In every problem in his life, Will found solace in his feet on the ground, the repetitive motion of his legs, and the comfortable rhythm of his breath as he ran. He ran fast when he was scared, upset, or mad and ran slow when he needed to clear out the rubbish from his head that felt like a thousand voices all talking to him at once.
Today, he sprinted. Today he was chased by feelings he wasn't ready to experience, and the pain in his chest was soon drowned out by the burning in his legs and lungs when he had exhausted himself. But he didn't stop. He pushed on at a slower jog, because even though the acute pain had passed, there were still a thousand voices all talking to him at once.
He had watched Aiva walk away, before he was even finished talking and trying to explain himself, when there was no good explanation. He had fouled everything up, and it was now beyond repair. Had she even heard him say that it wasn't her fault? That it was his? That no one could have made the decisions for him but him? All he could remember was the cold, numb look in her eyes as she looked at him. He would see it in his nightmares, maybe, the last glimpse of someone he cared about above everyone.
And he deserved it. He deserved her contempt. She loved him. He thought he loved her the same, and thought he could be the things she wanted and needed him to be. And he did love her. He had not lied to her about that. He knew that in his heart. But the way he loved her was not the same. He realized that somewhere along their journey, yet did not fully comprehend what that would mean until now. Things had to change. He didn't want them to, but he knew they had to.
He reached a fork in the road where one way led north. Cardolan's dry, warm climate had prompted him to strip off his shift and tuck it into his belt. He leaned over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath and briefly contemplated taking the north road. It would lead him home, toward Bree. The thought made him relieved, and sick, and frustrated all at once. For the second time in less than a year, he was returning back to a place he had tried to leave. He would have to return to it alone, but his mother would likely welcome him with open arms, as she always did.
He didn't contemplate long, and turned around to start jogging back to Herne. Maybe by the time he got there, the voices would have quieted.
