Of Gods and Monsters

Atonement

"Prophet of evil I ever am to myself: forced for ever into sorrowful auguries that I have no power to hide from my own heart, no, not through one night's solitary dreams."

Thomas de Quincey

Elek drew back from Ambrus, at his request. He wondered what exactly he was going to tell him that he didn't already know? Hadn't he just said Victor had told him about his past? Ambrus had his hand to his forehead, rubbing slowly, unmoving. His other hand held his weight, seemingly, by the table he'd smashed his fist against. There was a long pause before Elek sat down on the couch, dumbfounded, waiting on Ambrus to speak his piece. He finally stopped rubbing his temples then, giving a long sigh of air he'd been holding in.

"Do me a favor—one favor. I know I don't deserve it, but just extend it to me, before I begin. Promise me you'll reserve any judgement or outcries until I've finished."

Elek drew his eyebrows together, but nodded.

"I promise."

Ambrus sat down in the chair that was situated across the way from Elek. It reminded him of the way adults sat down to tell a story to children. Elek probably looked like a child, sitting at the edge of his seat, his eyes looking at him expectantly. He began.

"I knew you, long before you knew me. I saw you, playing violin in your room, in the dead of night. You have to know though, I had zero intentions of us ever meeting. Even then, I knew deep within my soul it was wrong, to be watching you. But, still, I went back frequently. At first for your music, but then shortly after, just you."

Elek felt his body get hot at Ambrus's admission. Not so much at the fact that he was being watched, but at the potential of the embarrassing things he might've seen him do. He continued.

"I never wanted to extend this—curse, to you. Never intended to. I wanted to simply watch you. Watch you live out your dreams, live out a full, well-lived life. A sort of, voyeuristic entity, to your human experience. But that changed rapidly, the more I got to know you. Especially so, when I realized what your parents wanted from you. I knew immediately I had to at least speak with you. Speak with you once, before I'd lose you all together. You see, in this sort of life, we have very little that surprises us. Very little that draws—inspiration, from us. Once you've lived for this long, it all becomes a blanketed sheet of mundane grey. The same kinds of people, the same kinds of events. But you, you were different. A blast of color and liveliness in my grey, lonely solitude."

"Perhaps I'm selfish, weak, flawed. Actually, I know this is true. But, I unapologetically wanted you. And I wasn't going to let a cruel twist of fate take you away from me. I knew this from the moment we crossed paths. You asked me before were you a toy to me? Perhaps. Perhaps at first, but certainly not now. Certainly not after we first spoke. I'd realized, to my own horror, that I was in rapture with you. Not only as a source of fresh entertainment, but as a person. As a man. As someone I've come to know. Someone I love dearly."

Elek nearly choked, feeling the temperature yet again rise, his body quaking at Ambrus's casual admission. As much as he wanted to interject, he remembered his promise, and clamped his mouth shut.

"So, I tricked you. I tricked you into knowing me, into being near me. And then finally, the supremely sinful act, of damning your soul alongside mine. I knew it was wrong, wrong to deceive another into this existence. But I fooled myself, fooled myself into thinking this was somehow what you wanted. What you needed. What would keep you the way you are. What would keep you from being trodden on, beaten down, sullied like the rest of the miserable human existence."

"And in my folly, I realize now that I'm the one whose sullied you. I'm the own, in my own hubris, who believed I could save you by damning you. Believed it for myself, by myself, that I could single-handedly make you free. I could possess you. But I realize now, I'm mistaken. You are incompatible with this life. You're too full of goodness, even now. I have failed you."

During the last bit of his speech, Ambrus had simply put his head in his hands. His face was obstructed from Elek's view, but he knew he was in pain. Everything Ambrus had admitted to him, of course, angered parts of him. He was right, that perhaps he'd given Elek something he couldn't adjust to, perhaps he'd never adjust to. But he was also wrong, too. He had given Elek another chance, an infinite chance, at a better life.

He'd done it selfishly, horribly selfishly, but he'd done it none the less. And to deny Elek the right of having his own voice, throwing his preconceptions on him like this in forced silence, angered him. Elek knew he couldn't deny the horror of what he'd done to him, denying it would be to lie. It wouldn't fix his guilt. Instead, sensing Ambrus was done, he finally spoke. Spoke, perhaps, the words that Ambrus needed to hear the most in a single shaky breath, just above a whisper.

"I forgive you."