“They’re not dead,” I blurt out. “My parents.”
“Seth…”
“I don’t know my dad,” I say. Need to stop her from leaving, so I draw a deep breath, force out more words. “And for a long time I thought my mom was dead, but I found out today she’s not.”
She stills, her eyes wide.
“It’s like a fairytale gone bad,” I go on, not even sure why I’m spewing everything out. Guess I hope that if I keep talking she’ll stay here and not run away, like she seemed about to do. “My dad is from the Lake Superior Chippewa tribe. Works at the Potawatomi Casino. My mom used to go there often, looking for wealthy men to fuck.” She winces, and I clench my jaw, because the truth ain’t pretty. Like I said. Fairytale gone bad. “She often brought her sister along. They met my dad there one fine day and had a nice little threesome. Nine months later, Shane, and I were born.”
She says nothing, but at least she isn’t moving away, which is a win, because running after her ain’t in the cards with the way my balance is shot to hell right now.
“Was that what you were asking?” I say after long seconds pass with nothing but silence. “If my parents are alive?”
“Yeah.” She’s still sitting rigidly beside me, and I’m so aware of her breathing it’s like there’s nothing else in the world. Nothing and nobody but her and me. “That’s what I was asking.”
I relax a little. Maybe I didn’t fuck this up. I replied to her question. I held it together. “Okay.”
“You said…” She licks her lips, soft, inviting in the dim light. “You really thought your mom was dead until today?”
“Yeah.”
Didn’t tell anyone else about it, not even Shane. I didn’t want to talk about it, think about it. Wanted to forget it, forget everything. She’s dead to me and will always be.
But of course now reality slams back into me, and with it memories I’ve done my best to bury. Betrayal. Shock. Fear. Horror. Anger. Sorrow so bitter it burns.
The police arriving. Finding me unable to move. My mother gone. Everyone gone, leaving me alone.
And now she’s back from the dead, asking for my fucking help.
My stomach turns over so suddenly I barely manage to twist away from Manon and bend over the bucket by the bed before I throw up water and bile. Nothing left in me to toss.
“Crap.” She scrambles up beside me and slides off the bed. “I’ll be right back.”
I pant through the dry heaves, throat and eyes burning. The fuck. Why are my eyes burning? A reaction to vomiting, I tell myself. All that acid.
Not the memory. Not the pain of the past. I’m over that.
Even if she abandoned me. My mom. Left me there for the police to find and took off. Never came back for me. Never let me know she was alive.
Because she just didn’t care.
***
“Here,” Manon says, handing me my refilled glass of water as I lean back on the pillows, panting. “It’s okay.”
It’s not, not really, but that’s another matter. My hand shakes, but I manage a small sip of water before she takes the glass away and places it on the bedside table, a wooden crate Shane brought me.
Shane. Goddammit. I close my eyes, so tired. What a messed up family we are.
Something cool brushes my brow, and I jerk back.
“Shhh.” She sweeps the wet towel down my cheek, over my mouth, wiping away sweat, tears and traces of puke. “Rest.”
Damn. Now I have something clogging my throat. I turn my head away when she swipes at my other cheek, and she sits back, leaving me be.
Only quiet is not what I need. I reach blindly for her hand, and she lets me take it. I wrap my cold fingers around her delicate ones, feeling the fine bones of her knuckles, the softness of her palm.
Wish I could tell her more. Tell her everything. Wonder if the words coming out of my mouth are like poison being let out from a wound. If it might heal me.
Then reason returns, and I clamp my mouth shut. Not because I’m afraid she’ll rat me out to Zane—why would she care?—but because she’ll run away so fast I won’t even have time to say I’m sorry.
Sorry for who I am. For not being who and what she needs. For not being someone fit for company, for the society, for normal things like friendships and hand-holding. The fact she let me so close is precious to me. And even though I know how stupid this is—and I know, believe me—I can’t help but cling to her for as long as she’ll let me.
Even if it means not telling her the truth. Lying. Pretending I don’t want more from her, that I don’t get hard just by looking at her.
Jesus.
“Feeling better?” she asks, and I jerk my chin down in a nod.
Doesn’t matter anyway. She’s done all she could. Emptied and washed the bucket, cleaned me up, brought me water. Let me hold her hand. What more could I ask for?
“How’s your knee?” She glances down at my cotton-clad legs, as she stretches out on top of the comforter. “Did the doctor see it?”
“It’s fine.” Look at me. A pro liar. “The break is all healed up.”
“Since yesterday? You could barely walk.”
Yeah. There’s that. “The leg I broke is the other one.”
And what the fuck’s wrong with my mouth? It keeps spewing out things it shouldn’t.
“The other one? Then why…?” Her face twists into a cute little frown. Her small nose wrinkles as she tries to figure out the riddle after a night without sleep. “How did you hurt it? Was it when you fell? Oh crap, it was, wasn’t it. I’m so sorry!”
Fuck. “Dammit, no. That’s not on you.” I squeeze her hand. “It’s an old thing.”
As old as I feel on days like this. Old like the world.
“What happened?” The million dollar question, but before I can formulate a deflection, a white lie, her hand perches lightly on top of my bad knee, and even through my sweats and the knee brace, I can feel it.
I can always feel her. I’m sure I’d feel her presence in a fucking crowd in a fucking zombie apocalypse.
That’s how screwed I am when it comes to her. I’ve been aware of her ever since Cassie started bringing her along to Halo, the bar where we like to meet and shoot some pool in the evenings.
Haven’t been there in a long while.
And although she’s right here, holding my hand, she might as well be on the moon for the good it does me.
I can’t have her.
“Seth.” She pulls her hand and I let her go. Because that’s what I’m supposed to do. Let her go. “I hope you don’t think I’m too pushy. I… like you.” She blushes and my mouth goes dry. “You’re a nice guy.”
But not the one she wants. This accepting your fate thing is so much harder when I’m close to her.
“I was hoping we could be friends.” She’s looking at me, cautious and expectant and beautiful. She’s everything I want.
I need to stop wanting her.
It’s easier to stop breathing.
“We can be friends,” I say, the words like bitter drops on my tongue.
She smiles, then, and the bitterness fades. “Thank you. I don’t have many friends. I didn’t go to school near here, and the guys from dance school…” She scrunches up her nose again, and I love that. “Let’s just say they’re not interested in friendships.”
“Why not?”
“It’s very competitive, you know?” She looks at me, expecting me to understand, so I nod. Her eyes are bright. “And exhausting and takes up all our time. We can’t afford to spend time on anything else, and—”
The light in her eyes goes out.
Fuck, that’s right. She’s not a part of that anymore. Her lips tremble before she presses them together hard, refusing to cry, and if I wasn’t gone for her already, I’d have fallen for her right now.
She’s a fighter. I knew it.
“Shall we try this once more?” I ask, and she gives me a blank stare. “This sleeping thing. I’m seriously beat, and you look like you could use some rest, too. What do you say?”
Because we’re friends and all. Practically siblings, goddammit.
But when she sighs and lies back down beside me, trusting, warm and real, I don’t fucking care.