The Other Side Of Hate
She had never known a kind touch until Robin. And when he declared that their romance was nothing but a distraction from his day to day struggles, she had thought she would never know another kind touch. Isabella supposed that she’d rather not be touched at all than to have rough hands collide with her cheek or force themselves upon her.
She’d never known a word of kindness until Robin. He was one of the few people to call her brilliant and clever where others claimed that a woman couldn’t possibly have any wit. He was the first person to give any attention to the fire and the fight she had.
She would rather speak to no one at all than to hear another demeaning word.
She had never known a kind look until Robin gazed at her with soft unjudging eyes. Eyes that didn’t oggle her or make her feel like she was a possession to be had. She’d never knew a kind smell until he held her close and she could smell the fresh and honest scent of pine resin. She’d never knew a kind taste until he let her kiss him, until he picked her a handful of fresh strawberries.
She’d never known any of the five senses in a positive manner until Robin entered her life. But he had fled it and she was almost certain that she’d never feel pleasant again. In fact it settled a horrific feeling of betrayal and isolation to see him eloping with that Kate girl.
It was the easy path, being as the girl was an outlaw too, unlike Isabella.
So she sat with her hate and her rage.
She let it fester.
It wasn’t long before Robin had cast Kate aside too, choosing his life as an outlaw over the people he ought to put first.
Still resentful, but growing antsy, Isabella found herself approaching Kate. Kate who braced herself for a fight of sorts. Strangely, Isabella realizes that she hadn’t confronted her for a fight. She came to her in hopes of having someone to relate to. In hopes of getting reassurance. A hint that her feelings weren’t completely irrational and unwarranted.
She had exchanged some rather harsh words with the outlaw woman. Accusatory ones. Words insisting that it was Kate’s fault that he had given up on her so fast. And from her an accusation that it was her own clinginess and baggage that had driven him out.
It had struck a nerve that Isabella hadn’t known was there. Tears stung behind her eyes. Tears she refused to let fall. Because she swore that Kate was right. She had such a poor history with relationships. She was so broken.
She was so hard to love.
After that the conversation died out entirely and she stared at Kate with vacant eyes. The more she thought about things, the more she realized that she didn’t want a man in her life at all. Her trust had been well and used up.
Perhaps she ought to be alone.
She stood and turned to head back to the castle.
“He hurt me too.” Kate confessed. “I thought that we could make something of our...love.”
Isabella turned back.
“I should have learned from you.”
She should have learned from herself. She knew what relationships were like. They were one-sided and draining. So it horrified her when Kate took her hand. Even if the gesture was friendly, it was more intimate than she had been in months.
She couldn’t stand the idea of letting someone else in.
But she did.
Eventually she caved.
Kate made it a habit of stopping by the castle to. check on her. Those were the secret evenings she craved. And suddenly she was back in the forest again. Back in the outlaw’s camp, doing her best to avoid Robin. Back in the outlaw’s camp with her hair growing long and tangled and her face growing dirty.
Yet, she was free.
Free of the castle and its wretched politics. And free of her resentment.
She supposed that it probably disoriented the other outlaws, in some sense, to see her stealing passionate moments with Kate. To see her running her hand over the other woman’s head. To see Kate holding her in a the way Robin used to. Sometimes touching her cheek with the back of her hand. Small, intimate gestures. The kinds exchanged by lovers.
Perhaps they all knew it before she and Kate did, that, that was what they were becoming.
That, that was what they already where.
And Isabella felt blessed to have come by such a rare love.
The kind born from a feud, a hatred.
The kind that was pure and natural.
The kind that lasted.