Away With the Fairies (The Swallow Barn Cottage Series, Book 2)

Downfall

1 out of 2, as usual ;)

K. xx

***

The first sip coated her mouth with the smoke, and the oak, and the sharp taste of alcohol - and she swallowed, letting it run down her throat.

He sat on the opposite end of the bed, on the other half, leaning against the footboard, his legs stretched in front of him, his left knee bent. She saw him pour himself a whole glass and down it in one go. He noticed her watching.

"It takes me a lot, don't worry," he said. "But let me know when– if you want me to leave."

She nodded and took another sip. She didn't fancy the taste, but he was right, her mind didn't feel quite normal. Do you ever feel normal, Fiona? She sniffled and wiped tears that had rolled over her eyes.

"How are you holding up, love?" he asked.

She saluted him with her bevvie and finished it. He stretched forward, she lifted her glass, and he poured her another half. Fiona took a bigger sip.

"I just keep thinking how it's supposed to be such a common thing, and it's just so... damaging," she said. "Scary. And unfair."

"What 'it?'" he asked, lifting the second half-full glass to his lips.

"Being slapped," she said. His hand froze. "The violence of it. Of someone thinking it's OK to hurt my body. I mean, you seem to understand. You're treating it like a major trauma. You're being careful around me," she pointed out and looked down at her glass. "You aren't touching me. Asking for my permission for everything. Like I'm fragile. While it's usually almost... disregarded. Men hit women all the time."

"It doesn't make it OK," he said darkly.

"No, of course not," she said and shook her head chasing away the haze. The drink was affecting her already. She once again thought he'd been right, though: it was helping. Some sort of a painful knot in her solar plexus was uncoiling. "It's just that– I feel so naive, you know? I told you yesterday I didn't want you to go with me. I honestly thought he wouldn't do anything. And now– Hadn't you been here, how far would he have gone? I made him very angry, didn't I? I told him he was weak."

"He is weak," he said.

She saw him draw his eyebrows together.

"Yes, he is, but also, it's– sort of understandable. How would he have learnt to be a better man? His Dad was an abusive alcoholic. He beat Nate, he beat his mother. There was no one there to support Nate, to tell him he was valued, that he could be kind and strong."

He toppled the second drink in his throat and poured himself more.

"You're too compassionate, Fiona," he grumbled.

"But I'm not! And there's no such thing as 'too compassionate,'" she said. "You see, you have your family, your brothers and your sister, and they all love you. They're majorly annoying," she said with a weak chuckle. "But it's just because they care. Doesn't mean you can't tell them to naff off. But you see, they'd do anything they could to help you, if anything happened. They are trying, right now. They're just going about it wrong, you know? And Nate had no one. Most people don't." She chewed her bottom lip. "I don't." She shrugged. "And it's scary, and it makes you do all sorts of cruel things. Or silly things. Or hide, like I did. And when you went to war, you came out of it stronger. And kinder. And–" Her voice broke.

"I'm not kind, Fiona. Not always. I wanted to–" He cut himself off and jerked his neck.

"Hurt him? But you didn't," she pointed out. Another sip of whiskey scorched her mouth. It was getting easier to swallow, though. "And I know you think it's because I stopped you, but it's not. You're just a– good man. And your sons will be good men too."