"I didn't want to leave," he breathed, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. "I didn't want to leave either of them. I was a year old when I left my mom; she was so sick... Couldn't even stand up." Images came, unbidden, behind his eyelids. Of his mother rotting away while still alive in that terrible cave he'd been trapped in for so long. "My dad wasn't ever there; we were on our own. She depended on me, but she said such terrible things. No matter what I said, or what I did, she hated me. And then I got mad, and I walked out. I quit. On my own mother."
How could he even begin to explain his father to her? How could he explain what happened with the gypsies? He shook his head, still pressed into her flank. "M'dad," he murmured, the former growl rising into the back of his throat. "I joined the gypsies only a few weeks after I left my mom, and I stayed with them for a very long time. But then, last winter, we ran into my dad..." He grit his teeth. "I should've stayed. I should've stuck it out. But I quit, like I always do. S'all I've ever done."
"It's for the best that you don't feel the same about me that I do about you." He drew gently away from her touch, looking to the side. "I'm nothing, Inna. I've just been around for the pleasures in life; breeding season and food and shelter and taking and taking and taking." He hunched in on himself more, if possible. "I make excuses and I pretend to be such a hard worker and so honest, but in reality... I'm just worthless. And I'm sorry." There weren't many times that Aytigin felt like he should adopt a more severe submissive stance, but all he wanted to do was just cower before her and beg for her forgiveness.