Life’s Too Short- Part Twelve

Author’s Note: Okay. Here it is: the deep, dark secret of Inara’s past- and how Mal reacts to it… and no, I don't get any payment for these except the heartwarming kind when people comment (please, please, please- tell me what you like, what you don't like, what you want to see next, things like that)...

* * * * “I killed my lover,” she said. The import of her words didn’t really hit him at first, and for an instant, Mal just stood there. Frozen in time. Then, the echoes struck him syllable by syllable, and he staggered. Not back, not forward, just a shocked crumpling and regaining of balance. Mal didn’t let go of her arms, but his hands slid down to grasp hers with a grip that he had to struggle to loosen before he hurt her.

“What?” Mal thought that maybe he should back up, give the girl some air, but he couldn’t seem to move.

“I killed the man I loved,” Inara said again.

“How old were you?” It was a strange, inane question, but in that moment it seemed the most important thing to ask.

“Eighteen.”

“Lao ma,” Mal murmured, not really knowing he was saying it. He noticed that Inara was stiff as a board, her eyes oddly wide. Tryin’ not to cry, he suddenly realized. Mal wanted to take her into his arms, but there was a gulf between them that he didn’t know how to cross. He backed up, drawing her with him by the hands and sitting her down on the bed. Mal sat beside her, crossing his arms. “Tell me,” he said simply.

“I don’t want to,” she replied, not looking at him. Mal reached out and cupped her cheek, turning her head to face him. Her breath caught, but the touch was swift and over in an instant. “I’m afraid,” she admitted.

“’s okay,” he said quietly. Inara took a deep breath.

“His name was Sam. Sam Hewitt. He worked in the Training House where I grew up. He was the son of one of the cooks, and he sometimes came in to watch the girls dancing. Eventually, he became an assistant to Madame LeFarge, the dance instructor. He’d partner with the girls, so t