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Chapter Thirteen - Making up

I'm not asleep when Deacon comes to my room, just lying submerged under the covers, head on a tear-stained pillow. He stands at the bottom of my bed for a while, his breathing the only sound in the room.

Then he sucks in deeply and crawls on, making the mattress sag under his weight. He gets in behind me and wraps his arms around my waist, holding me close. His nose pressed against the back of my neck. I let him, wanting the comfort. Not able to move him away even if I wanted to, I'm just so tired.

"May." His soft voice is raw and remorseful. "I didn't mean to upset you. I'm so sorry. I just. You are so amazing. Putting everyone before yourself. Your mum. Even us, not wanting to upset us somehow with your pain. I can see it in your eyes." He squeezes me. "I always blame everyone else. I think of myself and how everything that has happened to me effects ME." He's upset and I don't want him to be.

I'm not upset with him, not really. He saw me. He saw my pain. I turn my body to him in an attempt to stop his unnecessary guilt.

He takes a breath collecting him self. "My mother. She died when I was 5."

I suck in air. What must it have been like to be so young and have to go through this?

He closes his eyes and continues. "I lived with my mum and step-dad, Jace's biological dad, and when she passed my father came and took me away." He's jaw is rigid. I want to tell him he doesn't need to say anymore, but he puts his forehead against mine collecting himself again. "He is very wealthy but that meant nothing to me, especially as a kid. He stole me from a home, filled with love, and put me in a cold house with fancy sculptures I couldn't touch. He sent me to the best schools and gave me the most expensive things, but he used me as one of his objects to show off to his friends.

I was angry, I am STILL angry. I HATED him. But worse of all, at the time, I hated my step-dad and I hated Jace too, for a long, long time. We get on now but it wasn't always that way. I thought of myself and I ignored their pain, ignoring their calls and refusing to play with Jace, jealous that they were still together in my home. They had lost their mum and wife too, but I didn't care. Not for years." Deacon shifts and he pushes his mouth against my forehead, not kissing just pressing. His breath comes out shaky, unsteady. "But you. You think about your mum and you sacrifice yourself, your own feelings, with out a second thought." Then he does kiss my forehead, a soft peck.

He thinks I'm some self-sacrificing saint, I cringe.

I'm not.

"I'm not like that. I'm just hiding. Everyone thinks I'm okay so I fake it, not wanting to think about everything. I'm just a coward." I whisper it, ashamed.

"May, are you angry at your mum?" He asks gently.

Angry? "No, of course not." I pause. He has shared so much with me. "Sometimes . . . Sometimes I'm sad and I miss her, but I'm not angry with her." I will always wish she would spend more time with me, but she's broken like I am now. I understand.

"And that is what I'm talking about. You're not angry at her even though what she's doing hurts you. Even though you have lost people too."

"She's not trying to hurt me." I interrupt, defensive.

"I know May, I know. But you could be angry at her anyway, and your not. That is the point I'm trying to make. Can't you see how wonderful that makes you? Why can't you see what we see?" His hand strokes down the back out my hair making me shiver. "What I can see."

I'm at a loss of what to say. She is my mum and she is grieving. I am too but somehow I really have started thinking my grief is not as important as hers, of course I'm not going to be angry with her for feeling what she feels. I wish we could be together more, but this is how things are now.