I cared. I cared because she cared. Because, earlier tonight, when I’d told her my secret, when I’d revealed what a coward I was for not returning home, right in the open for the heavens and Fates and stars and the pretty girl with pointed ears to hear, she’d crawled over to me and placed her delicate hand on mine. “You carry the truth on your own so they don’t have to,” she’d said. No judgment. Just pure understanding, undiluted by pity or that incessant need most people had to try to make it better, make it hurt less.
