EMBERS (Marcus Acacius)

XXX | One Final Breath

The meeting room was eerily quiet. The torches on the wall burned low in their sconces, casting wavering shadows onto the walls and the floor. The lingering scent of smoke and candle wax lingered in the stale air over the heavy wooden table, which—once surrounded by politicians—now felt wide and imposing, in the empty space.

The echo of Lucilla's retreating footfalls had long faded into the distance. The silence that remained was tense, thick with unspoken words, as Acacius and I stood in awkward quietude. Speaking of Acacius—he was standing by the table, hands gripping the edge as he breathed heavily, clearly still worked up from the recent skirmish. I watched him warily, not sure what to say—or if I should say anything at all.

It was a long while before Acacius ran a hand through his hair and turned to look at me. I was already watching him from afar though, waiting patiently for him to calm down and speak to me of his own accord. My mind was racing. It was as if something had switched—not just inside Acacius, but in my own mind as well. Acacius hadn't made such a public show of defence for me since I had been forced to reenter the Colosseum. But that had been many, many years ago—long before I had left to Numidia and long before we had acknowledged this undeniable connection between us.

Acacius eyed me for a few seconds, and I thought—maybe—we would continue this uncomfortable silence for another eternity. But, just as I was prepared to avert my gaze and shift my weight to the other leg, he spoke up—his voice quiet, but laced with an intense guilt that sent a stab of pain into the centre of my chest.

"I shouldn't have done that," he muttered, his rueful eyes dropping to my feet, as if his guilt was so great that he couldn't bring himself to meet my eyes. "I lost control. I—" His voice cracked and he sucked in  a shaky breath, his jaw tightening as he swallowed harshly. He pressed his lips together, shaking his head, as I continued to watch him indulgently. "That wasn't supposed to happen."

I didn't know how to respond. It would have been easy to close the distance between us and comfort him—fervently let him know that I wasn't angry or upset—but it wouldn't have been true. There was an indubitable distance between us—not just physical, but also emotional. For the first time in a long time, I wasn't sure to how read Acacius, and that was terrifying,

It was as if Acacius could read my thoughts, for his eyes darted back up to my face, narrowing ever-so-slightly as if he was analysing me. I didn't say anything—there was nothing I could verbalise that would make this any less awkward, while also simultaneously being true. I just met his gaze evenly, letting him know that I had no response to his feeble attempt at an excuse.

Suddenly, he took a small step towards me, his hand raising from his side as if to touch me, but something like alarm bells blared in my ears and I—unintentionally—retreated. It was only a half-step—barely noticeable—but he saw. Acacius' remorseful expression flipped in an instant, offence flashing in his eyes, before it was quickly masked by something I would be able to identify on anyone—hurt.

Regret immediately pooled in my stomach, but I didn't reclaim the ground I had extended between us. I couldn't ignore the way my stomach had churned uncontrollably when Acacius had lunged at Gracchus, the way the air had left my lungs when he gripped the senator's robes in his fists. I knew he was capable of worse, but here—in a place where no imminent danger existed—I never would have expected him to do something like this.

"You're afraid of me..." Acacius' choked whisper made my heart twist painfully. He looked so forlorn—crestfallen past revival. My actions—so small and inconsequential—had clearly had a profound effect on him. He wrung his hands together apprehensively, as if it might distract him from the situation at hand. There was no going back now; the only way out was forward. "Is that what you think of me?"