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A copy of the case file had been handed to her as the group walked into the reserve that afternoon. A room had been set up for Caleb to cast the tower in, but Beau decided the Reserve library was a better place to read through the pages. On some level it felt like reclamation.
The folder was full of things from her youth. Progress reports from tutors discussing how she was smart but trouble. Interviews from house staff detailing how her father treated her. Letters her parents had sent her while at the Reserve. She had left them behind when she left to go adventuring, someone must’ve taken them. None of the letters she sent back were included. Of course her parents didn’t keep any that she wrote.
There was another letter, too. It was a folded piece of paper she and the guy next to her passed back and forth during class early on into her stay.
Why’d you come here if you don’t want to learn?
I didn't have a choice.
That’s fucked up
Eh. its whatever
What struck her most was a copy of a picture she had seen a million times before in her parents’ house. An image of her, about 17 years old, stared back at her. It was the last year she agreed to get her portrait painted, and as a result she had seen it hanging in the hallway everyday until her father had her kidnapped. The painter didn’t add her piercings, nor did he include her undercut. She looked so sad. Beau’s fingers brushed over the copy of the painting as she sat.
“I see you got the files,” a voice behind her interrupted.
Her head whipped back to see Darion, “I did.”
“That portrait does not look like you, Expositor.”
Beau looked up to her mentor, there was a softness to their tone. They were right. That picture was not the Beau she was now. Nor did it look like any part of Beau that felt like her. “Thank you, Dairon, for all of this.”
“It shouldn’t have happened to you, Beauregard. We’re all doing our best to stop it from happening to anyone else. If anything I should be thanking you for speaking up.”
Yasha is still waiting up for her when she goes up to her room. It’s odd, still, to have someone who does things like that without thinking twice.
“You doing alright?” she asks as Beau walks in and climbs into bed. She presses against her body, curls up so Yasha is touching as much of her as possible.
“I’m tired,” Beau says and its enough of a half truth to mask the actual emotions she’s feeling. She doesn’t want to deal with them now.
“Good thing it’s time to go to sleep,” Yasha kisses the top of her forehead.
“I love you,” Beau whispers. It still shocks her that she gets to say that whenever she wants and she tries to snuggle in closer.
“I love you too.”
Beau didn’t used to dream. Sleep was the one place where she wasn’t able to be touched. Then the eyes came, and so did the dreams. Now every night, even on the nights she wasn’t dreaming of the eyes, was filled with dreams. Tonight was no different.
Tonight she stared at herself. She was maybe 22, hiding in a corner of the library no one went to, trying desperately to calm herself down after another berating from Zeenoth. She couldn’t concentrate on a lecture he was giving and she instead hid a book under her desk. Something about a cult she had heard some expositors mumbling about the day before. He caught her and decided to make an example out of her.
He found her, though, and the yelling began again. Threats to send her back to her father. Increasing her fighting practices. Her body was already so bruised from them. Tears started streaming down her face.
When Beau wakes, it's almost 3 in the morning. As she drifts away from sleep and into consciousness, her dreams replay in her head. It stings in her chest. She doesn't want to wake Yasha up- it seems unfair for both of them to have their sleep interrupted. She's fine, really. She’s dealt with worse before she got to have Yasha like this, now is no different. It's fine. She pulls herself out from underneath Yasha’s arm and out of bed.
But Zeenoth’s voice still echoes around her head. His memory spreads doubt through her mind like a virus. She has to move. She has to break her train of thought.
She walks out into the library to one of the couches. The cats make her tea to help her calm down. She nurses the cup for a while. How it stays warm the whole time, she’ll probably never know, but it's very much appreciated.
As much as she’s proud of what she became, the feelings of disapproval and unworthiness still linger. It hurts. She hates that she slips back into that headspace so easily.
“Hey,” a voice comes from behind her. She jumps and looks and it’s just Yasha- her face full of concern.
“I’m sorry for waking you,” she says softly.
“You didn’t wake me,” Yasha sits down next to her, “What’s wrong?”
“I’m fine,” Beau lies and doesn’t realize she’s been crying until Yasha cups her face gently and wipes tears from under her eyes.
"Darling," Yasha says it like she's sacred, "what's wrong?"
"It’s nothing you can fix," Beau mumbles. Yasha should just go back to bed, she’ll be fine in the morning, probably. And maybe there’s a part of her deep down that thinks she deserves a little. Not that she’d admit that. She’s working on it.
"Bad dream?"
Ioun why did she have to be so damn knowledgeable and caring and shit. Of course it was a bad dream. Of course Yasha can tell, they spend too much time together for them not to know each other’s tells. Beau leans her head against Yasha’s chest, her breathing starting to waver.
"Shh," Yasha soothes. She starts to thread her fingers through Beau's hair, “Do you wanna talk about it?"
She doesn’t, but she knows she should. She could talk and Yasha would help work her through it until she felt better enough to go back to bed. Or she could sit and stew in the pain for a little bit longer, it almost feels safe there.
She makes the harder choice. She takes a deep breath, “The trial is just bringing up old wounds, it's not a big deal."
"That doesn't mean it's not important, Beau"
Beau makes a noise akin to a whine and manages to curl in closer to Yasha on the couch- a feat that seemed impossible until she did it. She knows Yasha is being truthful, but that doesn't mean Beau has to like it. "It's just more dumb shit about my father and Zenoth,” Yasha can feel Beau's sigh on her chest. "I hate how much they still have a hold on my life. It's not like either can still hurt me, I'm more powerful than both of them combined. I could down my father in one hit if I really wanted to. It wouldn't solve anything."
"Is there anything I can do to help you right now? It doesn't have to solve anything, but is there anything that'll make you feel better?"
"Hold me?"
"Of course." Yasha picks her up off the couch, holds her tight to her chest. She carries her all the way back to her room and lays her in the bed. She wraps her arms around her and pulls her tight to her chest. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
They lie in silence for a while, Yasha deciding early on she’d be staying up until Beau falls asleep.
“You know how sometimes people will ask you what you’d tell your younger self?” Beau speaks at last, voice quiet and full of drowsiness.
“Yeah?”
“I saw myself in my dream- back when I was still learning under Zeenoth. All I could think about was apologizing. I could’ve left earlier. Things could’ve been so much better.”
“You’ve said it yourself, you didn’t know how bad it was, you had no reason to assume that wasn’t how you should be treated”
Beau thinks for a moment. Tries to come up with a rebuttal. Fails. “Gods it’s all so fucked up.”
“It is. It’s okay though, we’re working on it,” she holds her close.
“Yeah. Yeah we are.” Beau lets her eyes drift close, feeling safe and secure in Yasha’s arms.