Page 243 of Sword & Shadow
In Deckard’s hesitation, Thom pressed on. “I didn’t know what I was doing, Jonn,” he repeated somberly. “I didn’t realize that all it was—all it had ever been—was me wishing I was you.”
Deckard drew back as though Thom had struck him. “What?”
Dropping his eyes to the terrae, Thom struggled with the words again. He felt like a little kid, unable to comprehend the emotions causing his stomach to twist with both awe and discontent. “You were always the perfect big brother,” he muttered at last. “I thought... Well, I thought you were next to Allore when we were kids. You were so perfect, so good all thetime. You always did everything right, and Mother and Father were always so pleased with you.Iwas always so pleased with you.”
He shrugged and kept going while the words were there. “It hurt, watching that. Wanting tobethat and knowing I could never measure up.”
Deckard sighed, sadly this time, and took a step forward as if to comfort him.
Thom held up a hand. “Not yet,” he muttered. “I’m not done yet.”
With Deckard’s compliance, Thom took another breath. “I tried, you know? As a kid. I thought if I tried hard enough—if I really, really meant it...” He shook his head self-derisively. “I thought that maybe—just maybe—I could manage to make you proud of me. And then I’d be perfect too.”
Thom met his brother’s gaze, feeling the same awe he’d felt as a boy. “I don’t understand how you do it,” he confessed. “Being so perfect all the time.”
“I’m not perfect, Thom,” he said immediately.
“You are to me.”
Deckard blinked.
Thom scoffed. “You are to Evylin. To Mother and Father. Hell, our sister named her baby after you.”
“That’s because Meria is ridiculous.”
They shared a thin laugh.
“But Vaan thinks you’re incredible too,” Thom reminded him. “Everyone you’ve ever met loves you.”
“Hewitt didn’t like me,” Deckard offered.
“Which was why I liked him,” Thom admitted. “And now, he’s spending his afterlife with you.”
“Not by choice.”
Thom raised his brow. “You think Hewitt would waste time talking to you if he didn’t like you?”
Deckard didn’t bother arguing that point. “You forget General Rand. The man tried to have me killed.”
“That man doesn’t like his own mother.”
Deckard conceded that point as well.
Thom held up his hands again, imploring Deckard to understand. “No matter who it is, whether or not they like you as a person, no one can help but respect you. You can’t tell me you don’t see that.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Deckard asked, shifting uncomfortably. “Are you trying to make me feel bad?”
“No. I’m trying to explain myself. It isn’t justification, but it’s.. . I don’t know—maybe a glimpse of why I...why I hate myself so much.”
“Thom—”
“No, I do,” he insisted, knowing deep down that it was the truth. “I hate myself. I always have.”
Deckard looked truly stricken. “You shouldn’t.”
Thom shrugged flippantly. “But I do.”
“Why?”
