Jealousy - M Avery

He’s not quite sure when he started feeling this way. Somewhere between residual distrust and the bitter misunderstandings, his heart softened and the walls he’d built up crumbled to dust. Was he always meant to end up here, at the mercy of someone he once thought was born to kill him?

Because he is. At your mercy, that is.

Just looking at you from across the room, he feels his heart racing in an uneven rhythm. He’s glamoured right now, hidden, unable to reach out lest you both face the consequences. It kills him to be stuck on the sidelines and only able to watch as the show plays out; he’s used to changing the plot as he pleases, not being a device of it.

You, though. God, you’re working these Council assholes like a pro. Your jittery nerves and panic are long gone, replaced by unsettling certainty and a cold determination as you watch them all play right into your hands.

You might be the Unchosen, a pariah…but something about you pulls people in regardless. A kind of magnetism that exists even when you’re going through hell and uncertain you’ll make out the other side.

He appreciates that about you. Respects it, even. Still, bitter anger stirs in his gut as he sees the wolves circling you, watches the vultures ready themselves to swoop. You don’t just affect him, but all of them, too. They all want you just like he does and it makes him want to scratch his skin till it bleeds.

A young man, an upcoming politician, leans close to you. You laugh so naturally, but the anger in your eyes brings him comfort. You hate these people just as much as he does, he reminds himself. This is solely for information, not because you enjoy being around these bloodsuckers.

The man hovers a hand above your shoulder. Avery’s blunt nails draw blood from his palms.

When you finally draw away from the small group of tittering assholes, you catch his eye and go toward the bathroom. It makes a chill run down his spine; you can always see him, even when no one else can.

He slides through the door right after you, locking it behind him. As the glamour ripples away, falling from him in rivulets, your eyes drop to his marred palms.

Your eyebrow twitches up, playful, “What happened there?”

“They were too familiar,” Avery says quietly, not able to look directly at you.

From his peripheral, he sees you huff a quiet laugh. You draw closer, your hand sliding in his own wounded one, and he goes stock still.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” You say quietly, “We both know why we’re here.”

It’s a strange dichotomy of emotions that arise at the reminder. Anger towards those that have failed so many, but relief that you’re here beside him. Disgust, because he himself failed as well, and-

And love. Love for you. For how you never failed, how you never could fail, even if everyone else claimed otherwise. You’re the closest he’ll ever be to holy and he’s okay with that.

Love, if only he could let himself.

Your hand squeezes his, grounding, and he finally accepts the truth as you stand there next to him. He’s a cliff crumbling to you, to the sea below.

He glances over and you smile, gentle despite the blood on his hands. The anger of his youth is gone, replaced with something that tastes like regret, but you sweeten the bitterness.

“Ready?” You ask, eyes pleading.

“Ready.” He confirms, bending farther than he thought possible.

Because that’s what you do. You make him bend. He always wanted to make the world better, but you make him want to be better.

He follows you out the door, once more hidden from prying eyes, yet still your gaze falls on him and your body turns toward his. Like he’s your north, like you’ve seen him and now cannot possibly unsee him.

Maybe, he considers for a moment, you were born to kill him. Maybe he’d let you.