Found
I tried.
I tried to do something nice. I tried to keep it light. I tried so hard, so many times, not to say the things I said. I tried to understand. I tried to relax. I tried to be honest without causing offence. I tried to explain. I tried to make him see. I tried to trust. I tried to stay. I tried to be there.
I'm done trying.
What he says is never what he shows. What he claims is never how he acts. Hypocrisy, silence, recrimination and denial masquerading as diligence, thoughtfulness, nobility and penance. But the only thing a wise man atop his mountain will ever truly know is how it feels to have hemorrhoids.
I find I lack pity for his.
A day and a half to make the trip to and from Bree, to secure the honey, to negotiate the wine. A day further in chopping and slicing, mixing and baking, finding the best available ingredients with which to make the stew and honey cakes. I cleaned the tables, I scrubbed the floors, I wore my new blue blouse.
I expected nothing. I sought nothing.
I received so much worse.
Why bother to agree to this? Why bother to come at all? To waste my time, to refuse my food, to drink himself to oblivion with the finest wine the merchant could offer and point his finger again.
Enough.
I have had enough. I spoke the words I had choked upon time and again. I lost my temper and I've yet to get it back. I care, of course. I'd not be so angry if I didn't. But in this instant, in the days since, I've not looked for him. I've avoided all the places I know he waits and stayed, for the most part, within my little hut.
Him and the other. I'm more alike to kick them both in the crotch with one foot than greet either with any civility just yet.
I need to get out of here. I need some distance. I need some space to calm.
I've prepared some materials for Ethan. I've prepared some tasks he can use to teach himself for a few days. I'll speak to him in the morning.
Tomorrow, I ride.
