Achtus 2, 2719 | Late Evening
Umberto's Home, The Stacks
Umberto's Home, The Stacks
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How many drafts had it taken? Well, he'd gotten the words right the first time and while maybe they could have been refined better, he'd left them as they were because they were truly from the heart, which was the point of this. Of course, there had been hesitation and changing while he was in the flow of writing. There had been words that he'd found it difficult to spell and he'd ended up crossing them out, finding them strange in appearance. It had been necessary to rewrite it so that it could be neat and legible. The hasty spilling from his heart had not only made his immature hand seem particularly horrific — he'd eventually given up on trying to write it in real script because it had been almost impossible for him to decipher, never mind anybody else — but he'd also managed to inadvertently smear the ink with his hand. 'Sinister' was how Umberto had described being left-handed but Fionn was more inclined to use the term 'menace'.How many hours had he spent painstakingly copying his own words? It had been a true agony, the way he'd held his hand to avoid accidentally leaning on the paper had led to cramp and of course, he'd been shaping the letter with such care that that had taken an age as well. Even now, he worried about how easy it was to read although he'd done his best, he really had. He'd even sat with a dictionary, using the compendium so he'd spell things correctly. What an idiot he was! What a blasted lovesick idiot!
Lars didn't even want him! The man would probably have preferred for Fionn to curl up and die where he'd left him in that alley in Vienda rather than receiving words from him but he'd had to say something. Yes, it was about him again, it was usually about him, his own peace of mind but he'd also wondered...
Had the Hessean been hurting under those words? Might he have been as vicious as he had been because he'd been returning pain for pain? Yes, the letter might make him feel better but it might also make Lars feel better.
Maybe. He dearly wished that it would. He allowed his eyes to skim over the letter once more, rubbing at one of them, which was tired and itchy, watering from the effort.
To my beautiful Lars,
What you said to me that day in Vienda was true. Everything you said about me and how I treated you. You were more of a symbol to me than a person. You were so pure, so untouched, something I thought was impossible in a place like Brunnhold. I thought it was impossible based on what I’d seen and experienced. I couldn’t contemplate ruining that, I couldn’t think about taking away something that was so precious when I was so...
You have no idea how much I hated myself, Lars. I felt almost diseased as if touching you would make you as filthy as I was. As worthless. Sometimes I thought about being with you in a way that went beyond fucking. Making love, that’s what they call it. Something sweet and lovely and good, something that meant more than what I’ve always known men being together to be like. Sometimes I thought about it and I’d cry because I couldn’t imagine such a thing being real. Sometimes I cried because I couldn’t give myself to you, not fully. I couldn’t let you take me, not after what Ayden did to me. He wanted to ruin me, hardly the first time over the years, but he left me...
Honestly he left me feeling terrified. You can’t imagine the pain he caused me, how cruel he was and I hope you’ve never been treated that way; I hope that no one ever treats you that way.
What you said to me about being the problem, it hurt but you weren’t wrong — that’s probably why it hurt as much as it did. I couldn’t be with you and I never told you why. If I’d only opened my mouth maybe things would have been different, maybe they wouldn’t have been. I wanted to be your first, I wanted to be everything for you that I never had, that I never had the choice to have but how could I when I compared it all to him, everything he’d done to me, not just before he was taken out of the ward but before that, many years before that. I was innocent and he ripped that away from me. You were innocent too and I thought I’d hurt you, ruin you despite my good intentions and so I avoided you like a coward and told myself that it was better that way — better for you. I didn’t think of it as being cruel, as being cruel to be kind, honestly I don’t know what I thought. I was so scared of hurting you, damaging the idea of you that I ended up hurting you in other ways instead. You may not believe me but I regret that every day because I love you.
I hope that when you first went to bed with a man that he wasn’t unkind, that he didn’t hurt you. I hope that he pleased you. I hope that you wanted it. Maybe it should have been me, but maybe it’s better for you that it wasn’t.
I hurt you and I probably would have kept hurting you because I didn’t know any better or... I don’t know, maybe I’m like that. Pain and hurt is something I’ve become very good at sharing. Like when I almost beat you to death. I never wanted to hurt you like that either and I’m sure it sounds strange but I had nothing but good intentions when I decided to do it.
I didn’t know about your blood, I didn’t know how fragile you were but he told me that I could beat you or he could force himself on you. In you. Even while I was beating you that threat was still there. I left you for dead so that he’d take me instead of you because he would have, even as you lay bleeding and I was so scared. It all seems so stupid and pointless now. If I had known what I do now, I would have killed him instead. I would have killed him for you, even though I loved him. Even though I thought that I loved him.
None of this makes up for anything, I know. It all sounds like excuses, I’m sure but I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t expect you to read this letter either. Maybe this is just for me too, a way to make me feel better by saying all the things I couldn’t when I opened my mouth.
I’ll always regret how I treated you and I will never say that what I felt for you, what I still feel for you isn’t love but you deserve better. I hope that someone does love you, not in the pained, warped way that I do but truly and entirely. I hope that some man gives himself to you utterly, that he worships you and tends to you as I should have. I hope that you are loved and find someone to love so that you don’t end up as empty as I do.
I hope you’re loved and I hope that you’re happy. I hope that any man who meets you understands how much you deserve that. You’ve suffered enough and I hope that now you’re away from Brunnhold and, most importantly from me, that you never have to suffer again.
With the greatest care, he inserted today's date at the top, deeming that it was good enough for such a marker before he blotted it. When he was certain that there was no more ink to bleed into any place it shouldn't, the youth folded it and placed it the envelope that he had ready. He had wax to seal it with but no seal, settling for melting the stuff and then waiting a few moments before pressing the heel of his hand against it with an uncomfortable grimace.What you said to me that day in Vienda was true. Everything you said about me and how I treated you. You were more of a symbol to me than a person. You were so pure, so untouched, something I thought was impossible in a place like Brunnhold. I thought it was impossible based on what I’d seen and experienced. I couldn’t contemplate ruining that, I couldn’t think about taking away something that was so precious when I was so...
You have no idea how much I hated myself, Lars. I felt almost diseased as if touching you would make you as filthy as I was. As worthless. Sometimes I thought about being with you in a way that went beyond fucking. Making love, that’s what they call it. Something sweet and lovely and good, something that meant more than what I’ve always known men being together to be like. Sometimes I thought about it and I’d cry because I couldn’t imagine such a thing being real. Sometimes I cried because I couldn’t give myself to you, not fully. I couldn’t let you take me, not after what Ayden did to me. He wanted to ruin me, hardly the first time over the years, but he left me...
Honestly he left me feeling terrified. You can’t imagine the pain he caused me, how cruel he was and I hope you’ve never been treated that way; I hope that no one ever treats you that way.
What you said to me about being the problem, it hurt but you weren’t wrong — that’s probably why it hurt as much as it did. I couldn’t be with you and I never told you why. If I’d only opened my mouth maybe things would have been different, maybe they wouldn’t have been. I wanted to be your first, I wanted to be everything for you that I never had, that I never had the choice to have but how could I when I compared it all to him, everything he’d done to me, not just before he was taken out of the ward but before that, many years before that. I was innocent and he ripped that away from me. You were innocent too and I thought I’d hurt you, ruin you despite my good intentions and so I avoided you like a coward and told myself that it was better that way — better for you. I didn’t think of it as being cruel, as being cruel to be kind, honestly I don’t know what I thought. I was so scared of hurting you, damaging the idea of you that I ended up hurting you in other ways instead. You may not believe me but I regret that every day because I love you.
I hope that when you first went to bed with a man that he wasn’t unkind, that he didn’t hurt you. I hope that he pleased you. I hope that you wanted it. Maybe it should have been me, but maybe it’s better for you that it wasn’t.
I hurt you and I probably would have kept hurting you because I didn’t know any better or... I don’t know, maybe I’m like that. Pain and hurt is something I’ve become very good at sharing. Like when I almost beat you to death. I never wanted to hurt you like that either and I’m sure it sounds strange but I had nothing but good intentions when I decided to do it.
I didn’t know about your blood, I didn’t know how fragile you were but he told me that I could beat you or he could force himself on you. In you. Even while I was beating you that threat was still there. I left you for dead so that he’d take me instead of you because he would have, even as you lay bleeding and I was so scared. It all seems so stupid and pointless now. If I had known what I do now, I would have killed him instead. I would have killed him for you, even though I loved him. Even though I thought that I loved him.
None of this makes up for anything, I know. It all sounds like excuses, I’m sure but I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t expect you to read this letter either. Maybe this is just for me too, a way to make me feel better by saying all the things I couldn’t when I opened my mouth.
I’ll always regret how I treated you and I will never say that what I felt for you, what I still feel for you isn’t love but you deserve better. I hope that someone does love you, not in the pained, warped way that I do but truly and entirely. I hope that some man gives himself to you utterly, that he worships you and tends to you as I should have. I hope that you are loved and find someone to love so that you don’t end up as empty as I do.
I hope you’re loved and I hope that you’re happy. I hope that any man who meets you understands how much you deserve that. You’ve suffered enough and I hope that now you’re away from Brunnhold and, most importantly from me, that you never have to suffer again.
Always in my heart,
Fionn
Fionn
Signed and sealed.
The blond stared at it for a few moments before turning it over, revealing the smooth back, unblemished as yet. He couldn't leave it blank or else someone might discover it and open it out of curiosity. He hesitated but then simply wrote 'Lars' in the same careful but childish hand. Then he stared at it, palms sliding up the sides of his face as the despair hit him.
So much time. He'd invested so much bloody time so that he wouldn't have to think about the large and obvious problem. How could he ever deliver it? He could hardly post it to the Harbor with those four letters on the back and assume that it would reach its target. He didn't know where Lars was staying, if he had returned there after their encounter in Vienda or if he had moved elsewhere. Godsbedamned, he didn't even know if he still went by Lars. It was his name, sure but he was also a fugitive. It wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that he would have-
Clock it all! He could hardly get it into the hands of someone and tell them to find him. All he could give was a physical description and a name that might not even belong to him anymore, one that others might not know. There must be... Circle have mercy, he didn't even want to guess how many people lived in Old Rose. Too many. He really was a fool, all the more so because he had some ember of hope despite everything.
If only he could extinguish the bloody thing then maybe he'd be able to leave matters well enough alone.
He pushed the envelope away from him as the tears began to flow and his hands returned to his face, skimming upwards so that his fingertips could tangle in his hair while his head bowed and he wept bitterly. There would be no weeping until his heart broke because it was already in pieces, rattling around loosely in his chest so where was the stopping point?
How could he ever stop?
