Chapter 28

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We don't choose our plot, only what character we'll play in it.

"Are you sure you want to fly home?" I ask as Alexios and I start off into the night toward where I've parked my motorcycle. Willow's official driveway , which sports the largely unused vehicles of both Alana and Brittny, is comically far away from her house, on account of how much she hates cars.

Therefore, the night stretches like a veil of darkness beyond the waving limbs of the trees above us.

Alexios adjusts one of the cuff links I returned to him when he shifted out of his little bat form in order to walk me to my bike like a gentleman . "I am certain."

"I'd let you drive, if you want."

"If I drove, I wouldn't drop my glamour, and it would make the entire bike invisible to humans also using the road."

"Sounds fun."

"I do not know how to operate a motorcycle."

"I can teach you. There aren't many cars out at this hour. It'll be fine. We can even break all the traffic laws if your glamour covers us."

Arching a brow, he says, "Am I not meant to be the suicidal one between us?"

Now my brows rise. "Is that a role that absolutely has to be filled in a two-person relationship?"

His deep, near-black eyes watch me for long, still moments, convincing me I haven't been imagining his mood lately. Something about him has been off since Saturday. I wish I remembered what happened at the height of my fever. I quite nearly blacked out. When I came to, he was with me.

My heart was pounding.

I hurt—everywhere.

But he was with me.

And then he stayed, on a pillow in the middle of my room, all night and every night since, until I was well enough for him to come back to bed in his darling bunny costume. Which may very well be my favorite thing.

Sometimes I tie his floppy ears into a bow and think it's not terrible to be near a person of the male variety in a romantic context.

It occurs to me very late that he has yet to respond, so I say, "Xios? Is something wrong?"

"Wrong?" he echoes, the word distant and hollow.

"Um. Yeah."

"What seems wrong?"

Pulling my attention off him, I stare up through the canopy and hum. "I don't know. You seem less playful recently. It's not exactly unnerving , but I do wonder if you're attempting a different angle where it comes to getting me to give you my soul, or everything, or whatever next you plan to ask for."

He sighs. "My apologies. I'm…haunted by what happened Saturday night."

Ah, crap.

So something profound did happen Saturday night.

"Did I hurt your feelings while I was completely out of it? I probably didn't mean whatever I said. Most people get grouchy when they don't feel well."

"You implied that your father was…the one who assaulted you when you were a child."

My mouth opens, hanging like that until my tongue goes dry. Squeaking, I say, " Oh. "

He sighs again and sweeps his braid over his shoulder, fiddling with the long tail and scowling at the strands. "Even though I don't have parents, I do hold snatches of Alana's mother and father in my memory. They fueled much of what concocted the recipe of what I am. Even so, I can tell that their actions never stemmed from anything remotely cruel. I struggle to comprehend how it's possible that something so terrible could have even happened between members in a family. It's hard to picture regardless, but especially in a unit meant to be built around a concept of love and care, I don't get it."

Because…there's nothing really to get .

Forcing a tight breath through my lungs, I lift a shoulder and keep my attention squarely ahead, begging God to keep the fragmented memories out of my head. Simply, I say, "Drugs."

Alexios looks at me. "What?"

"In my father's case, something so terrible happened because he was a good Christian man with monumental issues. Mom despised him for his addictions, often punished him by saying she couldn't be around the devil in him . Without any support, he became angry, and guilty, and angrier for his guilt, and guiltier because of his anger. He collapsed deeper and deeper into his problems. And, once when I was nine and home alone with him, he saw the opportunity to try something really bad." I run my fingers against the shaved half of my head, grounding myself in the sensation. "I have never thought of my father as a misunderstood victim whose suffering hid goodness. Despite my mother's habit of sucking hope out of things, he made choices that can't be excused. Still, under the influence of whatever he took that night…he really became a monster. I don't like the blame game. I believe forcing the blame of our actions on an enemy is just repeating a sin of neglecting accountability. But…I don't know… Sometimes…" My voice chokes as I fight back tears. " …I think about what my mother called his addictions—the devil in him—and I…I wonder…if maybe…in that moment, it had to be literal. I don't like thinking that what happened could have been done with human hands. I don't like thinking that something so horrible is possible, all around me, without first petitioning wicked help." Shaking my head, I pray a prayer I've repeated so many times before when I've been too unstable to find anything meaningful to say.

It's little more than help . Again. And again. Until the word drowns out whatever spiral I'm entertaining.

In some ways, it's worse to think my father was possessed that night. In some ways, it's easier. Because that night is over, and my life isn't. It's easier to believe most humans are good and incapable of something so bleak. It's easier to narrow the focus of the danger to a concept more out of reach.

Even though believing he was literally possessed doesn't make me feel any cleaner.

There is no belief that makes any of it better.

So, some days, he was human. And, some days, he wasn't.

I think, maybe, the fear my mother would solidify one belief over the other when I needed to pick each day what would better help me survive attributed largely to my silence.

"It only happened once," I whisper, letting my strength return as I dwell on every screaming help in my skull. "Because my father was a good Christian man …after he came out of the haze, he knew it was too far to be forgiven if he ever did it again. Half drunk the next day, I overheard him confessing to my mother that he'd taken something he shouldn't have and he didn't remember what happened after, but it was enough to scare him, and he needed help. With… everything …still burning in my brain, I listened to my parents pray."

Alexios and I have stopped walking now.

We're standing solemnly in the middle of the woods while chills course over my skin and Alexios vibrates with something akin to restrained fury.

"Isn't that…sad? When the only thing keeping you from committing atrocities is believing you'll be unforgivable, you never get to know peace. It's hard, coming to terms with what I've learned and seen versus what I actually read." It's so convoluted, and terrible. When the family unit is meant to represent God's perfect example of unselfish love…yet mine was filled with horror… It is hard to get past that. Faintly smiling, I find Alexios's eyes. "We're taught to be like Christ , and we're taught that we can do nothing without God . But then, when we mess up because we haven't relinquished control to God, we make things so much worse by continuing to act apart from the character of Christ. Christ embodies love. Love includes grace. Wallowing in guilt and shame makes it harder to gain a relationship with God. And, without that, well…it's a spiral again, isn't it? Guilt and shame put the focus inward, make success or failure our power, not God's. We can do nothing without Him. We can't reach Him when we separate ourselves by keeping our focus internal. There's a verse…or a group of verses, rather. Romans 8:31 – 39. Paraphrased, it says that nothing in all creation can separate us from the love of God. It doesn't mean sin doesn't separate us from His presence, and it doesn't mean that we can't convince ourselves—completely—that we are unworthy of the promises He's made to us. It just means that He loves us. No matter what."

Harsh, Alexios says, "Does your God not promise to protect you?"

My heart twists, because it's a question I've asked countless times. I've searched for answers in my darkest moments, when giving up religion and Christianity seemed easier and I wanted the proof God was a liar. I never found that proof, though. "He promises not to forsake us. He promises refuge. He promises peace. He does not promise ease. We live in a corrupt world. It's not what He wants, but because we have the freedom to love, we also have the freedom to reject love. At least for me, the way we wound up in a fallen world is not a story about disobedience. It's a story about divergence. Love isn't obey or disobey because love doesn't want control. Love directs us toward goodness. Love involves trust. Failing to trust God is how we ended up falling from grace. We separated ourselves from it first. The first parents rejected the concept of love at its foundation. So…now we play out the consequences."

"Why?" Alexios's voice vibrates, shaking. "Why do the consequences fall on your shoulders?"

"Because I am a part of sin running its course, in order to provide a lasting proof that God's law of love is the only one that creates peace among all beings. Obedience to a law of love could not be rooted in fear of retribution without jeopardizing its foundation."

"And an all-powerful God didn't have any other options? Not one ?"

I laugh; the sound escapes somewhat broken. "I don't know. All I know is that it's easier to believe in a God made of love who cries for me when I'm hurting and who suffered death for me so I could be safe someday than it is to believe in any of the other options I've found. And, believe me, I have searched . I have searched long and hard to choose to learn from the past and trust God as well as I can. Even when nothing makes sense. I do my best to build a relationship with Him, and I recognize that all He asks of me is to take a step back when I feel like it's too hard, because it will never be about me doing my best."

Alexios's fist closes around his braid, and his gaze slashes to mine, sharp, pleading. "Have you forgiven your parents—your father— for what happened?"

My chest hurts. "I try to. There are still things I struggle to let go of." I poke Alexios in the arm. "You know, God and I, we're still relationship building. I'm working on giving Him my everything and all that. Even though, on some level, I know it'll be easier to let all this pain go. Right? You're not the only one waiting around to nom it up. Heck, maybe you're even the solution He's given me, and I'm still rejecting His way, thinking I know better, or I'm smarter, or some kind of nonsense like that."

"It's not wrong to hesitate until you're sure."

"Many people around me growing up would have called that sentiment a lack of faith, and a sin."

His head shakes. "I do not believe I like the people you grew up around."

"Oh yeah. They majorly sucked. Which…maybe isn't a very good Christian witness thing for me to say. But there's very little worse than professing an incorrect character of God and being very loud in attributing all your grandness to Him…when…you know…all that grandness kinda sucks." For some reason, I feel a little lighter. Maybe the ability to share the things I've never spoken aloud to anyone before has helped heal something inside. "God asks to reason with us. God commends acting from a place of sincerity. So, I'm not going to do Him the disservice of condemning myself while I work toward relying on Him more fully." Clearing my throat, I look elsewhere, feeling the way my finger is still pressed into Alexios's bicep. I should stop poking him. I really should. But I don't. "I don't know…I like to think maybe God's a little less like the pictures people painted for me while growing up…and a little more like you."

"Like…me?"

"He asks for everything. And each time we reject Him, He doesn't get upset. He just waits and asks again later, hoping one day we'll trust Him enough to say yes . Or something." I sniff, and pull my t-shirt out from under my leather jacket to wipe my eyes, forgetting entirely that I'm wearing bright purple makeup. Muttering a swear, I blink against the sensation of smudged mascara. First, crying over Terra, and now this. I should have gone with waterproof tonight. "I'm just trying to say that you're very loving , Xios. Even when you get nothing in return. It lets me see God in you. And maybe that doesn't mean anything to you, but it means a lot to me, because He's the only place I've ever felt safe before."

"I…" His hand wraps around mine, drawing my attention back his way. Awe garbs his face, shadows dancing across the chaos in his deep gray eyes. "I don't know if I deserve such a selfless comparison. I gain a great deal through loving you."

"Like what? Dirty diapers and trauma dumps?" I laugh. " Actual dumps and trauma dumps." Smirking, I pull my hand from his grasp in order to fold my arms. "I'm hilarious."

Something tender softens the barely-restrained rage still etched into the corners of Alexios's face. "It is marvelous to love you, Zahra. I enjoy doing so." Lowering his gaze, he stares at his now-empty hand. "Even when you reject me, I still delight in loving you."

My lungs constrict, squeezing my heart, making it hard to breathe.

He continues, "I don't know how you manage to still see so much good in people, after everything."

"Hey." My voice doesn't quite sound like mine. "Sometimes life has bad RNG. That doesn't mean it's not fun to play. And just because there are definitely villains out there, that doesn't mean we should take our anger out on every NPC we come across. Some of them join your party, and it's easier to take down the bad guys when you're not alone." Against everything in me, I unwind my arms and slip my hand back into his. "It only hurts me if I live scared or angry. Vengeance is of the Lord. That's another verse. I don't remember where it's found, though."

Lifting my hand, Alexios touches a kiss to my knuckles. "Do you believe that God uses other people to enact His vengeance?"

"No, you may not avenge me."

His eyes flick up toward mine, and I wince. They're a little too puppy -like for comfort.

"What did you already do?" I ask.

"I may have unloaded some information on Castor. And he may have suggested he'd take care of vengeance for me, if he saw fit. To keep me innocent."

I stare at his innocent eyes. They are still filled with incomprehensibly furious things. "Neither you nor Castor know where my father is. Right? "

"He can find that information."

Well. Great.

On the one hand, this is very bad.

On the other…yeah. I am still very much struggling with forgiveness in this particular respect. It's hard for me to even pray for my parents. I do not want to see them have life-altering transformations and finally let go of their selfishness. I don't want to know it was possible. I don't want to have to ask why the Spirit didn't work on their hearts decades sooner…

Where my parents are concerned, I have a lot of less-than-great feelings.

And those less-than-great feelings haunt me nearly every day.

Because of them.

I strongly want to say oh well, this totally does sound like God's revenge, which I had nothing at all to do with, and go on my merry way, but, instead, I say, "Is it already too late? Or can I still ask Castor not to, I don't know, curse my parents or whatever else he might be planning?"

"I have no idea if it's too late or not. He absolved me of connection to the crime, so he has no reason to update me on what he has or hasn't done."

Oh. Well. Fantastic.

Marching forward, I drag Alexios along with me. "Come on. We're going home to talk to Castor. I'm finding that Bible verse about revenge. And then both of you are going to memorize it."

Alexios strides after me, graceful as ever, even though he's frowning. "Is using the Bible as a punishment a good idea?"

I stop short, think for a moment, then scowl. "No. You're right. How very my mother of me…" I think for another moment. "I'll just make you both write I will not exact revenge on people a hundred times. Thank goodness I'm a teacher. I stock up on empty notebooks like they'll be discontinued, so you have plenty of writing space."

Alexios tenses. "I'd like to rescind my earlier comment. Memorizing a verse seems easier than writing anything a hundred times."

Snorting, I continue toward my motorcycle. "That's too dang bad! Also, you're riding with me, so brace yourself to hold on tight."