I don't care what you think as long as it's about me

Lochlann gave her a look like oh my god really—his dark eyebrows furled and his bottom lip jutted out into a pout, but it quickly turned into a smile.

Lochlann thought her stories about pets were sad, but then again, Lochlann had…sort of eaten some of his. He hadn’t considered them pets at the time. They were livestock. They were things that were raised to be eaten, so his attachment to them wasn’t exactly emotional, but he had felt a little bit guilty when he went after a cat once, but that was probably because his at-the-time-girlfriend was big into reading these stories to him about warrior cats or something.

“If you could have a pet now, what would it be?” he asked. He was curious about this, too, and it slipped into his voice. Lochlann liked these little facts, the 20-questions-kind of things.

When she told him that Paul didn’t bother her anymore, he was happy for her, but he confessed, “I just don’t like the idea that someone would want to hurt you so badly.”

As to her situation being a good story, Lochlann realized that he and Cat would be shelved in different parts of the library. They could both be fairy tales. She would be in the section of stories you should emulate, with the right kind of hero. Lochlann would be shelved in either the true crime or as an example of what not to do in self-help books.

Lochlann had seen some of her powers in little snippets—the stirring the coffee, for example—but he didn’t realize just how much she could use them. Laundry seemed like quite a task. Lochlann had never mastered the art of folding his clothes properly with his hands; he couldn’t fathom doing it with just his mind. When she let go of the coffee, even though he knew what was coming, he still moved as though to catch it and then surprise! It was floating. He laughed.

“Is it easier, drawing like that?” he asked.

He could tell by the look that she gave him that Cat did not buy his story. He felt bad about that. The feeling surprised him. She took away their coffees and came onto the floor next to him and Lochlann wanted to shy away, but there was nowhere for him to go.

“I have a lot of old injuries,” Lochlann said, but it sounded hollow to him. He was nervous. The relaxation he’d felt before had faded away some—his shoulders and legs were tense, though Cat’s nearness stopped him from reaching his usual levels of it. She relaxed him and frightened him all at once.

He didn’t protest when she pushed up his other sleeve, but he was very, very still. He had an old scar across his palm and a scar across his knuckles. His hands had callouses that insinuated he was used to having a shovel or a spade of some kind in his hand, and with the exception of a few minor knicks and faded bruises, his other arm was okay. Even his inner elbows were free of the bruises that had been evident in the photo of himself with Lamby.

Lochlann hoped this would reassure her. The only way she’d find out about the other ones is if she had him take his shirt off, and if that happened? Well he’d be worrying about other things.

“Sort of,” he told her. “My doctor is sort of a dick. But his...” Lochlann looked for the word. He knew shit about the medical field. “He has someone who works for him. I went to see her.”

He did not like hospitals. Or doctors. They were up there with all of the things he hated.

“The last time it happened I tried to fix it myself, so lesson learned,” he said. It was supposed to be reassuring. Once the words came out, he doubted their effect.

"A cat," Lochlann hmmed. It was very practical, which is what he associated with her now, but it also surprised him that she didn't already have one. But he supposed if she planned on going home in a few years, it would be difficult to transport a cat. "What would you name your cat?"

He was impressed with her ability to write and his eyebrows lifted in surprise. He said, "No shit."

He nodded. it did make sense.

"If you painted, would it be the same, or is it different because it's...I mean, I'm assuming it's multiple colors, and you can't use all the colors at once?" he asked. Lochlann knew very little about art except which paintings he liked and didn't like.

Her cool hands traced the scars on his hand and saw her frown. He didn't know how to take it. He felt like he'd done something bad, and when she said long history he looked away and became distinctly interested in the shadows made by the panes in her window.

"Something like that," he said, and when he turned his eyes back towards her, her eyes were on his bandaged hand.

He was surprised by her words and surprised, too, by the flat tone. She turned away and left and Lochlann sat there for a moment, unsure what he was supposed to do.

He waited until she poured herself some water and then Lochlann pulled himself to his feet and padded after her into the kitchen. He was quiet, or as quiet as he could get, because the soles of his feet had a little bit of a muffled clomping like the far off clip clop of hooves.

He rested his chin on her shoulder and said, "You're right, I'm sorry."

He wanted to correct her and tell her that he hadnt' actually been lying, just not telling all of the truth, but he didn't. Instead, he dropped his voice and said, "But I don't think you're stupid. That's not why I do that."

He took a step back, giving her space, and flipped his hands up so they were both palm-up again and said, "Can I try this again?"

She thought about names, a whole list of them, that she might have named a cat. "I don't know. Maybe something like Luna or Stella but really I guess I'd have to have met the cat before I tried to make it.".

"Those are cute names," he said.

Lochlann could picture her, in a place somewhere with a room for her writing and her art and a a silky sleek cat purring around her legs. The image surprised him so much that he had to look away to stop himself for giving her a cheesy grin.

Lochlann had not thought about the future with someone in a long, long time.

But with Cat, he felt safe enough to dream.

Lochlann considered this.

"What about the um....the ink well ink," he said. "Doesn't it come in all colors now?"

He was fascinated by this and then said, "Could I watch you paint some time?"

The question was out of his mouth before he could stop it. He shifted his foot against his knee and said, "Unless it would be too awkward."

He appreciated her willingness to get a second chance. It was more than he deserved.

He still hesitated for a moment, but he took a deep breath, blew his bangs out of his face, and then nodded.

"Cat, I appreciate your concern and I'm grateful that you're worried about me," he said, because now he understood what that was. "I'm okay. It's, that is.."

Now Lochlann stumbled verbally for a moment, and he shook his head and his bangs mussed right back up with the action.

"What happened to me was my own fault, it was stupid of me not to expect something like this because it's happened plenty of times before, and I'm embarrassed by it," he said. He rubbed his bandaged hand with his free one. "And I'm...not used to people believing me when i talk about it."

He'd have new scars on his old ones because Lochlann did not learn from his mistakes.

His eyes searched her face, waiting for her judgement.

Then, he offered up his unbandaged palm and said, "I can tell you about this scar but I think you might throw that glass of water at me if I do."

It was a peace offering.

When she told him he could watch her paint, Lochlann beamed. He was very much looking forward to this now, and he wondered if this was going to happen today or maybe another time. He felt another unexpected pang in his head, and Lochlann rubbed at his temple for a moment with his good hand.

Lochlann was watching Cat carefully, his eyes watching every movement, especially the arm closest to the water because, while he made the joke, he didn't actually want to have water dumped on him.

But he wasn't expecting her to say she would have believed him.

Lochlann took a step back at that, and then another step forward.

"I'm sorry," he said.

And then, her arms dropped and she pressed her head against his chest. He was relieved because Cat had a really scary gaze when she was mad and Lochlann felt his resolve--and his legs--shaking.

Hesitantly, Lochlann wrapped an arm around her back in a loose hug.

Lochlann shook his head.

"No," he said. "I meant what I told you that day. I like being alive. I'm not actively trying to die right now."

"You might want to throw a glass at me," he said. "The scar on my palm was self-inflicted, but it was a long time ago. I was really drunk and I broke into the library and then I tried to summon a succubus."

He realized that he should probably drop his hand from her back so if she leaned back to grab the water glass, he wouldn't fall on her.


Actually, when he thought about it, Cat and Chloe might really get along.

A headache?

"No, not yet," he said. It was that weird pre-headache pain, familiar and annoying. Lochlann chalked it up on lack of sleep.

She sounded tired and Lochlann hate that he did that to her. He hated that he was so painfully bad at this. Despite his many relationships, he wasn't great at them, but he'd never messed up so frequently, either.

"Okay," he said.

When she said that what was in the past could stay in the past, Lochlann's arm snaked back around her and then gave her a gentle squeeze.

She laid her head on his chest and Lochlann liked it. It was his favorite place to have her head, but right now, it hurt.

What she said troubled him and comforted him at once. He rested his head ontop of hers. If he watched her lick her lips again he was most definitely going to try to kiss her again, and he was trying to behave and leave that decision up to her.

"I would like to think that, too," he said. He didn't want to tell her that he wasn't sure if she could, and it had nothing to do with her, but more that she was trying to keep back the very things that made him, well, what he was.

"I think you forget that I"m a very stupid person," he said. "But I'm doing my best to try."

Complicated? Lochlann never thought of himself as complicated, and this almost made him laugh.

"I don't think I am," he said. "But I would like to be for you."

He waited for another moment and then said, "Could you move your head a little bit um..just a little bit?"

Then, he said, "Can I do something for you?"