Dexter
Dexter watched the change in Bleu’s face with growing panic.
”No...” he said, then kicked himself; that wasn’t what he meant to say.
”No, Bleu, I -- You’re enough for me, of course, and if it was just us -- but it’s not just us, we’re building a herd, I -- you’re not an entire herd, Bleu, you’re one mare, the lead mare, you --” he was getting nowhere. His words tangled themselves in his mouth and he fought for breath in his growing fear. What made her think she was not enough? Didn’t she understand that he could not lie to her? Did she expect him to sort out his feelings right away, just like that, because she could sort out her own?
His fear festered at the edges, becoming anger. At himself, mostly, but at Bleu as well, for no particular reason other than being mad at himself was not enough. His ears sank into his mane and his eyes became sharp, casting about, searching for something to glare at other than the girl in front of him. Talon frolicked nearby, Glow probably grazing elsewhere, but Dexter could not target the child with his anger. Surely, he could find reason to; perhaps it was Talon’s fault, perhaps the foal had put this silly idea of
family in Bleu’s head, perhaps he had confused Dexter’s feelings because Dexter cared for him and he cared for Bleu and the cares mixed themselves up and confused him and caused him to say the wrong thing and fuck everything up.
No. This was
not Talon’s fault. He forced himself away from that stupid idea that he hadn’t even meant to think up in the first place. It was that herd’s fault, it was Bleu’s parents’ fault, it was those other horses’ faults. It was Bleu’s fault and it was Dexter’s, and maybe Talon’s a tiny bit but he could not be blamed for that, for existing, for being cared for.
Dexter’s voice seemed stuck. There were a million things he wanted to say, but some safety mechanism had shut down his vocal chords for his own sake. That sane part of him knew what would happen if he let those words crawl out of his face, and it shut him up with all the strength it had.
But whatever monster that had been dormant was already once again on a rampage. Stiff from inactivity, it stumbled and Dexter choked on it whereas before he would have spat it out without hesitation, let it have its way. It didn’t take long, however, for that cruel beast to find the speechless part of Dexter’s brain and smack it unceremoniously awake.
”I grew up,” he snarled,
”with a broken excuse for a family who chained me and blindfolded me and told me that was love.” With every emphasized word he took a step toward Bleu. His entire body was tense, shaking, overwhelmed by his rage like an addict with an overdue fix of whatever drug that kept his mind from breaking. He was vaguely aware that Bleu was apologizing for something, trying to cover herself up so he wouldn’t see her break. But his ears were closed, glued to his skull where they wouldn’t hear the pleas of whomever he was striking.
”Do not expect me to understand my emotions when everyone else’s are so warped!” he barked. His voice had raised; he was almost roaring now. If anyone could hear him, he hoped they would have the sense not to get involved.
”I do not have the power to understand what goes on in your pretty little head, nor do I understand what goes on in mine!” He dropped his voice to a hiss, or perhaps a snarl. He had continued advancing, but now he was pacing around her, circling her with angry, powerful strides that made his muscles tense and bulge under his coat.
”I will tell you exactly what I feel when I feel it. I will not lie to you because it’s what you want to hear, and I will not pretend to feel something I don’t! Would you have preferred me to have told you I love you when maybe I do and maybe I don’t?”
He stopped in front of her. His breathing was heavy but he was no warmer.
”I don’t want to hurt you because I think I might love you. But when I tell you, I want to mean it. Half-truths are pathetic things cowards spit out when they’re too weak to bear the whole truth,” he hissed.
Without warning, he remembered their meeting at the falls. How terrified he had been, when she said she might leave; how panicked. How angry. He hadn’t made her cry then, but he had certainly made her cry now. The face he had unintentionally memorized then forced its way before his eyes, broken and crying, and he shied away from it like a vampire from the light.
Dexter wanted to curl up and die. He wanted to charge into the sea and dare it to swallow him; he wanted to run himself into the ground. He wanted to scream until his voice, that stupid fucking voice that had caused so much damage, finally died.
”I am not good enough for you,” he said.
”I am a broken, cowardly monster; too weak to do anything but watch and let myself hurt you.”
He felt himself start to break down, an addict who had overestimated his tolerance to his drug and had given himself a dose that was far too much for him to handle. Dexter wanted desperately to explain why he spoke with other mares; he wanted a strong herd, a herd that made Bleu proud and happy to command, and that meant picking up just any stray mare was not an option. If he had a herd that knew him well, whom he enjoyed the company of, perhaps they could scare away that black and evil piece of him. Maybe, if he buried himself among those he carefully picked out, he could hide from it.
But he had said enough already.
”I’m sorry,” he barely whispered. Turning, Dexter slunk toward the beach, not wanting Bleu to see him cry, not wanting to cry at all. He would hide in the salt water, he decided. Maybe the sea would swallow him if he dared it to.
