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Quin

he couldn’t even leave. He’d given Ruan one crutch, and Basil was sitting on the other one.

He shrank back as far as he could and looked from Ruan to Basil.

“What…happened?” Ruan asked. Quin stiffened. No. Not that question. Ruan seemed to sense that it was the wrong one, and apologized.

Quin swallowed and glanced at his leg. The same question echoed in his own mind as he looked at it.

Ruan reached out suddenly and laid a hand on his shoulder. Quin’s muscles tensed as he tried not to jerk away from the touch.

“Even if you are a murderer,” he murmured, “my understanding is that you want to leave that behind.”

Quin raised his eyes slowly to his face. Ruan smirked, but behind his sea-green eyes Quin saw something else. Pain. Regret. Guilt.

I can’t get away from it. He looked back at Basil, and saw the same thing in his eyes. None of us can. Maybe it’s impossible.

“I might have a hint as to what you are going through … and I want to leave my past behind as well.” Ruan said.

Quin felt a lump rise in his throat. No, not now. Sometimes the urge to cry washed over him after a flashback, but this time it was stronger. Irresistible. He took one long, shuddering breath, and his shoulders began to tremble.

The warm pressure of Ruan’s hand on his arm tightened, and he thought he felt it quiver.

“I wish I could.” He didn’t realize he’d spoken until the words were out, hardly more than a whisper. He reddened, suddenly embarrassed, and glanced at the two men to see if they’d heard.

They were both looking at him so hard he squirmed.

“People called it an accident.” he spoke slowly, as if he didn’t trust his voice, and for a while he was silent. When he spoke again his voice was carefully flat. “It wasn’t.”

He waited for them to react, but they didn’t. “It was my fault. I was driving, and…and…” His shoulders shook again, and he broke off. “I was too…” he couldn’t say that word. It caught in his throat and choked him.  He swallowed and tried again. “Too s-scared to…do anything. The wagon crashed. Then everything was blood and sweat and fire–”

Flashbacks pushed at the back of his memory, but he tried to force them away.

“She was dead.” His glance strayed to his missing leg. “I was…like this.”

there! It’s over. I don’t have to say anymore.

No one said anything, and he could feel his cheeks growing warmer, redder.

He stared vacantly at the floor. his leg hurt, and he was looking at the wreck of a wagon and a burning shed, not hard stone floor of a castle.

Then he added, so low it was almost to himself, “I should have died. they wouldn’t miss me like they miss her.”

 

Okkkaaay, wasn’t expecting that. Especially not the end where he turns all Aydin on me. 🙂