And there it was again, the shame. I hated it so much.
Out of instinct, I reached forward and tried to take his hand in mine, but he flinched away. He’s feral, Alexis, try to remember. I had to keep reminding myself to treat him with care, like he was a wild animal not used to touch. It was hard, because I was so tactile these days, especially at home with Oliver. We were always cuddling or play fighting, or just generally goofing around.
“I have to tell her eventually,” I said gently.
He just stared at me then, and it was too much. I had to look away.
“Am I so awful to you now?” he asked with chagrin.
Immediately, I brought my gaze back his. “Never. You’ve always been beautiful to me.” I let my eyes wander over his features, older, kind of distinguished. His mane of golden hair and his full beard. No, he wasn’t awful at all. In fact, he might have been more beautiful now that he was flawed, more human. He seemed to grimace in something close to discomfort, or maybe it was embarrassment. It was obvious he wasn’t comfortable with people looking at him. It was also clear that it had been a long time since anyone had used the word “beautiful” to describe him.
“Why did you never contact me?” I whispered. I thought I knew the answer already, but I wanted to hear him say it.
It took him a long time to speak, and when he did, the ferocity in his voice startled me. “After you saw what I’d done, the violence I was capable of, I thought you wouldn’t want me. And I didn’t want to know anything about my old life because it wasn’t mine anymore. I’d destroyed it with my own two hands. All of that potential, gone in an instant. Mum was dead, and to you I was a killer. There was nothing left for me in that world.” He held his hands up as though in pain.
“But what about Marina?” I went on. “Why had she never looked into Bruce or your mother?”
“Marina doesn’t live like most people. This circus is her everything. The nomadic lifestyle is what makes her happy. She’s never really embraced technology, doesn’t use the Internet, doesn’t even really read the papers. It’s how she lives.”
“I don’t understand….”
King rubbed a hand over his mouth, like he didn’t really want to talk, but was forcing himself for me. So that I wouldn’t leave yet. I tried my hardest not to lose the run of my emotions. Every time I looked at him, I didn’t know whether I wanted to cry and kiss every inch of him, or shake him in anger for mistreating himself so badly. It was a strange sensation to love somebody so completely yet fiercely hate their actions. His words broke me out of my thoughts.
“Marina was our father’s first child, born when he was still a teenager. She bore the brunt of his cruelty because he was in her life more than he’d been in mine. And he was a brutish, violent parent. She wanted to get away from him, and she made it happen by disappearing. The circus was the perfect escape, the perfect way to vanish.
“It was only through the small contact she had with her mother, who was still married to Bruce, that she found out about me and how he’d been blackmailing me. So she got in touch. She wanted to help me because she’d never had a sibling, but also because she knew how awful Bruce’s treatment could be. We became friends. She’d visit me whenever she was near London. I even helped her out with money when the circus wasn’t doing so well. And then, when I thought I’d” — he stopped, his voice growing strained — “when I thought I’d killed Bruce, when I thought I’d lost everything, this was where I went. If Marina had managed to fashion a life of obscurity here, then maybe I could, too. I neglected to foresee that it didn’t matter where I went. My own mind would become a prison.”
I sat there, absorbing his words, for some reason feeling like this was the most he’d spoken to anybody in a really long time. I wanted to touch him, but again reminded myself that I shouldn’t.
“What do you mean?” I asked, frowning.
He started to cough and it sounded terrible, heavy and wheezing. “The mind becomes a prison as it replays its images, and all you want to do is drown them out. Dull the repetition. Alcohol is such an easy way to do it, to quiet everything down. It becomes a basic need, like water or air. Suddenly, you can barely go an hour without having it in your system.”
He rubbed at his eyes and then his temples, as though to soothe an ache. “I feel fucking awful when I don’t have it. Right now it’s like there are these purple ants on my skin, crawling all over me, and I can feel every single one of them as they itch.”
I tried not to let my fear show as he expressed what he was feeling out loud. It was so easy to just accept that he was weaning himself off alcohol without thinking of how it felt. I wasn’t the one inside his body, having to feel every second of the agony.
“Do you think you can quit completely?” I asked before amending my question. “I mean, do you want to?”
He looked at me then, his eyes full of pain and regret. “I really don’t know.”
I swallowed, trying not to let his answer hurt me. It would be ridiculous to think that just because I was there, just because I’d found him, that he’d suddenly make a miraculous recovery. That his addiction would simply be forgotten because the woman who loved him had come to find him. Yes, I was upset, angry, even, but I wasn’t offended. It was unrealistic to think he could get better in the blink of an eye. I wasn’t an angel or a magical princess. I was just a person, and he was just a person, and together we were scrambling in the dark to try to understand each other.
King began to fidget, peeling the label from his now empty beer bottle. I wasn’t sure if it was a sign that he was antsy for more or if the conversation was making him irritable. I didn’t have it in me to offer to buy him a drink. A subject change was all I could manage.
“Do you know that your apartment is still there? Your mother has been taking care of its upkeep. All of your things are still there, too, and your piano. Have you played….”
“No,” King answered abruptly. “I don’t play anymore.”
I nodded, not pushing the matter, but simply told him, “You used to play so beautifully.”
“All of those things…they might be there, but they don’t feel like mine anymore. You should tell Mum to sell them, sell the penthouse, just, I don’t know, get rid of it. I don’t deserve any of it.”
“Of course you do. You worked your arse off to pay for everything.”
“There’s no point if no one else believes it.”
I didn’t get what he was talking about at first, but then it hit me. “You mean Bruce’s smear campaign? Oh, Oliver, all of that was exposed years ago. It came out during his trial. Your name has been completely cleared.”
His mouth moved in an odd way as he comprehended what I was telling him. He looked distressed, and again I felt like an idiot for so unceremoniously laying the facts on him. I just didn’t feel like there was any proper way to do it. No matter how careful or sensitive I was, the truth was going to be a difficult pill to swallow. King rose from his seat, standing in place for a second. I thought he was about to leave, distraught by the news that he’d been cleared of any misconduct. But then he started coughing again and sat down abruptly, his hand going to his chest like he was in serious pain. This time the wheezing sounded even worse, and my stomach tightened with worry.
“When was the last time you saw a doctor?” I asked, concerned. His look was all the answer I needed. He hadn’t seen a doctor in years. I was suddenly desperate to take him to the hospital and have him looked over, afraid he might have some awful illness caused by his alcohol abuse. Once his coughing fit died down, I suggested quietly, “You should let me take you.”
He shook his head. “I’ll be fine.”
His abrupt answer rose my hackles, and before I had the chance to censor myself, I told it to him straight. “You used to be the smartest man I knew. So don’t give me that.”