This was probably the one thing that frustrated Peter the most about Rachel - that she could be so defeatist. A few misinterpreted gestures and she suddenly gave up hope on everything.
"Yeah, that sounds like a great life," he said dryly. There wasn't a shred of accusation or meanness in his voice, just simple understanding and knowledge that it wasn't the best way to live. Peter wasn't a violent person by nature, but he really wanted to kick something right now. How could someone be so utterly without hope? He didn't understand.
He stared absently out at the view and watched people passing by, until he eventually looked sideways and calmly met Rachel's eyes. "That's a good question," he mused thoughtfully. "You know I don't spend my time on things that I don't believe in. You know I only truly dedicate myself to people who I think are worth it. You know I said that I would be back, but you left anyway. And you know I don't give up easily. Why am I here? Why don't you tell me?"
Peter hoped that Rachel actually answered; it would help a lot to know where she thought he was coming from.
"I don't want you to save me," I answered back steadily. "I don't need to be saved. You look at me like some pet project, Peter. Put poor Rachel back together again. That's not--" I cut off, glaring out at the beach. "That's not what I want."
Sighing, I scrubbed my face with my hands. "That's not what you should want, either. Wouldn't you want to be with someone who could be a partner and not some burden for you to fix?"
For a second I looked up at him before, once again, my eyes skittered away, choosing to focus on the unassuming view rather than on Peter himself. "You're here because you felt guilty," I muttered. "And everyone says they'll be back. The thing is, Peter, you didn't ask me if I would be there."
"That's because I had faith," Peter shrugged easily. "I trusted that you wouldn't leave." He'd been wrong, obviously. He'd underestimated exactly how skittish Rachel was; an error on his part.
It was actually amazing how wrong she was about him. For a moment, Peter wondered if he actually seemed that cold, if that was what Rachel saw him as. Somebody who only wanted to fix people and then left them as soon as there was no hope or he'd finished.
At least she was talking. At least she'd dropped the emotionless thing.
"I don't fix people, Rachel, that's impossible. I help them. I do my best to love and care and do what I can. Sometimes I screw up and run away because I don't think they want me around anymore." Sometimes, needless to say, his own optimistic view of the world came crashing down so harshly that he couldn't deal with it. "Yeah, I feel bad about what I said. But that's not why I'm here. I came here to be with you - not to fix you, not to drag you back to the castle, nothing like that. I just wanted your company."
Peter eased himself down until he was sitting on the porch, facing the view. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and shrugged again. "And if you don't want me here, tough. I'm staying. We don't have to talk. I just want be here. Wherever you are."
My eyes shot to him on those words. Faith. He'd believed I'd still be waiting for him, even after everything. He'd assumed I would be there. One part of me wanted to demand where he got off thinking that I was some puppy who would wait by the door until he deemed me worthy of his time.
But another part, the larger part, yearned for the kind of relationship where that faith was a given. Where I'd know, no matter how badly I screwed up, no matter if he needed time or I needed space, in the end we'd always come home.
For a little while I just sat there. Not looking at Peter. Not looking at much of anything. Just thinking.
Faith. I had no faith. No trust. And what Peter was asking me for was a huge leap of both. The belief that he wasn't just doing this out of some obligation or to make himself feel better. The understanding that it was going to be more than I was comfortable with and yet, no matter how hard I pushed, he was still going to be there. The confidence that I was more than a project or a screw or someone to pass the time with. More than a mistake.
Quietly, I got up and walked over to where he was sitting, dropping down to sit next to him. "Do you think," I asked slowly, not turning my head to look at him and yet still achingly aware of his presence, "that if that whole stupid marriage thing hadn't happened, that we'd have become whatever we are? Or is this just you making the best of a bad situation?"
Peter relaxed a little when he heard Rachel come to sit next to him, breathing slightly easier in relief. That she was even willing to close distance was a step in the right direction.
"I think," Peter reached out and took Rachel's hand, entwining their fingers, "That destiny is something a lot of people overlook. I believe that people who need to meet each other will meet, no matter what." It might have sounded a bit horribly new-age to the ears of other people, but it was clear in his voice how much he honestly, earnestly believed in this. "And I believe that these people, these fated meetings, always give us something we need in life. People say that fate can be a cruel mistress, but I believe that cruelty results only from bad timing. It's destiny that ultimately brings us happiness."
His hand taking mine, our fingers lacing together, made me take a quick, shuddering breath. How one person's touch - such a casual one at that - could make my entire being skip a beat was incredible. My brain was sending out cautions even as my heart went racing.
Listening to Peter, one corner of my mouth curved up in a crooked smile. "You realize," I told him softly, briefly touching my forehead to his shoulder, "that you sound kind of nuts, right?" My tone was fond, softening the words. I looked over at him, then down at our hands. "But I still want to believe that."
Swallowing, I then added, "What do you want from me, Peter?" Everyone I'd been with had wanted something. From the obvious desires of the boys in high school I'd had to fight off, tooth and nail, to Nick and Kistin and Dean... They all wanted something, and I'd known what it was, I'd been willing to give it. But, for all his touching, I hadn't gotten the sense that Peter looked at me the way I was used to being looked at. And I didn't provide him with a rush or a possession he could claim. So I was at a loss as to what I'd offer that he would desire.
A small crease of confusion appeared between Peter's eyebrows, and he frowned a little - not upset, or insulted, but just a little baffled, and a little resigned. "So I get told," he said ruefully. "Often and repeatedly." There really were a lot of people that liked to tell him that he was nuts. Nathan, especially, but... everyone. Mom, Dad, Simone. Mohinder had thought he was nuts, too. Claire hadn't, though.
At least Rachel didn't sound like it was a bad thing, and that she wanted to believe it.
At her question, the answer immediately sprang to his mind - but Peter paused, made himself wait. He could be too impulsive and say the wrong things sometimes. So he searched to see if there was anything he wanted from Rachel - specifics things like protection, or bargaining, or sex, or even something stupid like her cooking.
Finally, he tilted his head. "Nothing, really," Peter answered honestly, lowly. "Your company. Friendship, love, whatever. You could leave now and I'd just be happy for having known you. I'd be upset, sure, but I'm not 'hanging around' because there's something I want from you in the future."
My eyes searched his, looking for the lie. Finally I breathed out a quiet laugh and looked away. "I don't think I understand you," I admitted in a whisper. "Guys like you - they're not supposed to exist. Outside of white horses and slaying dragons. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop but... It never does."
I turned back to him. "Except I'm not a 'whatever'. I do want something. Or, specifically, I want you. And I'm a lot of things, and I'll make a lot of excuses for people, but when I decide to...to be with someone, that's who I'm with. And, granted, I haven't had a lot of experience. And the experiences I have had have been...bad." To say the least. "But I have to believe, I want to believe, that more is possible. Maybe not for me, but in general."
Taking a breath, I gently pulled my hand away. "You...you're a passionate person, Peter. I've seen you. I've watched you, the way you light up, the way you pursue, you idealize something you want." Another breath and I turned away from him again. "You're not passionate about me. You showed more interest in some girl you'd known for less than an hour than you ever have for me. I can't...I won't be the comfortable conclusion you come to. If you could just as easily settle for friendship, then maybe that's all you have for me. And that's well and good except - except I don't. I don't want to be just your friend, Peter."
Pausing for a second as if I was going to say more, I then shook my head and reached my hand up to grasp the banister to pull myself up. It came down to that - and I wasn't going to force myself on someone just because they wanted me to be happy. I wanted Peter to be happy; this wasn't a one-way street.
Clearly Rachel hadn't been watching him as closely as she thought, if she assumed Peter had never been passionate about anything involving her. Maybe Rachel was so focused on believing that it would never happen, that she just didn't see it. Needless to say, Peter idealized the hell out of Rachel. The Rachel in his head - the one he thought was the true Rachel - was definitely a little left of actual reality.
He honestly had no idea how to react to what Rachel just said. It was... extreme, to say the least.
In his mind, love was a hard thing to measure. Society was stuck into this generalized view of love; that it came along with sex, marriage, and children. Peter loved Rachel, in a way, but he wasn't sure if it was the way she was thinking of. It didn't make his feelings any less strong, but...
"Basically, what you're telling me is, 'Be in love with me, or get the hell out'?" Peter asked, just shy of being shocked. He got that Rachel was fairly extreme in what she felt, but he wasn't going to say he was in love with her to save himself from getting kicked out. That would be dishonest. Honestly, at this point, Peter couldn't really put a label on what he felt.
"What I'm saying is," I said steadily, staring at my white knuckles gripping the banister, "every time I look at you, I get butterflies. I can't just sit around and pretend that's not true. I - I'm not built that way. If I feel something, it's there."
Forcing my gaze back to him, I paused, green eyes scanning his face. "And I'm also saying that I have no idea what you feel when you look at me. I'm also not built to be able to deal with that. Most guys are fairly straightforward. Like your brother," my mouth curved up in a rueful smile. "Like Dean. But you I can't read, I don't..." I didn't think he was attracted to me.
I was not explaining this very well. Shaking my head, I hesitated again, then reached out tentative fingers to lightly brush Peter's jaw. Eyes wide and locked on his, I slowly exhaled a shaky breath before I leaned in and ghosted my lips, ever so gently, against his. Emotions meant actions in my world. Without knowing where Peter stood, I was being forced to handle said emotions in a way contrary to my very nature. If I loved, if I was attracted, I had to be free to act. If I wasn't, then I got frustrated and Peter and I wouldn't make it in any sense.
Oh. Okay. Quite suddenly, Peter's theory was confirmed. When Rachel felt something, she acted. Anger equaled fighting, love equaled sex. Or kissing, at this point in time. Which was decidedly not how Peter showed his, so it was a little confusing.
But he responded to the kiss; he wanted to, of course. He didn't deepen it, just kept it light and affectionate. Hopefully promise-free, because Peter didn't want to promise something he didn't know that he was going to give.
"I don't know, Rachel," Peter's tone was as helpless as his words. "I just... I don't know. I can't force myself to feel something, I can't hurry it along. I feel really strongly about you, okay, but I don't know if I can shove a label on that and call it love." That probably wasn't what Rachel wanted to hear, but Peter couldn't help but tell the truth. "I, ah... I don't fall out of love easily. And my last relationship didn't end well. You just... you might have to give me some time."
Pulling away from him, I scrubbed my face with my hands. "You know, for an empath, you sure seem to not know a hell of a lot about your own feelings," I muttered bitterly.
Almost as soon as the words were out of my mouth I held up my hand in apology. "Sorry. I...I'm the same way. The not falling out of love easily thing. And I fall in it way too quickly. I tried not to with you, Peter. You have no idea. I'm still tying."
Ha. Last relationship didn't end well. We were more alike than I thought. "Gee, was yours selling parts of your soul for trade to a demon? Or a vampire who wanted to make you her shadow? Because if so, have I got stories for you." Again the hand up to wave off a response. Sighing, I stood, putting physical distance between Peter and I. Putting emotional distance there, too. He didn't know. He wanted time. In my world, that meant no.
I could take no for an answer. I was decidedly not good at denying myself, but I could, if necessary. "I'm hungry," was my excuse, and a poor one at that. But I walked over to the pizza box and flipped it open, smiling a little when I saw the toppings. My favorite. "And thank you for the flowers. They're beautiful." I perched on the railing, blowing on the piece of pizza to cool it enough to take a bite. And then wound up burning my mouth anyway because I was too impatient to wait. Sucking in some air around the hot cheese to try and ease the pain, I murmured, "Yellow roses. Did you know that before they came to mean friendship," that word took on a decidedly bitter tone, "they stood for zealousness or a decrease in love?" I glanced up at him. "Ironic, huh?"
Staying put on the porch while Rachel ate, Peter ducked his head in sudden embarrassment. He should have known that Rachel would know the meanings of specific kind of flowers; he certainly didn't, and the older meanings came as a surprise. "Sorry," he mumbled. "The lady at the store told me that they symbolized a new beginning. And that they were guaranteed to make someone smile. I just wanted to make you happy."
Which, apparently, wasn't working nearly so well as he'd hoped. Peter had come all the way over here to reassure Rachel that he hadn't left her, and all he was doing was getting this chucked back in his face. Peter congratulated himself sarcastically with a minute roll of his eyes. Just when he'd thought he couldn't make things any worse.
And maybe the ending of his last relationship hadn't been quite as extreme as what Rachel said, but it hurt to have it dismissed so casually. Just because it wasn't demon or vampire related didn't mean that it wasn't as traumatic, right? God, he missed Simone. It had only been a few months. Peter hadn't even been the funeral or to wherever she was buried.
"Ouch," he said dryly, eyes fixed on the view. He couldn't keep the hurt out of his voice. "Guess my experiences aren't nearly as bad as yours. Sorry, I won't bring my pithy little pains up again. What a mood killer."
I shrugged, chucking the crust over the porch and watching the seagulls come squawking for it. "They did make me smile. And I'm an earth witch - I just...know things about plants. For example," I nodded to the roses. "Those were raised in a garden, somewhere. They grew under the sunshine, not in a hothouse. I wouldn't expect a human to know that." Oh, the distance I could give myself if I wanted to. Peter was, for all his extraordinary abilities, a human. Which meant that there was a separation there that went DNA-deep. I'd do well to remember that.
At his words I rolled my eyes to myself, then sighed. "I didn't mean that, Peter, and you know it. And I'm pretty sure we don't have a mood to kill." Frustrated all over again, I stood up and walked back into the hut. Grabbing two beers from the fridge I handed Peter one before I sat back down next to him, though there was a large gap between us.
Rolling the bottle in my hands, I contemplated the sun setting over the water. "Who was she?"
Picking at the edge of the label on his beer bottle, Peter idly contemplated exactly what Rachel thought of humans. It would be very easy to say that she might look down on them because they couldn't do what a witch could do, but Peter didn't know if that was the right answer. Likely, it was closer to something like the fact that they were just different. But she also seemed to have the attitude that she could kick any humans ass. Maybe he'd ask her about this, later.
He didn't initially reply to Rachel's question. Instead, he thought what she had mentioned - the man who had sold parts of her soul to a demon. Nick, Peter remembered.
Shrugging, Peter popped the cap off the top of his beer with a mental telekinetic nudge, and took a drink. "No, you're right. I shouldn't get insulted over stuff like that. It's just... fresh wounds, and all. Never really had time to sit down and grieve, I don't think. Forget about it."
This beer really didn't taste much better than the flat, warm one he'd tasted earlier, but Peter kept at it. "You know, I have this urge to find your ex, Nick, and beat him up for doing that to you," he mused. "But then I'd want to find everybody that ever hurt you and beat them up, too. It could take a while. And then I'd have beat myself up, too, which could be difficult."
Ah. Tilting my head, looking at him, I said, "That wasn't an answer. And I wasn't making light of your pain. I was making the point that both of us seem to have the same sort of track record with this stuff."
I didn't open the bottle, instead absently rolling it between my palms, staring down at the bottle cap. I smiled, faintly, at his words. "It is a long list," I agreed faintly. Then, sighing, I leaned back. "You didn't hurt me, Peter. No more than Nick did. Both times, it was my fault. With Nick I trusted someone I shouldn't have. I wanted so badly for it to work that I ignored the warning signs. I should have seen him for what he was. Instead I just saw what I wanted to see." I glanced over at him. "The same as I did with you. I have a...problem. With reality." My lips twisted into a sardonic smirk. "I tend not to be quite in step with it."
Putting the unopened bottle down, I folded my legs under me, picking at the corner of the porch until I'd pulled up a splinter. I needed something to fiddle with. Energy to burn.
"I'm not going back." The words kind of came out of nowhere. "At least," I amended, "I don't think I am."
"Yeah, that sounds like a great life," he said dryly. There wasn't a shred of accusation or meanness in his voice, just simple understanding and knowledge that it wasn't the best way to live. Peter wasn't a violent person by nature, but he really wanted to kick something right now. How could someone be so utterly without hope? He didn't understand.
He stared absently out at the view and watched people passing by, until he eventually looked sideways and calmly met Rachel's eyes. "That's a good question," he mused thoughtfully. "You know I don't spend my time on things that I don't believe in. You know I only truly dedicate myself to people who I think are worth it. You know I said that I would be back, but you left anyway. And you know I don't give up easily. Why am I here? Why don't you tell me?"
Peter hoped that Rachel actually answered; it would help a lot to know where she thought he was coming from.
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Sighing, I scrubbed my face with my hands. "That's not what you should want, either. Wouldn't you want to be with someone who could be a partner and not some burden for you to fix?"
For a second I looked up at him before, once again, my eyes skittered away, choosing to focus on the unassuming view rather than on Peter himself. "You're here because you felt guilty," I muttered. "And everyone says they'll be back. The thing is, Peter, you didn't ask me if I would be there."
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It was actually amazing how wrong she was about him. For a moment, Peter wondered if he actually seemed that cold, if that was what Rachel saw him as. Somebody who only wanted to fix people and then left them as soon as there was no hope or he'd finished.
At least she was talking. At least she'd dropped the emotionless thing.
"I don't fix people, Rachel, that's impossible. I help them. I do my best to love and care and do what I can. Sometimes I screw up and run away because I don't think they want me around anymore." Sometimes, needless to say, his own optimistic view of the world came crashing down so harshly that he couldn't deal with it. "Yeah, I feel bad about what I said. But that's not why I'm here. I came here to be with you - not to fix you, not to drag you back to the castle, nothing like that. I just wanted your company."
Peter eased himself down until he was sitting on the porch, facing the view. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and shrugged again. "And if you don't want me here, tough. I'm staying. We don't have to talk. I just want be here. Wherever you are."
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My eyes shot to him on those words. Faith. He'd believed I'd still be waiting for him, even after everything. He'd assumed I would be there. One part of me wanted to demand where he got off thinking that I was some puppy who would wait by the door until he deemed me worthy of his time.
But another part, the larger part, yearned for the kind of relationship where that faith was a given. Where I'd know, no matter how badly I screwed up, no matter if he needed time or I needed space, in the end we'd always come home.
For a little while I just sat there. Not looking at Peter. Not looking at much of anything. Just thinking.
Faith. I had no faith. No trust. And what Peter was asking me for was a huge leap of both. The belief that he wasn't just doing this out of some obligation or to make himself feel better. The understanding that it was going to be more than I was comfortable with and yet, no matter how hard I pushed, he was still going to be there. The confidence that I was more than a project or a screw or someone to pass the time with. More than a mistake.
Quietly, I got up and walked over to where he was sitting, dropping down to sit next to him. "Do you think," I asked slowly, not turning my head to look at him and yet still achingly aware of his presence, "that if that whole stupid marriage thing hadn't happened, that we'd have become whatever we are? Or is this just you making the best of a bad situation?"
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"I think," Peter reached out and took Rachel's hand, entwining their fingers, "That destiny is something a lot of people overlook. I believe that people who need to meet each other will meet, no matter what." It might have sounded a bit horribly new-age to the ears of other people, but it was clear in his voice how much he honestly, earnestly believed in this. "And I believe that these people, these fated meetings, always give us something we need in life. People say that fate can be a cruel mistress, but I believe that cruelty results only from bad timing. It's destiny that ultimately brings us happiness."
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Listening to Peter, one corner of my mouth curved up in a crooked smile. "You realize," I told him softly, briefly touching my forehead to his shoulder, "that you sound kind of nuts, right?" My tone was fond, softening the words. I looked over at him, then down at our hands. "But I still want to believe that."
Swallowing, I then added, "What do you want from me, Peter?" Everyone I'd been with had wanted something. From the obvious desires of the boys in high school I'd had to fight off, tooth and nail, to Nick and Kistin and Dean... They all wanted something, and I'd known what it was, I'd been willing to give it. But, for all his touching, I hadn't gotten the sense that Peter looked at me the way I was used to being looked at. And I didn't provide him with a rush or a possession he could claim. So I was at a loss as to what I'd offer that he would desire.
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At least Rachel didn't sound like it was a bad thing, and that she wanted to believe it.
At her question, the answer immediately sprang to his mind - but Peter paused, made himself wait. He could be too impulsive and say the wrong things sometimes. So he searched to see if there was anything he wanted from Rachel - specifics things like protection, or bargaining, or sex, or even something stupid like her cooking.
Finally, he tilted his head. "Nothing, really," Peter answered honestly, lowly. "Your company. Friendship, love, whatever. You could leave now and I'd just be happy for having known you. I'd be upset, sure, but I'm not 'hanging around' because there's something I want from you in the future."
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I turned back to him. "Except I'm not a 'whatever'. I do want something. Or, specifically, I want you. And I'm a lot of things, and I'll make a lot of excuses for people, but when I decide to...to be with someone, that's who I'm with. And, granted, I haven't had a lot of experience. And the experiences I have had have been...bad." To say the least. "But I have to believe, I want to believe, that more is possible. Maybe not for me, but in general."
Taking a breath, I gently pulled my hand away. "You...you're a passionate person, Peter. I've seen you. I've watched you, the way you light up, the way you pursue, you idealize something you want." Another breath and I turned away from him again. "You're not passionate about me. You showed more interest in some girl you'd known for less than an hour than you ever have for me. I can't...I won't be the comfortable conclusion you come to. If you could just as easily settle for friendship, then maybe that's all you have for me. And that's well and good except - except I don't. I don't want to be just your friend, Peter."
Pausing for a second as if I was going to say more, I then shook my head and reached my hand up to grasp the banister to pull myself up. It came down to that - and I wasn't going to force myself on someone just because they wanted me to be happy. I wanted Peter to be happy; this wasn't a one-way street.
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He honestly had no idea how to react to what Rachel just said. It was... extreme, to say the least.
In his mind, love was a hard thing to measure. Society was stuck into this generalized view of love; that it came along with sex, marriage, and children. Peter loved Rachel, in a way, but he wasn't sure if it was the way she was thinking of. It didn't make his feelings any less strong, but...
"Basically, what you're telling me is, 'Be in love with me, or get the hell out'?" Peter asked, just shy of being shocked. He got that Rachel was fairly extreme in what she felt, but he wasn't going to say he was in love with her to save himself from getting kicked out. That would be dishonest. Honestly, at this point, Peter couldn't really put a label on what he felt.
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Forcing my gaze back to him, I paused, green eyes scanning his face. "And I'm also saying that I have no idea what you feel when you look at me. I'm also not built to be able to deal with that. Most guys are fairly straightforward. Like your brother," my mouth curved up in a rueful smile. "Like Dean. But you I can't read, I don't..." I didn't think he was attracted to me.
I was not explaining this very well. Shaking my head, I hesitated again, then reached out tentative fingers to lightly brush Peter's jaw. Eyes wide and locked on his, I slowly exhaled a shaky breath before I leaned in and ghosted my lips, ever so gently, against his. Emotions meant actions in my world. Without knowing where Peter stood, I was being forced to handle said emotions in a way contrary to my very nature. If I loved, if I was attracted, I had to be free to act. If I wasn't, then I got frustrated and Peter and I wouldn't make it in any sense.
I just needed to understand how he felt.
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But he responded to the kiss; he wanted to, of course. He didn't deepen it, just kept it light and affectionate. Hopefully promise-free, because Peter didn't want to promise something he didn't know that he was going to give.
"I don't know, Rachel," Peter's tone was as helpless as his words. "I just... I don't know. I can't force myself to feel something, I can't hurry it along. I feel really strongly about you, okay, but I don't know if I can shove a label on that and call it love." That probably wasn't what Rachel wanted to hear, but Peter couldn't help but tell the truth. "I, ah... I don't fall out of love easily. And my last relationship didn't end well. You just... you might have to give me some time."
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Almost as soon as the words were out of my mouth I held up my hand in apology. "Sorry. I...I'm the same way. The not falling out of love easily thing. And I fall in it way too quickly. I tried not to with you, Peter. You have no idea. I'm still tying."
Ha. Last relationship didn't end well. We were more alike than I thought. "Gee, was yours selling parts of your soul for trade to a demon? Or a vampire who wanted to make you her shadow? Because if so, have I got stories for you." Again the hand up to wave off a response. Sighing, I stood, putting physical distance between Peter and I. Putting emotional distance there, too. He didn't know. He wanted time. In my world, that meant no.
I could take no for an answer. I was decidedly not good at denying myself, but I could, if necessary. "I'm hungry," was my excuse, and a poor one at that. But I walked over to the pizza box and flipped it open, smiling a little when I saw the toppings. My favorite. "And thank you for the flowers. They're beautiful." I perched on the railing, blowing on the piece of pizza to cool it enough to take a bite. And then wound up burning my mouth anyway because I was too impatient to wait. Sucking in some air around the hot cheese to try and ease the pain, I murmured, "Yellow roses. Did you know that before they came to mean friendship," that word took on a decidedly bitter tone, "they stood for zealousness or a decrease in love?" I glanced up at him. "Ironic, huh?"
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Which, apparently, wasn't working nearly so well as he'd hoped. Peter had come all the way over here to reassure Rachel that he hadn't left her, and all he was doing was getting this chucked back in his face. Peter congratulated himself sarcastically with a minute roll of his eyes. Just when he'd thought he couldn't make things any worse.
And maybe the ending of his last relationship hadn't been quite as extreme as what Rachel said, but it hurt to have it dismissed so casually. Just because it wasn't demon or vampire related didn't mean that it wasn't as traumatic, right? God, he missed Simone. It had only been a few months. Peter hadn't even been the funeral or to wherever she was buried.
"Ouch," he said dryly, eyes fixed on the view. He couldn't keep the hurt out of his voice. "Guess my experiences aren't nearly as bad as yours. Sorry, I won't bring my pithy little pains up again. What a mood killer."
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At his words I rolled my eyes to myself, then sighed. "I didn't mean that, Peter, and you know it. And I'm pretty sure we don't have a mood to kill." Frustrated all over again, I stood up and walked back into the hut. Grabbing two beers from the fridge I handed Peter one before I sat back down next to him, though there was a large gap between us.
Rolling the bottle in my hands, I contemplated the sun setting over the water. "Who was she?"
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He didn't initially reply to Rachel's question. Instead, he thought what she had mentioned - the man who had sold parts of her soul to a demon. Nick, Peter remembered.
Shrugging, Peter popped the cap off the top of his beer with a mental telekinetic nudge, and took a drink. "No, you're right. I shouldn't get insulted over stuff like that. It's just... fresh wounds, and all. Never really had time to sit down and grieve, I don't think. Forget about it."
This beer really didn't taste much better than the flat, warm one he'd tasted earlier, but Peter kept at it. "You know, I have this urge to find your ex, Nick, and beat him up for doing that to you," he mused. "But then I'd want to find everybody that ever hurt you and beat them up, too. It could take a while. And then I'd have beat myself up, too, which could be difficult."
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I didn't open the bottle, instead absently rolling it between my palms, staring down at the bottle cap. I smiled, faintly, at his words. "It is a long list," I agreed faintly. Then, sighing, I leaned back. "You didn't hurt me, Peter. No more than Nick did. Both times, it was my fault. With Nick I trusted someone I shouldn't have. I wanted so badly for it to work that I ignored the warning signs. I should have seen him for what he was. Instead I just saw what I wanted to see." I glanced over at him. "The same as I did with you. I have a...problem. With reality." My lips twisted into a sardonic smirk. "I tend not to be quite in step with it."
Putting the unopened bottle down, I folded my legs under me, picking at the corner of the porch until I'd pulled up a splinter. I needed something to fiddle with. Energy to burn.
"I'm not going back." The words kind of came out of nowhere. "At least," I amended, "I don't think I am."
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