The Blind Side

At the time I thought I was helping a friend. Even as I write this, I still do, though now I can see it from another’s eyes as well.

Gina had asked me if she and Cayden could stay with me for a few days and I had said yes, without hesitation. Maybe I had assumed that she would tell Dor, not that it would have made any difference had I known otherwise, I would have still said yes.

Dor found me outside the shop, where I had gone to retrieve a stuffed kaiila for my godson. As soon as he asked I told him where they were. Something has transpired between them, Dor and Gina, though I’m am unsure of what it is. She hasn’t talked much since being with me, nor has she been eating much and I have not pried. I gave him the address and directions on how to get to the apartment hoping he would seek her out and talk to her. Instead, he told me to tell her that she had five days left of her vacation and that he expected her home after that. Castor had arrived during our conversation and I could tell he was not happy with me.

He said I should not have involved myself and that what I did was hide a boy from his father, rather that was my intention or not. I could not disagree with his reasoning, but she had needed me and I know too well what it is to be alone, when it seems that no one is on your side.

It isn’t that I regret my decision, I don’t. But I also understand that playing a part in the removal of a man’s child from his home, without his knowledge, might not have been the wisest choice. Once again I acted on emotion, something I am constantly reminded of, but I could not help but be sympathetic to her plight.

Castor told Dor that if he wanted to remove Cayden from Gina’s care that I would be all too willing to play surrogate feeder to his son, since I have been feeding him for quite some time now. It was a humiliating moment for me, but more than that, I think I was upset that he could talk of taking her son away from her so casually. Indeed, such is a sore spot with me.

I left the stuffed beastie with Dor, hoping he would go and see Gina to work things out, then left to trail after Castor, knowing that I was in trouble. Again.

He was furious with me for coming between a man and his son, for putting myself in the position of unwelcomed, though deserved retribution from Dor. Had things been reversed, Castor would not have been near as collected as Dor had been. In essence, I had acted foolishly, which could have turned out very badly had it not been for Dor’s good sense. I had allowed emotions to rule me and not my head. I have this problem often, thinking with my heart.

So I did exactly what I needed to do and I apologized, feeling more like a chastised child than a grown woman. He accused me of not trusting him. I denied it, but I have to wonder, really, if I can ever trust anyone. I have, before and more than once. It never comes to good end though, my trust.

And just when I though that I was doomed to abandonment in my own room, or worse, the tables were turned.

I never know what to expect from him. Where I thought my actions would have fallen into the slot of punishment, he .. took me out. Complete with a new gown he’d already chosen.

We danced amongst peasants, or what I had thought were peasants, in the middle of a clearing. The wine flowed as freely as the laughter and soon I was breathless and dizzy by both. It is these rare instances between us that I treasure most and feel closest to him.

We distanced ourselves from the gathering, I still flushed from the festivities and fell to the ground in a heated embrace. He complimented me on my dancing skills. I congratulated him on all the horizontal lessons he’d been giving me.

But we weren’t alone in our private domain, instead, ripped apart like a piece of rence, torn in two, each pulled off towards the side, separated and at the mercy of others. I began to sniffle, trying to pull their attention away from him, a man who was currently being kicked in the ribs. I knew I only needed a moment and he would take care of the rest. That moment wasn’t long in coming.

Death comes quickly and easily to a man who practices its art on a daily basis and soon we were on the run, back towards the house. He asking me if I was hurt. Only when it was safe enough for us to stop did I realize he was hurt.

A flurry of questions followed. Did I see the markings? Was there an insignia? What did it look like? He couldn’t see, one of the men having thrown something in his eyes. We had to get home. If it was Phelps, the children would be in danger.

Assumptions. We both had them, though for different reasons.

When we arrived home, nothing was amiss. No men in white with orders to remove siblings. Could it have possibly been a twist of fate that we were chosen this mysterious mob tonight? My instinct tells me no. My intuition whispers.. there is more to come.

A Paper Menagerie

I try to be strong. I try to never allow anyone to see me cry. I try not to cry.

I ride the highs and lows of life like a Thassan wave, although I’m afraid the current pulls me under far more than the crest lifts me upward.

After a merry romp in the kitchen I was feeling ecstatic and very much looking forward to Charming’s bed time story. Cain tells the best stories, full of vivid personalities and picturesque landscapes. Usually they are tales of his homeland, of which I love to hear about.

Tonight had been one such yarn and with the words of magic he began to fold a piece of paper into a small animal. It caught me off guard and I stared, I suppose for too long, a frown knitting at my brow. It got me thinking of the paper menagerie that Lucian had crafted for Charm so long ago, and that got me thinking about Olivia. I tied to hide my momentary sadness, but nothing escapes Charm or her father, and so that there were no secrets to questions, I relented and told him about the paper critters.

He immediately rose and walked from the room, me left to stare after him. Charm didn’t seem all too pleased with me either, crushing the small paper woman he’d made between small fingers. Sometimes she is so much like her father it’s eerie. Aside from my red hair, there is nothing of me that resides within her. When I look at her, I see Nia and the influence of her teachings. I’ve always thought that Charm would inherit the cards, but now, I’m not so sure. Perhaps she is destined for another path.

We have different points of view when it comes to raising out daughter and I suppose that’s something that will never change. I want her to be a child, to enjoy the freedom of being young, of being innocent, and though she is innocent in many ways, there is a darker side to our daughter that I do not completely understand and reluctantly admit. He embraces that darker side, while I try to temper it.

I can’t seem to help but offend him because I have feelings for Olivia. Perhaps he sees her as a betrayal, a time in my life when I needed something other than him, but I refuse to regret a daughter that I wanted so much, even if I did lose her in the end. Some things are worth the pain.

Which brings me back to my son.

I’m not allowed to see him alone. He says it is because I am too emotional. To this I cannot argue, I am that, even though I try not to allow it to seep through. I’m not a weak woman. Sometimes broken, but not weak.

I wish he could see the difference.

Drink Me

Sustenance. It’s more than just a simple need of nourishment for the body. Provisions must also be made to feed the soul.

I’ve been hungry, starving for something that has eluded me, trying to find some invisible attainment within the passages of my days. I’ve been misplaced, or at least parts of me have been, irreclaimable pieces that have been lost over the course of the last few years, scattered to the four winds.

He gives me what no other man has ever dared, a banquet of emotional ecstasy that I can feast off of for days. I’m not even sure if he realizes that he is the cure for what ails me, but make no mistake, Castor is my cure.

He fills me with such sweet sinful succulence, I find it hard to put into words. When I’m with him it’s the only time I ever feel truly beautiful. The only time the thirst is quenched to such a degree that I no longer feel the ravenous gnawing inside of me, or the pangs of pain that leave me so famished.

He has become my nectar, the life giving force that supports my dire demand of the unquenchable, my devious desire for dinner.

Sated. I like the taste of that.