He sounded so reasonable. So rational. As though I was a fair partner in this deal. He knew it wasn’t true. But I finally understood a corner of that sorrow that had been beaten into him. I understood the need for him to pull a veil over what he was doing.
He was not the only one here who was ashamed of the past.
“A trade.”
“Question for question.”
“That means you’re staying.”
“That’s part of the trade. But that also means you’re staying with me.”
The hint of desire in the curve of his lip. I saw all of the little things. I saw them, but did he want me to see them? Was he twisting me around him again with emotion?
I couldn’t shove the thought back into a dark corner of my brain. It was apparent in every movement he made.
He wanted me.
And I wanted him.
It may be delusion, but if it was, then it was the most delicious delusion I had ever tasted. His touch sent shivers of sparks through me that danger alone could not account for.
I wanted the soft part of him, yes, the lover, the charmer. The gentleman. But I also wanted the part of him that was raw and rough, the part of him that tied me up. The side that dressed perfectly because perfection was expected.
I could not be perfect, I thought, looking down at my wrists. Of all the imperfections of my body, these were the ones that would stay forever.
“Question for question.”
“So that you can know more about me. And I can know more about you.”
“Who goes first?”
He smiled.
“I knew you would want to play,” he said.
“How did you know?”
“Because you’re a curious little kitten, that’s why,” he said, falling back onto his side next to me. His hand caressed my cheek, holding me in the palm of his hand. Possessive.
“Okay,” I said. “You go first.”
His hand stroked the underside of my chin idly.
“What’s the first thing you remember?”
“The very first thing?”
“And no bullshit about remembering when you left the womb. Those aren’t real memories.”
“No. I remember…”
I closed my eyes and thought back. Back to when I was four, maybe five.
“I remember my mom taking me on a picnic in the park. There was a field, a huge field of clover. It probably wasn’t that big, not really, but to me it looked like an ocean of green. My mom told me to look for a four-leaf clover. If I found one, it would be lucky.”
“Did you find one?”
I shook my head.
“I didn’t even look. There was a dandelion, big and yellow, and I picked that instead. You remember what they said when we were kids? You had to smell the dandelion while thinking about someone you love. And if your nose turned yellow that meant they loved you back.”
“Who did you think about?”
“I didn’t think about anyone. Is that weird? I didn’t care about that. I wished for my parents to love each other instead.”
“And?”
“It didn’t work. I don’t even remember getting home from the picnic. I must have blocked it out. He… I don’t think he loved anyone. I don’t know why my mom stayed with him.”
“It’s hard to leave. My mother didn’t leave, either.”
His hand had stopped moving against my skin. I could tell that he was off in the past, thinking about it.
“You couldn’t have done anything to stop it.”
His eyes narrowed, found mine.
“How do you know that?”
“You can’t do anything when it’s like that. They’re not going to change. I thought—I thought that if I stopped asking for toys, stopped wanting anything, that my dad would be happier. I thought that if I stayed locked inside myself that he wouldn’t be bothered by me. I didn’t want to be a burden at all. I didn’t want to make him angry. But it didn’t work.”
“It wasn’t you.”
“Tell that to a five-year old kid,” I said, laughing sadly. “But it wasn’t you, either. You couldn’t have stopped him.”
“I could have killed him,” he said.
I was quiet. There wasn’t any anger in his eyes, only regret.
“Where’s your father now?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. “If I knew, I would have killed him already. Sometimes I think that’s the only way to stop the shadow from coming back. But I’ve looked and looked. He got away.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’ve stopped looking for him. Maybe he’s dead already.”
The silence between us was so intimate. I wanted to lean forward and kiss him, hug him, pull him into my arms and tell him that it would be alright. But there was nothing that would be alright, not with him. Not with me.
“Your turn,” I whispered.
“What can I do now?” he asked. He didn’t expect an answer - it sounded more like a cry to heaven than a real question.
How could I answer him? I didn’t know what it was like to be a killer. I didn’t know what it was like to want to murder people, to have that dark of a need. I reached up and took his hand, brought it to my lips. All the while I looked into his eyes.
If I was never going to escape this place, I could do this for him.
“I want you to take it out on me,” I said. “Everything.”