. . .
"I can see where this is going, And I don't want to. I don't."
—Marianne Boruch
. . .
He couldn't help but think of the surgical precision with which Winters had held her blade was as impressive as it was scary.
She still didn't say anything though.
Just stares at him, consideringly.
Winters has that look in her eyes again. The one that reminds him of the never-ending darkness that his sister had half-dragged him into in a bid for freedom or risking death just to escape from that hellhole; it was the same abyss staring down at William with cool indifference as if it's already finished him off a hundred times over far within its dark domain in completely different ways.
It's times like this that made the difference between the two of them so stark even though William has not forgotten for a second that she is dangerous, the most dangerous thing there is if continuously provoked.
He'll never forget it: his sister's ice-cold fingers seizing him by the arm, almost wrenching it off as she half-drags, half-crawls to the pool of shadows with him in tow, her strength vicious and excruciating even in the wretched state she'd been brought to, and William's body, fragile and helplessly weak, another burden for her to bear.
"William," she breathes out, his name.
He startles, the small hairs on the back of his neck standing straight to attention at the way she said it, because there was something soft, desperate, and lost in the way she enunciated his name. He waits, staring at her.
But she doesn't say anything else, only stares back at him.
An unfinished thought.
She does that sometimes too.
Winters would call his name almost seemingly out of nowhere but when prompted, she'd only look at him, stare at him for a very long time, as if afraid to speak up, to let him out of her sight. As if she's soaking in on the mere fact that he's here, she's here. They're both alive and real... that this life is real and he's still here, with her.
And there's a lot of things that William wants to say.
I'm sorry, the first thing he wants to blurt out, I shouldn't have said that. I was wrong. I didn't mean it. I didn't mean it, Winters. Please. I'm so sorry.
You are still my...
Winters only tilts her head at him as if she can hear his thoughts before giving him a short nod, as if in acknowledgment, as if in understanding. I know, she seems to say even without speaking. I know what you are trying, and failing badly, to say. I forgive you.
She lowers the shinai and steps back.
"...same time tomorrow?" she asks.
I'll always forgive you.
And that was the end of it.
William clears his throat, trying to keep his voice calm and light as he lowers his own wooden sword, "Hey, what do you think of guns?"
"That you're too young to be anywhere near it."
...Yep.
Still a little bit angry.
He ignores that—he kind of deserved it, anyway—and bravely carries on as though uninterrupted, "Is it cool if I somehow learn how to use one? Besides, I have a feeling that firearms are going to be more of my speed."
She raises an eyebrow, almost incredulous.
He shrugs, "What? Dad has a hunting rifle!"
"He did," Winters concedes, her voice dropping into a low, almost mournful whisper, the same cadence whenever she speaks of Warren, "He showed me how to shoot once but... that was a long time ago."
"Cool!" he chirps, beaming at her.
"What is...?"
"Think you can teach me?"
Her lips pursed into a flat line, and she looks completely unimpressed at the idea but seems to clearly think on it, despite herself. "A gun," she finally says, her voice falling into a monotone, "...you want to learn how to use a gun."
"Well, duh."
"Immaturity and firearms are not a good mix."
He huffs, crossing his arms, "And you couldn't possibly be thinking that fighting up close is going to be such a huge help for me—not if I'll be fending myself against monsters twice my size, speed, and strength. Besides," he raises the wooden sword and shakes it in front of her for emphasis, "...it's not like I'm any good with all this."
She lightly pushes it away from her, "Fine."
"Wait," he perks up, "Really?!"
"I'll let you learn how to shoot if," William tries not to physically deflate when a wicked grin slowly crawls up to her face, "...and only if you can manage to hold your own against me with a blade."
"That's not fair!"
"Life's not fair–"
"Except for death–"
"William."
He rolls his eyes, "Winters."
This time, it was his sister's turn to roll her eyes at him, "Ugh. Give me a break, Will, does it look like I can teach you right now? No. It's best if you learn this first then... that."
He deadpans, "You just don't know how to use a gun, do you."
Her momentary silence was almost incriminating.
"...I do know how to use a gun," Winters finally admitted, letting her voice fall into an almost whisper as the clouds roll by, half covering her in darkness, "I may have learned it the hard way, but I do know. I just don't like how the sound reminds me of thunder."
