Page 56 of Cerulean Truth (Sapere #1)

TWENTY-SIX

JAMES

"Emma, open up," I urged.

When she finally opened the door, her demeanor was less than welcoming.

"Can I come in?" I asked, keeping my tone soft.

She shrugged, opening the door wider, inviting me in. Stepping into her dorm, I scanned the room, instantly noting the absence of personalized items. A few books on Cyclos and translation lay scattered on the floor, and her clothes were still partly packed in a suitcase.

I frowned; this didn't seem like the room of someone happy and excited to live there. I shoved that observation to the back of my mind, saving it for later.

"I get it, you're pissed about my class," I began, turning toward her. "And I'm sorry for barging in, but it’s time we talked about your, uhm...emotional hiccup."

She shot me a glare, clearly not impressed with my choice of words.

"I don't mean any disrespect, but to be honest, I recognized your?" I started, but she cut me off with a sharp warning.

"Don't you dare say 'hiccup'," she snapped, and I couldn't help but fight a smile. Her attempts at intimidation were kind of cute.

"It’s just…” I continued more cautiously, “when you create a haze but don’t get the desired result, it’s about technique, about translation.

If it takes you too long, it’s about interface, which is where most magi struggle.

But when you don’t create the haze itself, it’s about the underlying emotion, or the lack thereof. "

She rolled her eyes, clearly dismissing my explanation, and I couldn't help but agree; it did sound like a quote from a "self-help" book on therapy.

“I’m not in the mood to discuss this James, can’t this wait?” she asked sullenly.

“No,” I replied firmly. “I’m done babying you. I get it, you underwent enormous trauma and those assholes will pay for what they did to you, but you’ve got to stop blocking that out. Or you leaving behind everything in the Human World, will all have been for nothing.”

Emma stilled. Completely.

“You think my trauma from being 'bled out' is what's hindering my translation?" she whispered, her eyes wide and blue, filled with a hint of helplessness. Damn, that look in her eyes tugged at my heart.

"I don't know," I answered honestly. "You've mentioned before that you've only translated when your life was in danger, and even though it's untraceable, it's still pretty insane that it took us so long to find you.

.. So, no, it might not be the sole reason, but I'm willing to bet it's at least part of the problem. "

She sighed. "Okay, then how do I fix that? And don't suggest talking about it because I don't do therapy."

I coughed, suppressing a laugh. Thank the gods for that, she'd probably drive her therapist into therapy on her first day.

"Why am I so different? First, my translation is untraceable, then I can only translate when I'm fearing for my life, and now I'm so completely blocked I can't even use my own Nexus properly," she spat out, her frustration boiling over.

Feeling a twinge of guilt, I cursed my inability to provide her with any answers.

"Why is that?" she demanded, her voice thick with despair.

"I'm not sure," I replied gruffly, but as I spoke, memories of my first ten years came rushing back with a force that knocked the breath out of me.

Especially the lack of emotion I’d felt back when I was just a kid in foster care. I understood all too well how that worked. Emma was blocking it out because she was afraid of it. She feared being crumbled by everything she felt so she had decided to not feel anything at all.

But tackling that meant…opening up to her. Which I hadn’t done…ever.

Her intense gaze bore into me as she studied my face. Could she sense my inner turmoil? Why was it so damn hot in her dorm?

I sat down on her bed, trying to decide whether or not to tell her a small part of my past that could maybe help her out in the future.

The urge to wipe that frown off her pretty face eventually overpowered my reservations. With a heavy sigh, I braced myself to unveil something I'd kept locked away for far too long.

"To be honest," I began, the words coming out rough and raw, "I was much the same when I started out here.

It wasn't the technique that tripped me up; it were mostly the emotions.

I'd buried them so deep, blocked them off for so long, letting myself feel anything, let alone enough to translate, felt like a damn pipe dream. "

Emma’s eyebrows pinched, her curiosity piqued. "Why did you bury them?"

I closed my eyes for a few seconds, the weight of my past pressing down on me. "Same reason as you, basically. Trauma." I kept it as vague as I could, hoping my tone would indicate I wasn’t eager to elaborate.

She blinked, absorbing my words before nodding slowly. Surprisingly, she didn't press for more details.

“So how did you do it then? Navigate the whole emotion-stuff?” she asked tentatively.

"It wasn't easy," I admitted. "I had to confront my past, embrace the pain it brought forth, and allow myself to feel it all."

Emma swallowed hard, her eyes reflecting a mixture of apprehension and recognition.

Yeah, it seemed like I was on the right track. After a moment of hesitation, I decided it was time to reveal the truth.

"Up until you," I reluctantly continued, "I was actually the eldest one discovered."

Her head snapped up, shock etched across her features. "Discovered? You were a Humanborn?" she gasped.

"Yes, I was," I replied, swallowing back the memories threatening to surface. "And growing up in and out of foster care, I quickly learned to tamp down every feeling that threatened to emerge."

"You were in foster care?" Her eyes widened in surprise as she settled beside me on the bed.

"Yeah... it's a long story." I shrugged, signaling my reluctance to delve into it.

"I'm so sorry... that must've been awful," she murmured, inching closer to me.

I let out a dry snort. "It wasn't exactly a walk in the park."

"So, being in foster care prohibited you from translating?" she furthered softly.

I tilted my head, considering how much I was willing share about my past.

"… let's just say, I was terrified to feel anything. So I shut it all out—the anger, the fear, the grief, the loneliness… I suppressed it all… and when you don't feel anything…"

"You don't translate," she whispered, her expression reflecting understanding.

"Yeah. Which is why it took Cyclos six years to track me down. And even then, I struggled to confront those emotions. You have to understand, I was very angry at the world..."

I paused.

"And when I ran out of external targets for my anger, I turned it on myself. I convinced myself I had to have done something to become someone nobody wanted. That I had somehow driven everyone away. That I was unworthy of love..."

Her eyes brimmed with empathy as she listened intently, and for some reason, I unexpectedly found myself eager to share even more with her.

“I was scared shitless to let all that in, so after my retrieval, it took me a while to acknowledge the existence of emotions. And then, when I finally did, they consumed me. They controlled me. Stephen took me in, tried to help me get a grip on all that darkness but…”

I hesitated, the memories still very raw, even though it had been years.

"For almost three years, I had no control over it whatsoever... there were incidents..." I trailed off and quickly swallowed the rising impulse to tell her everything .

Instead of elaborating, I quickly translated myself a bottle of water and took a long sip, attempting to regain my composure. Without much thought, I translated another bottle and extended it to Emma.

“I had to figure out how to harness my darkness, channeling it into translation.

It wasn't until they enrolled me in Offensive training that I learned to control my 'rage haze,' as Stephen used to call it.

By the end of my second year in Offensive training, my interface—the time between the emotion and the translation—took up but a few seconds. "

Another pause, gathering my thoughts.

"Which is why I understand your current fear to feel better than you think," I finished.

She was clearly too stunned to speak, taken aback by the level of openness I had displayed in those last ten minutes... and, to be honest, so was I...

"Okay, so I have to get in touch with my emotions.

..." She hesitated, then admitted to me in softer tones, "it's not like I don't have any, you know.

.. it's more like I have so many, I'm scared if I let one slip out, it will all come crashing down on me.

" She blinked a few times, maybe holding back tears that threatened to spill, and I realized I hadn’t seen her cry even once since the night of the “bathroom-incident”.

I studied her face, searching for the root of her apprehension. “Are you that afraid of confronting your trauma?”

“It’s not just the trauma," she replied defensively, her voice tinged with frustration. "It’s everything. I’m so lonely all the time, I don’t know how to connect with anyone, and I feel like I’m good at nothing.

I fail at everything, and for someone like me, who had never failed a day in her life, that’s maybe even more disturbing than being bled out against a tree. ”

I raised a skeptical brow, wondering if she was exaggerating for effect.

She let out a heavy sigh. "It's just... I don't understand why I had to cut off everything entirely... this transition would go a lot smoother if I could go home during the weekends or something. And I get that we’re on the brink of the Great Exposure, but I still don't see how that all pertains to me. My life, my career, my family, my friends—everything is now being sacrificed. For what? For some magic people I don’t even know, coming out of the broom-closet? "