I stare helplessly at Vin, in too much shock and too much pain to do anything else.
Couldn't look away, couldn't straighten my clothes or hair, couldn't wipe away the
bitterness of the false kiss on my lips. Couldn't even cry or protest my innocence. I have
just lost everything precious to me. No words or actions can change that now, so why
even bother? How can I convince Vin that I hadn't know the man beside me was not him
with hurting him further? I can't. I should have known, but I didn't. For that, I
am as guilty as if I had planned the whole affair myself.
I just wanted to come home. It wasn't supposed to be like this. After seven weeks of
unmitigated hell, I was supposed to come back and immerse myself once again in the
safety and comfort of my friends – my family. I was supposed to forget as much as I was
able the ruthless cruelty humanity is sometimes capable of inflicting on itself. I was
supposed to put head to pillow secure in the knowledge that I was now less likely to be
slaughtered while I slept. But most importantly, I was supposed to all of this with Vin at
my side. Now, though, all of those hopes and expectations are gone like so much ash
blown away in whirlwind.
Dear God, how could I have not known?!
I study the man with whom I had unwittingly betrayed my lover with dull curiosity. I
have never seen him before, but he does resemble Vin, and from a distance, I imagine
he'd be able to fool almost anyone into thinking he was. Up close, though, only a fool
would believe it. His hair is long and curling, but it isn't as long or as thick.
His nose is too long and his mouth too thin to be my Vin's. He is an inch or so shorter,
even with the cowboy boots he is wearing, and his stance is not as controlled or loose-
ready as Vin's.
I have to give him credit on the clothes – the t-shirt, flannel shirt, jeans and boots are
all something Vin might wear, but they are too new, too stiff from too few washings to be
my lover's. Vin's clothes always feel so soft against my skin . . . The aftershave is the
correct brand, as is the toothpaste he must have used this morning, points reluctantly
given there. But now that I am not caught up in the moment, as it were, I can tell that the
unique scent and taste of Vin that makes such commonplace items necessary to me is
missing. Still, the man had done his homework well. If my heart wasn't currently
breaking into a thousand pieces, I'd commend the son of a bitch on a job well done – then
beat him senseless for digging so intimately into my mate's life that he would
know such things.
Turning away from the imposter, I again face Vin and watch as his own shock
transforms into savage rage. I start to say something, anything that could salvage this
disaster. We still don't know what set off Vin's depressive episode; what if this brings it
all back? An abrupt slice of Vin's hand through the air stops the words before I even
utter them. Only then am I able to finally close my eyes, unable to watch any longer. It
hurts too God-damned much. I hurt too much.
I flinch at the first touch of Vin's hands – and this time, even with my eyes closed, I
know damn well it is Vin – on my arms. I force myself to stand still, waiting for
whatever punishment Vin wishes to mete out. Not knowing what to expect, I am startled
when I am carefully moved further away from Vin's doppelganger. My eyes snap open,
but Vin's head is bowed, and I am unable to see what is on his face. His hands, however,
are rock steady as they gently do up the few buttons that remain on my shirt then reach
down to refasten my belt. A soft pat over my heart, a quick, sharp nod, then he is turning
away from me without ever looking me in the eye to confront the imposter.
From the bastard's reaction, I think it is a good thing that I cannot see what is on my
lover's face. Skin paling to a sickly grey, he scrambles to escape Vin's swift, implacable
advance only to end up trapped between the desk and a wall. The oddly triumphant smile
he'd worn only a few moments before has turned into a grimace of terror, and when Vin
speaks, we both flinch.
"If ya ever so much as breathe wrong in Ezra's presence again, I'll rip ya apart with
my bare hands an' scatter the pieces so far an' wide that they'll never find 'em all. Ya
understand me, Dufheus?"
Dufheus nods furiously, and I barely manage to keep myself from mirroring his
action. Vin's tone is so coldly reasonable that neither one of us doubt his sincerity. I
have never heard Vin sound so dangerous in all our association together. I never want to
hear it again.
"Good," Vin continues in the same tone. I shiver and involuntarily rub my hands
over my arms in an attempt to calm the raised flesh over them. Vin takes a step to one
side and points to the door. "Now git."
The man bolts as if he expects hell to open under him if he stands still too long, and
just that suddenly, I am alone with Vin. Forcing my hands to my sides with great
difficulty, I pull my gaze from the doorway and look back towards him. Even now, part
of me expects to be sent away next, despite the hope Vin's possessive actions have
raised. I nearly collapse at what I see on his face. A trace of anger remains, but . . .
Relief. Concern. Love.
Trust.
Dear. God.
He never doubted me. He never doubted me. Despite my past reputation
and the damning evidence right before his eyes, without so much as one word from me in
my own defense, he never believed I was to blame. He – I –
I don't know what Vin sees on my face, but he instantly spreads his arms open and
hoarsely whispers my name. It is all the invitation I need. With a choked cry, I launch
myself into his embrace and at long last find myself secure within the warmth and vitality
of this man's love. For me.
I made it home, after all.
The End
