Even if it meant doing bad things.”

All at once I feel hot and cold, together and alone, seen and ignored. Because, to me… What she said is the most obvious thing in the world. Of course you’d do anything for the people you love, even if it meant going against the gods themselves. And yet, never before had I considered that this core tenant of my person would apply to others as well. 

As though she could hear my thoughts, she quickly adds, “You love people very deeply, don’t you?”

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “It doesn’t feel like anything, and it’s not like I think it through much beforehand, but…” I raise my hand to my chest. Beneath the thin shirt, bony ribs and waxen skin meets me. There’s a heart in there, but it doesn’t beat. That doesn’t mean it’s dead, though. It’s still in there. Despite trying to crush it, it’s still there. Somehow, without its beating, without the blood it gives, the knowledge that I do still have it makes me feel very, very warm. “I think you’re right.”

“Love is a dangerous thing,” she says, continuing. “Misplaced love is the cause of every evil act in this world. Even hatred is just love, misguided. Holly hates you because she loves me. The reason you’re so dangerous, even at this moment, is because you love so deeply.”

My heart grows colder. “Then…”

“Every great deed of good,” she resumes, “was also thanks to love. Those who love very strongly are capable of bringing immense good to the world.” Something about her expression keeps me from taking this as a wholly positive thing. Some melancholy twist to her lips silences me. “You’re strong, aren’t you?” Mute, I simply nod. “I see. In that case, you have everything you need to either save this world or end it. If I were only a little more paranoid, I might try to find a way to kill you so I wouldn’t have to worry.”

“I don’t want to end the world,” I say. “Honestly, I don’t even know if I want to save it.”

“What do you want, then?”

I pause. ‘I don’t know’ would be truthful but not sincere. “I want…” My back hunches a little bit more. It’s embarrassing, but not more so than anything else I’ve said. With strength I wouldn’t expect of myself, I raise my head, look her in the eye, and say, with all the gravitas I can muster, “I want to love, and be loved.”

She chuckles at me. “What a dangerous want.” Her eyes turn to the candle. “Kitty, I can’t tell whether or not I’ll ever love you; but I do believe that, eventually, you will fulfill that want, if only by realizing that it’s already happened.”

“Thank you,” I say, with sincerity I didn’t think myself capable of. “Along the way, I’ll try not to get misguided, or let my love be misplaced.”

“There is no try,” she says, doing a bad Yoda impression. “Only do.”

I stifle a laugh. “Yeah. Alright. I’ll—” I catch myself, and this time I can’t help but laugh a little. “I will.”