Heirs of the Gods

Ch 53.2: The only way out is through

The grandfather clocked ticked in the corner of the room. A soft, rhythmic chime only broken by the sound of the wind whipping against the glass windows every so often.

Ella had fallen into a state of ease, her previous agitation replaced by a sense of calm, if a bit of exhaustion.

As the haze in her mind wore off, it began to fill instead with questions. She replayed the sequence in her head, as she toyed with a button on Aedion's shirt, basking in their shared comfortable silence.

It was a while before she spoke. She lifted her head off his shoulder and observed his profile, his slightly closed eyes, guarded by long, dark lashes.

"Aedion?"

A hum in reply.

"How do you... How do you know all of this?" How was he so sure. How did he have the right words? A way of making her see the light at the end of the tunnel. As if he were guiding her through a path he'd already been through.

A pause. Stretching across the silence between them, filling the space. "Pain demands to be felt," he whispered after a moment. "That's what she told me--my healer."

Ella leaned back, cradling her head on the crook of his shoulder and looking up at him with attentive eyes.

"When Áine died... I was a wreck. I--I wasn't dealing with it correctly. I did many things I shouldn't have." He swallowed thickly, and Ella squeezed her arms around him, to which he nodded gently, breathing deeply before continuing. "It wasn't easy for any of us. Val and Blaise, they were dealing with much at the time as well. And Val, she just decided that she wouldn't let us wallow any longer. She wouldn't let us drown in a sea of grief, pain and anger. So, she convinced us all to talk to a mind healer."

"I didn't want to. I hated the idea at first. Allowing someone to peek inside something so intimate. I hated it. It was my pain, my anger. It was mine to deal with." He looked at her knowingly, and she nodded slowly. She knew what he meant. Knew it all too well. "Except, you're never really dealing with it, are you? It festers, growing into something dark, scary and uncontrollable."

"I realised that I needed to do it. Holding on to these feelings, it was eating me alive. If I wanted to do better, I needed to deal with it. Truly deal with it. That's what she said, my healer. The only way out is through. We must confront our pain, embrace it, and deal with it. Because ignoring it only puts off the inevitable, and destroys us in the process."

"And how did you?" she breathed, entranced by his words, by the depth of what he was telling her.

"With sheer stubbornness," he smiled, gentle and teasing. "That, and loads of painting. Cooking. Talking," he said begrudgingly. "I'm afraid you can't avoid that. Some nonsense about expressing your emotions. Loads of rubbish, I know."

"Is that why you keep your sketching journal on you?" She looked up at him from where her cheek rested on his shoulder, drinking in his sleek, masculine profile, tracing the line of his straight nose with her gaze, as she absentmindedly toyed with a button on his shirt.

"In part, yes. I stopped drawing and painting after Áine died. It was just... It felt like I really didn't deserve it. Part of getting better was allowing myself to do it again. Not only did it feel like moving forward, but it also helped calm me."

"Sometimes," he whispered. "I draw her. Sketch her, really. Still, I don't like it. It's odd to see her so still. She was never still--always running around and making a mess. It feels wrong to paint her as something so quiet. But I feel like I have to; like if I don't, I'll forget what she looked like. I don't think I ever could, but it terrifies me."