The Handkerchief

Hati finds out about the siblings/Marcus's POV

Oh, no, you’re about to cry.

I knew that the small ones have been weighing heavy on your mind and yes, I knew this might happen. 

Nevertheless, I wasn’t prepared. Fuck me sideways, I wasn’t prepared.

You keep swallowing, trying to keep the tears from flowing. And a part of me prays that you’ll succeed. If you succeed, we could just pretend this didn’t happen. It would be the best outcome for the both of us.

Then, it’s over.

A teardrop falls down your cheek. There is no pretending now.

You’re crying.

“Are you crying?” I ask. I don’t know why I asked, I can see it clearly with my own two eyes. Maybe I asked just to buy some time, just to fill the air with a voice other than your sniffling. The sound makes me feel ill, like I should do something about it, but I can’t do anything. I have to make it stop.

You don’t want it to be true, either, for you lie. “No,” you say, despite the tears falling down.

Then, a realization makes me sigh in relief. You’ve got the handkerchief. It might not solve everything, but it’s something.

• When I remind you of the gift, you insult it and start laughing. It is slightly offensive, but the reaction is not wholly unwelcome. In a way, the gift helped. You look happier. 

      In a sad way.

• “No?” I ask after you call it ‘the most insulting gift’ you’ve ever received. A bit of an exaggeration, but you’re entitled to your wrong opinion.

      “No,” you confirm.

       At least you stopped crying. Maybe. You’re on the edge of letting all your pent-up emotions out again.

      Not good.

• Another sigh of relief. You have it. Good.

     I watch you wipe the tears away. 

     It makes me feel better. I helped. But you still look like you're about to cry.

No. Of course it didn’t solve the situation. I need to–

“Afraid you’ll have to comfort me?” you ask, reading me just right. You’re getting dangerously good at it.

And all I can do is to surrender the information. “Yes,” I admit. “I will if you ask me to.”

That’s all I can do. I will suffer the consequences of everything I’ve done.

Even if it means… This.

And you confirm my fears to be true. You want to be comforted.

I sigh. There’s no one else around, at least for a while. And I already promised.

So, I take your body into my arms. 

And it feels off.

To touch you.

To feel your body so close to mine.

To feel you breathe tensely against me, clearly realizing what a mistake this was.

But then, you say something that makes me grimace even deeper. 

“Thank you.”

No. ‘Thank yous’ are absolutely out of the question. You take that back right now. 

“You don’t need to–” Of course you don’t need to apologize, this whole situation is grotesque. There is no need to–

“I want to,” you say, stubborn as always.

The tone in your voice is clear. There is no fighting you. You want to thank me. Me, out of all people, you want to thank me.  

The thought almost makes me laugh. 

But fine. Let’s play by your rules. Maybe this is just your way of stabbing me with words. To make me play along so you can point out how ridiculous this is and I should’ve just kept my mouth shut.

“You’re… welcome?” You’re welcome that I’m the reason they were sold like animals and I should be happy that they were bought by that temple and not by some–

“Don’t ask. Just say it,” you say. 

Your words make my head hurt, they make me ill. Why are you still there, glued to me? So close I can feel your heart beating.

But there’s something about those words that makes me want to obey. To stop thinking and to just accept my fate and say, “You’re welcome.”

My voice feels off to my ears, silent and shameful. I don’t deserve to say that. 

Wrong, all of this.

I look off to the distance, hoping this torture will be over soon. But I don’t make the first move.

You will stay there as long as you need to.