Difference between revisions of "Logs:Boys Are Stupid"

When he came to her, the bruises from the previous day were still purpled and it took all her not-so-considerable impulse control to not reach out and brush her fingers against them. She wanted to mother him, she wanted to cradle his poor broken face. But Grams had always told her that boys will be boys and they need to let steam off sometime, and not always in very productive ways.

So she accepted his broken face and that of Tom's. Those were acceptable. Those happened. They were boys. Sometimes, ever since the fight between Riorde and Rhaelyn, Iolene felt wistful. Wistful that she couldn't fight like that and let out all the pent up sorrow and anger that seemed to blacken her little heart. Maybe she'd ask Raum to teach her how to fight with her fists rather than a spear or knife. Those she could handle. Those made sense. It was decided. She'd ask Raum to teach he the finer points of throwing punches.

But it was Jaques' beautiful face, blood-crusted and bruised, that had startled her earlier. When Iolene bothered to dwell on the whys, she realized that Jaques, despite his gentle manner and taciturn nature, was also a boy. Grams had always said there was probably a monstrous fighter inside Jaques, should the lad ever release it. Iolene supposed it was time to be released every once in a while. He was heir to Cason's ... legacy?

Those thoughts were fleeting however; mere fragments as she studied Devaki's wonderfully kissable face, and it was in that dreamy distraction that she listened to what he had to say. She wondered what it would feel like, for him, if she tried to kiss his bruises away. Would it hurt? Would he cry? It'd be strange to see Devaki of all people cry. Maybe she should try and see what would happen. Maybe he'd just sweep her up and give her a big hug and smother her own face in kisses. Or stop her cause it hurt, but he would be too manly to actually say so.

It took her a few minutes of silence to fully comprehend what he was saying, for those words to not feel so foreign and wrong.

The tears? They were inevitable in their diamond glistening gathering at the corners of her eyes.

The words? He looked so heart sick, so sad, that instead of bursting into the torrent she felt trapped inside of her chest, she reached out to brush the backs of her fingers against his cheek ever so lightly, then travel those fingers up into his hair. She heard herself say, "It's ok. It's fine. We'll pretend it never happened and move on," because that was the practical thing to do. Because it was the Iolene thing to do. Grams would have been proud. "Really."

But it was later, when she didn't have to be stalwart and pretend to not be devastated in front of Dev that she ran. First it was a few long steps that turned quick. Then quicker. Then quickest. She knew where she had to go and she knew where he was at this particular hour.

It was without words that she flung herself into Jaques' chest and cried her little heart out. Jaques would never ask for an explanation. He would never comfort her with words. He would pet her hair, wrap his arms about her shoulders and just let her cry it out as she had done for so many years before. Jaques, who knew all her secrets without ever being told.

It was Jaques, not Devaki, who would comfort her right now. It was Jaques who would hopefully let her cry it all out before her turnday.

Because boys and long-forgotten parents, particularly cheating mothers, were stupid.

Turning seventeen was stupid.