Rather than Resenting: Ch. 17

Tearful Confessions

Notes:

Soo this is kind of embarrassing....I fell asleep while I was working on posting the chapter last night 😅

This is not going to become a regular occurrence! I hope. I'm just going to put it out there prior to when it happens, but I have a college weekend visit that spans this Thursday, Friday, and half of Saturday. I should be able to post Saturday, but I'm making no guarantees for the other two days...

But here's the chapter you were supposed to get last night 😅😂

*****

Janner was following blindly, stumbling every so often because he wasn’t really paying attention to where he was going, feeling nothing but burning anger and fury in his heart when he felt himself thrust somewhat indelicately against the stone wall. 

“What is going on?” Kalmar demanded, his eyes blazing. “I forgive her and ask if you’re okay with letting her go free, and you go off on her like she’s some monster that wants to eat you alive—”

“She is a monster, Kalmar!” Janner retorted angrily, furious that his brother couldn’t see it. “Can’t you tell? She’s just tricking you again! It’s happening all over again!”

Kalmar glared at him. “No, she’s not. She isn’t a monster. She’s a Cloven who wants to be forgiven, and I understand that. How can you not understand someone wanting to be forgiven so desperately? How can that not make sense to you? Six years ago, you practically withered away into nothing and let your mind destroy you because you hadn’t gotten my forgiveness over something that wasn’t even your fault! Surely you can understand this! It’s ridiculously hypocritical for you not to!”

Everything inside Janner had just stopped when his brother mentioned what had happened before. The memory of it hurt and it was so painful that it was almost enough to take away the fury and anger and bitterness that welled up inside of him like a toxic spring that bubbled greedily.

But only almost.

“It’s easy for you,” he hissed angrily. “It’s not like any of this was your fault! It was never your fault, it was always your choice. It was always you choosing to do things and other people taking the fall or feeling responsible for it because they were supposed to be watching you. Do you have any clue what it’s like to feel the burden of that constantly? I haven’t gone a single day without feeling horrible about what happened to you, and if you hadn't saved me, that wouldn’t have been the case.”

Kalmar stared at him, hurt mingled with anger written on every part of his face. “Yeah, because you would be dead right now.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t be,” Janner snarled, beginning to walk away from him towards the entrance, unable to be in such an enclosed space with so many horrible thoughts and memories racing through his mind.

“Janner, wait!” Kalmar now sounded genuinely frightened and worried. “What is going on?” 

The sound of jogging feet pounded behind him, and Janner only walked faster, taking the steps two at a time. 

“I don’t get it! Why are you so angry? What did you do, not forgive her or something?”

At those words, Janner stopped dead in his tracks. He didn’t breathe and he didn’t move. He just stood there. His mind buzzed. His secret had been spoken aloud for the first time in...ever. And frankly, he was panicking and had no idea what to do.

Kalmar said nothing either, not for a while. Then he softly asked, with the deepest compassion imaginable, “Janner, did you not forgive her?”

He said nothing in response, but his throat burned and his eyes stung and he choked out a breath that he found he could not hold for eternity. His shoulders shook and without him intending it, tears began streaming down his cheeks.

He crumpled to the ground at that point, unable to stand or do anything that required effort at all whatsoever. Landing hard on the corner of the steps should've mattered to him, and he should have registered how much it hurt, but he didn't care. A sob he didn’t want to come out escaped, and that was when Kalmar rushed forward, wrapped him in a one-armed embrace, and held him close.

Janner tried to push him away because Kalmar had no reason to even want to try and comfort him or reassure him or do anything for him, not considering what he had said just minutes before. It didn’t work, though. Kalmar would not let go. His grip only tightened.

The thought of Kalmar hugging him with only one arm made him cry even harder, and even though he hated himself so much for doing it and for letting anyone know he blackest secret he had ever kept, something about sharing it felt so amazing that even though it felt horrible to allow someone else to see it, it felt so wondrous, too.

“I'm sorry,” he choked out between sobs. “I'm so, so sorry.”

Seeming as though he waited before replying, Kalmar gently told him, “I'm not the one you need to apologize to.”

Janner nodded, feeling more tears streaming down his cheeks and rolling onto his neck. In truth, he hadn't apologized to Kalmar. He had apologized to the Maker. But it wasn't worth correcting, not really.

After what felt like a while of tears, hitched breathing, encouraging words, and gentle reassurances, Janner heard the sound of someone coming. He disentangled himself from Kalmar and began forcing himself to his feet, wiping away tears ineffectively at the same time, but his brother grabbed his arm and stopped him. 

“It's only Uncle Artham,” he murmured. “You don't have to play the diplomat.”

Janner nodded, but Kalmar's statement only made fresh tears spring into his eyes of their own accord, and he stumbled back to stand against the wall, only to sink to the floor the minute he felt Artham's hand on his shoulder. He wanted to be comforted by them, he truly did. But it felt so wrong, so selfish of him to accept comfort when he by no means deserved it. It felt like he would never deserve it again.

Instead he was weeping again. Weeping for every lie he had told by appearing joyous when he was not, weeping for every lie that had cut him deeper and more painfully, weeping for all the ways he had led his family astray because of his lies, weeping for things he couldn't control, like Cerlon and Amrah and Kalmar, weeping for how often he had ignored the Maker's gentle commands to just tell Him.

When he did feel either Artham or Kalmar's hand on his shoulder, he shrugged them off quickly, his face still buried in his knees. But it didn’t mean he wanted them to leave. He would never tell them to leave, not unless their lives depended on it.

Eventually, though, Artham's soft, controlled voice drifted into his mind as if it floated on air. “What is it? Please tell us. I promise, it'll help.”

Janner gave a wobbly nod and drew in a breath. “All these lies,” he whispered, tilting his head so he could rest his cheek on his knees instead of his face. “Every one of them.”

Kalmar looked at him quizzically, seeming a bit confused. 

“Every—” his breath hitched. “Every lie a-about everyth-thing. About K-alm-mar and Cerl-lon a-and Amrah. I-I’m not ok-kay. I’ve h-h-h-hated her f-for so l-long!” More tears began to flow, and wiping them away didn’t seem to be doing any good. “An-and, it's so wrong, I know-ow it's wrong.” His words were being choked by tears even more now. “And I'm so-so sick of it.”

“So stop,” Artham whispered, placing a gentle hand on his back. “Ask the Maker for forgiveness. He’ll forgive you.”

Janner shook his head. “Un-uncle Arth-tham, it's been-n-n six y-years! H-h-h-he,” he drew in a strangled breath. “He u-used to ask m-m-me to al-lot. B-b-ut He stopped aft-t-er a while. I-I-I should-d’ve kn-known be-etter an-n-nd I did it an-anyway.” The relief he had felt initially when first breaking down was gone and had been replaced by soul-sickening guilt and shame.

“Oh, Janner,” Artham's voice sounded close to breaking, and he purposely drew Janner into his arms, not allowing him to resist. He wanted to resist, but he was too tired to bother. “You know,” he whispered after a moment of silence. “In your presence are two people who did something they never should have done, even though they knew better.”

“It's true,” Kalmar spoke up softly. “I should have never stopped trusting the Maker and melded. It was wrong. It was completely, utterly, and totally wrong, and I still regret it.”

“And I shouldn't have done it either,” Artham said. “I did it because of what I thought was a decent excuse at the time, but I wasn't motivated by anything good. Everything was completely wrong about it. In that split second of distrust, everything came crashing down.”

Janner listened to his uncle and brother and heard them, not quite sure what their point was. He closed his eyes, but they were puffy from crying so much. 

“What's y-your point?” He asked, his words muffled. He didn't want to seem rude with the way he spoke, but he was so tired and couldn't put much more than that short phrase together.

“We've done things wrong,” Kalmar spoke now, with what sounded like infinite patience coming from his voice. “Really, really wrong. Things we should've known better than to do something like melding, especially since we have the Maker to guide us. He forgave us of it, though. He's willing to forgive anyone who is truly repentant.”

“He's waiting for you, Janner,” Artham whispered. “His arms are open. Just run to Him. I can't promise that everything will be over. Amrah will still be here, you still won't trust her, and Cerlon will still be sick, but He'll help you with all of that too.”

“I’m s-so tired,” Janner whispered. He desperately wanted it to be over. There had been no satisfaction in harboring anger towards Amrah, only frustration and grief and other things, like his awkward explanations as to why exactly he would start staring into space randomly in the middle of a conversation. He had gained nothing except a whole slew of new nightmares and soul-sickening misery.

And all his problems with Amrah had made so many things all the more worse, like Sara’s difficult pregnancy and Cerlon’s weakness. He had felt too guilty to cry out to the Maker for help, and even though that should have been the very first clue that something was wrong, he had utterly ignored it. He had pushed it to the side as if it didn’t matter. What if his inability to pray sincerely and with complete honesty turned out to be the reason for Cerlon’s death? What if his son died and it was all his fault?

It will not be, a Voice whispered to him. If he lives or dies, it will be because that is what I decided was for the best. Your whole family has prayed for Cerlon, and his life or death does not hinge on your mistakes.

Struggling to hold back his tears, Janner whispered a stuttering prayer to the Maker that Artham and Kalmar may or may not have heard and understood, but if they did, they chose not to pry:

I have been so, so wrong all these years. Being afraid of Amrah is one thing, but having bitterness toward her is another. It may have all started as grief regarding Kalmar’s “death” but it grew into a thorny weed that never should have sprouted. Maker, please, help me discard this bitterness in my heart and replace it with compassion and, if it does choose to be there, as I expect it will healthy fear. Please, help me. Help me change. 

Please.

As gentle yet as strong as Artham was as he led Janner back to his room with the command to sleep were the Maker’s words and the warmth that filled his heart as a response. 

I will.

*****

Notes:

Okay, my belief about prayer that may have gotten muddled in the text. When we pray to God, they rise up to Him like incense. He hears all our prayers and answers with yes, no, or wait. No matter what He answers or what He does, it is always to grow us in Him. Even though some prayers seem pointless, like praying for someone we love who is obviously going to die to live, it is not pointless. Anytime we pray, we come closer to God. That is one of the reasons God wants us to pray, so we can draw near to Him and He in turn come close and give comfort and strength. Even unanswered prayer is not lost. It is simply an invitation for God to draw near to us.

Aside from that, let me know if this chapter felt wonky or awkward or unbelievable or anything^^