If she had asked, he would have lied and said he didn’t have nightmares about that day. He would have done so without a qualm, because even though he should blame her for it, he doesn’t. The longer they talk, the more clear to him it becomes that she held no malice towards him. He thinks she might have been driven by instincts he can’t possibly understand. The same instincts that make falcons hunt songbirds and wolves hunt deer.
Of course, those aren’t his only nightmares, so that would have made it easier. He had died before after watching his own twin die. Those nightmares are worse. But worst of all are the ones of his own making. The ones of his own heartbreak. Those are the dreams he dreads the most. The reason he doesn’t sleep at night.
But she doesn’t ask, so he doesn’t tell her. He might be an oversharer on the best of days, but even he doesn’t want to voluntarily dredge up the tales that haunt his sleep. It’s almost a relief that she latches onto his admission of his lack of hatred instead. A relief, because that is much easier to talk about, even if the answer is more complicated.
He shrugs at her question, glancing past her as his features settle into a thoughtful expression. “I just don’t,” he replies. His lips purse for a moment when he recognizes how inadequate a response that must be. Blowing out a breath, he returns his gaze to her and adds, “I guess it’s probably because I already forgave you, even before I knew you regretted it.”
@Nostromo