Things Fall Apart

Writers: Heather, Miriah
Date Posted: 5th February 2014

Characters: D'hol, Jeyme
Description: D'hol makes a massive mistake
Location: Dolphin Cove Weyr
Date: month 5, day 10 of Turn 7

D'hol

Jeyme

The meeting had run two candlemarks instead of one and D'hol made his
way back to the weyr with a neck sore from reading hides and scanning
charts. Rolling his head from side to side, he wondered absently if
Jeyme had eaten without him, and if she had, perhaps he could get her
to rub his neck again. The girl had magic fingers.

He opened the door to the weyr and idly kicked his boots off under the
table, rubbing the back of his neck.

It was a hard thing for Jeyme to keep her nerve up for two
candlemarks. Already her ire had begun to cool but she needed to talk
with D'hol. She loved him and desperately wanted to be _with_ him, but
at some point, she had to know if she was wasting her time. If they
didn't share love between them how could she trust that he would
remain with her?

She looked up when D'hol came through the door, and she had to remind
herself of her earlier anger in order to continue, "We need to talk
D'hol."

"About what?" He glanced at her, saw her expression and set down his
hides. "If this is about the meeting...sometimes they run longer than
expected."

"It's not about the meeting." Her voice was low, but there was an edge
to it. Jeyme paused for a moment, her eyes studied the pattern of the
rug on the floor. Summoning her courage she looked back up at him, "Do
you love me?"

He blinked, clearly surprised at the sudden and unexpected question.
But he was not a stupid man either; he took a slow breath and looked at
the woman across from him. "I never said I did, Jeyme. " His voice was
quiet. "But you wouldn't be here if I didn't care for you. You're my
weyrmate. Isn't that enough?"

Jeyme shook her head, "I didn't ask if you had said it, I know quite
clearly that you never have," her eyes met his boldly, "but I asked if
you _love_ me. There's a difference between caring and loving, D'hol,
and you know it. I didn't sit in that infirmary for three days while
you were unconscious because I 'care' for you."

At that his lips thinned and he frowned. "I know that." His voice
became curt. "And I won't say it out of guilt that you did that for
me. I would have done the same for you." He jaw worked from side to
side and his arms crossed over his chest. Why did this have to come up
now? He had thought she understood where they both stood. "I have
never lied to you, Jeyme. No. I can't say that I feel the same as you
do."

He didn't feel the same way. The words echoed around in her brain,
growing louder and louder with each reverberation. No love.. at all?
Nothing? All of this time and what was she? A bed warmer? A breeder?

"I see." Jeyme tossed down the scarf she had been knitting onto the
couch as she stood. Blood pounded through her system as she strode
over to their wardrobe and flung the doors open. One hand grabbed a
satchel while the other stuffed in a pair of pants and a tunic.

Brows snapped down and he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Not
again...Shaffit, Jeyme, what in the blazes do you think you're doing?"
He followed her, grabbing her arm to stop her. "Stop. Stop it, damn
it!"

The greenrider's eyes flashed, "Why? So I can stay here forever,
begging for some small part of your heart? Oh wait, that's right, can't

have any of that because it was given long ago to some goldrider that
_didn't choose you_!" She jerked her arm from his grip and slung the
satchel over her shoulder, "The irony is that I _DID_ choose you,
D'hol, and yet you are doing to me the same thing she did to you!"

Her words felt like a kick in the gut and his eyes blazed with a
sudden fury. Reaching out, he grabbed both of her upper arms to give
her a shake. "No, I'm not! I weyrmated you! I knew how it felt not to
be chosen, to love when it wasn't returned and I chose you so you
wouldn't have to feel that. I'm giving you what I have to give, Jeyme!
What more do you want?"

"You chose me so I wouldn't have to feel like the loser? I don't want
your pity, D'hol!" Jeyme's voice had risen to nearly a shout as she
took a step back and tore herself from the man's grasp.

"I don't shaffing pity you, woman!" He matched her tone and his hand
flew to run through his hair in angry frustration before simply
grabbing her, yanking her close and kissing her. It was hard, angry
and punishing, not the tender touches he had been using with her.

D'hol had never treated her roughly, not even remotely, so the kiss
came as a crushing, twisted surprise for Jeyme. This time his grip was
not to be broken, and she could not escape his touch. Feeling
desperate to escape, Jeyme bit down on the man's bottom lip,
successfully breaking contact enough to slip up her hand and slap him
across the face.

The bite startled him into letting her go as the taste of his own
blood filled his mouth and a blinding flash of hot pain flared in his
cheek. He went still, one hand slowly lifting to his cheek in shock as
his face slowly turned to face her. Shock erupted into pure fury. She
had hit him. His hand flashed out to grab the wrist of the hand that
had struck him, fingers tight and he spoke through gritted teeth. "Do
not ever strike me in the face again."

Jeyme barely resisted the urge to spit in his face at the comment.
Never had she felt so much anger, especially toward D'hol. The hand
that he held prison was clenched into a fist, "Then don't ever grab me
like that again." The grip he had on her wrist was painfully tight,
and in twisting she did was in vain and only caused more discomfort.

Seeming to realize that he was hurting her, D'hol let her go and took
a step back, his breathing harsh. His fists clenched, opened and then
clenched again. "Well...what are you waiting for? Go."

Tears flashed hotly in her eyes, but her anger fueled her as she
straightened the strap on her shoulder and walked from the weyr
without a backward glance.

He watched her leave and as the door shut behind her, the sudden empty quiet of the weyr struck him like another slap in the face. He sat on the couch and a sharp jab startled him. Shifting, he pulled the unfinished scarf from under his hip and stared at it, the knitting needles tangled and slightly bent from where he had sat on them. His hand tightened on the soft material and he slowly looked back up. She'd be back. She loved him. She'd be back.

Last updated on the February 28th 2014

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Things Fall Apart