"That's true. It's true that the universe can be cruel. Is that a reason for us to be... preemptively cruel?" Malcolm leans forward slightly. "I know how much you want... reassurance. But the truth is that we can't control the universe and even if he makes a choice and it's firmly you, the universe can tear two people apart just as easily. All we can control is what we do. Who we are. How we treat the people in our life."
"That's the hard part," Malcolm admits. "That's the really hard part and I wish I knew. I think... talking about it can help. And if you don't feel ready to talk to John about it, you can talk to me. You can scream and cry and vent those feelings as much as you need to. But, while that helps, it doesn't make it disappear. What did this friend of John's do to you?"
"So... I assume he's from the same world as you guys. Why doesn't he think John is the King in Yellow pretending to be someone else? Aren't both of you made from the King but also aren't the King?" Malcolm asks.
He hasn't met Charlie and doesn't know anything about him; he may be the one person on board who couldn't possibly guess who Edwin is talking about.
“It’s my understanding that John did some terrible things when he wasn’t even part of the King anymore. The King in Yellow doesn’t hold a monopoly on cruelty. Not even in your world. But neither of you is the King. And if this person can understand that about John, they can understand it about you. Unless they don’t want to. Have they given any indication about that?” Malcolm asks.
“If someone doesn’t want to engage you, you can’t make them want to. Believe me. I know. And it sucks. But trying and trying is just like banging your head against a wall. Did John suggest he still wants to have time with you?” Malcolm asks.
Edwin sighs and lies down, then drops his head onto his paws.
Yes.
Are he and Jedao the broken ones, that no one else seems to understand the metric they so easily understand with each other? He's wrong, he gets that, all right, fine, but- but he's not. They're not.
"You sound... resigned when you say that," Malcolm observes. "Like it's the answer to something. We've barely started asking the questions. Did you think that was where we were going with all this? Is that... do you think that's all we were trying to establish?"
He paws at his muzzle like he's rubbing his face and rests his head on the chair this time, covering his face with one leg.
I just already know that... that it's not about choosing one or the other, that he can love both of us, that him loving someone else doesn't mean he loves me less. I know already. I know I feel the wrong way, that's why I'm here.
"Feelings aren't facts," Malcolm tells him. "They aren't correct or incorrect. The problem with them is sometimes they're too big for us to handle them and reminding ourselves of the facts around the situation can help rein them in. But in this case... I was only doing that incidentally. I don't know anything about the situation. I need to know what the facts are. Then we can talk about why they make you feel this way and how we can work on that." He tilts his head slightly. "There aren't shortcuts in this work. You said you didn't want to feel this way. Until we examine what's provoking those feelings and how the feelings are connected to it, we can't begin to assuage them, but the examination of those facts doesn't make the feelings somehow wrong. Untying them from the facts now doesn't mean that they were never warranted."
“I know you’re not trying to, but…. I just want you to understand: nobody can snap their fingers and fix this for you. It’s not a wound that just… needs a bandage. It needs tended every day. You’ll have to still be tending it when you leave here. We’ll have to talk about this again and again, if you still want to change it. Do you want to change it? You don’t have to. It’s not wrong to hold on to it. But you could lose time with John by holding on to it and he might not want to change how he feels,” Malcolm points out softly.
Edwin shifts, taking one of his more recent preferred shapes in the form of a sugar glider. At least with mind-speech Malcolm can still hear him clearly even as he crawls under the decorative pillow on the chair.
Oh, that's easy. He starts sounding borderline despondent but slowly, slowly starts to cheer up while he talks.
He's funny and smart and good at teaching me things. He's gentle and patient a-and... and he's kinder than I am. He understands more than almost anyone except Jedao, about... about the way I think, and I never feel like I have to act a special way with him, I can just... be, and it helps me figure out who I like being, because I'm not thinking about if I'm doing it right the whole time.
He knows so much about so many things, and he likes doing hobbies together, like teaching me some things about baking better, or painting, or music. I'm learning ukulele and guitar and flute because he encouraged me.
“So… when that stuff all happened… maybe you felt betrayed more because it felt like John was saying you were having a wrong feeling and it was like your safe place was taken away,” Malcolm suggests.
It feels almost right. It feels familiar anyway, what Malcolm describes, but it's not quite that either.
I... I don't know how to explain. It's like... It's like... It's like I just learned that-- that we're not speaking the same... language, when I thought we were. Except I'm the one who learned to say things wrong.
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Then how do I stop thinking about it all the time?
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He hates me, because he thinks I'm the King in Yellow pretending to be someone else.
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He hasn't met Charlie and doesn't know anything about him; he may be the one person on board who couldn't possibly guess who Edwin is talking about.
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I... was the King for longer. I was the King that came after John and tried to get him back.
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Except John wasn't a part of the King when the King... did some terrible things.
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They don't want to.
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Yes.
Are he and Jedao the broken ones, that no one else seems to understand the metric they so easily understand with each other? He's wrong, he gets that, all right, fine, but- but he's not. They're not.
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I just already know that... that it's not about choosing one or the other, that he can love both of us, that him loving someone else doesn't mean he loves me less. I know already. I know I feel the wrong way, that's why I'm here.
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I thought they couldn't but if the things I'm feeling are because of other things that aren't true they're not right.
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He's not sure what he just. He whines softly and scrubs at his face with the side of his paws.
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I don't know. I don't know what I want.
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He's funny and smart and good at teaching me things. He's gentle and patient a-and... and he's kinder than I am. He understands more than almost anyone except Jedao, about... about the way I think, and I never feel like I have to act a special way with him, I can just... be, and it helps me figure out who I like being, because I'm not thinking about if I'm doing it right the whole time.
He knows so much about so many things, and he likes doing hobbies together, like teaching me some things about baking better, or painting, or music. I'm learning ukulele and guitar and flute because he encouraged me.
He is still under the pillow.
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It feels almost right. It feels familiar anyway, what Malcolm describes, but it's not quite that either.
I... I don't know how to explain. It's like... It's like... It's like I just learned that-- that we're not speaking the same... language, when I thought we were. Except I'm the one who learned to say things wrong.
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