“I don’t like that.”
He grabs my leg and tries to pull me back, and when he stands up he has an erection. Vomit rises up my throat and then rage. His hand rubs between my legs, and I can’t control the rage. I buck against him and throw my head into his.
He cries out in pain, but I do not care. I reach for the lamp from the bedside and crash it over his head. He backs away from me, his head bleeding and his eyes wide. He sees now. He sees the monster I am.
He flees towards the front of the church, but my training won’t let him go. Neither will my rage. Alex said this place would help me. I don’t understand. He was supposed to help me.
I chase after him, down the aisles while I shout out the same words.
“You were supposed to help me!”
He tries to leave. But I cannot let him. We are never to let an enemy escape with his life. I throw the lamp at the back of his head. He falls to the ground, and the rage finally consumes me. I cannot control myself any longer. I grasp the lamp in my hands and bring it down over his head.
And I hit him again. And again. And again. Until there is nothing but red.
It feels good.
“You were supposed to help me.”
I repeat those words, until there is nothing left of his face, and my voice is nothing more than a whisper. And then I curl into myself and wish more than anything that I knew what to do.
I don’t know how long I sit there for.
I only know that when I look up again, there is a woman standing over me with a trembling hand clutched over her mouth. Beside her, a boy my age is looking down at the blood around me. His eyes are wide, and his cheeks heated with embarrassment when they land on me.
I glance down at myself and work out that I’m still half naked, covered in blood. I have no explanation to give them. So I say the only thing I can.
“He was supposed to help me.”
***
Sasha is in the kitchen and I’m at the table.
I have a newspaper in my hands, but my eyes are on her. Watching her move around as she cooks. I don’t know what it is, but it smells good. And she keeps feeding the dog -Daisy-little scraps.
I haven’t worked out what to do with her. I can’t stay at the house all the time. But I can’t let her leave. She believed me. She believed my lie so easily that it feels wrong. But when I watch her moving around my home, and smell her scent around me, I cannot be sorry.
She is so beautiful.
She looks over her shoulder and catches me staring. I look away, but before I do, she smiles.
“It’s ready,” she says.
A moment later, she’s pushing a plate in front of me. I stare at it too long, and Sasha looks worried.
“It’s an omelet,” she says. “You like eggs, don’t you?”
“I’ve never had them this way,” I admit.
“Really?” she smiles again. “Well then you won’t be disappointed that it’s only cheese and veggies. You don’t have much in your fridge.”
She sits down and starts to eat, and I bring the plate to my nose and sniff. Her fork clatters onto her plate, and when I glance up, she’s watching me with a strange expression. I tear my eyes away and take a tentative bite.
“I haven’t poisoned you, Ronan,” she laughs. “If that’s what you’re thinking.”
I frown, and her face grows serious. “Did you really think I might have poisoned you?”
I don’t like seeing her upset. And I made her that way. So I take a bite. And it’s good. I tell her so, and she relaxes again. I make a note to tell her the food is grand any time she cooks for me.
“I’ll have Conor do some food shopping today,” I tell her. “You can make a list if you’d like.”
“Okay,” she agrees.
We eat in silence, and I finish before her. When I look up at her she seems happy. And I think maybe having her here with me will be okay. But that changes when she asks her next question and reminds me of the things I can never have.
“Tell me about your childhood,” she says softly.
“I lived with Crow,” I answer.
She waits for more, but I don’t know what else to say.
“No, before that.”
I shift in my seat and focus my attention on Daisy, who’s sitting on my foot again. “Why?”
“Because I want to know you, Ronan. Is that okay?”
I don’t answer her. A flood of images come back to me, but I don’t know how to sort them into words. I don’t think I could even if I tried. I’ve tried with Crow. Sometimes I’ve been able to explain things. But even he doesn’t know everything.
Sasha reaches across the table and grabs my hand. I stare at her fingers, observing how small they are against my own. How soft she is compared to my skin. Like silk.
“It’s okay, Ronan,” she says. “You don’t need to tell me right now.”
She takes our plates to the sink and then comes back a moment later.
“Hey, you can get prescriptions, right?”