He shook his head, the cords in his neck tight with tension.
Something was wrong. Very wrong. He had episodes. His bitch mom made them sound scary. And violent. “Are you sick?” Tears congregated in her eyes. She hadn’t been able to find one drop of mourning for Mom, but the mere hint of something happening to Lathan was enough to make her cry an ocean.
“No. God, no. I’m fine.” His expression softened. He caught a tear as it started its slide down her cheek, brought it to his lips, and tasted it.
Her heart went weightless inside her. She felt like it was falling but recognized what the sensation was—she was falling in love with him.
“Don’t cry over me. I never want to be a source of your pain.” Sincerity sounded in his voice.
“Then tell me. I need to know or I’m going to think the worst. Especially after seeing Mom…”
He closed his eyes and shook his head in timeless resignation. “I didn’t want to do this. Especially not today.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbed. “I have a genetic anomaly. The olfactory regions of my brain are twice their normal size. My olfactory sense is off the charts. They literally can’t even measure it. I can smell everything.” His sad gray eyes opened and bore directly into her soul. “Even memories.”
Even memories. Even memories. Even memories. Memories. Her memories. Did she even have any good memories? Not until she’d met him. Her face began to tingle. A muted throbbing began behind her eyes. She wanted to call him a liar, claim that what he said couldn’t possibly be the truth. But his honesty was etched in the misery on his face. “How?”
“Every moment of our lives we’re breathing. Our brains automatically link whatever scent is in the air to activity in that moment. The action of linking scent and memory leaves energy markers on people. My nose smells those markers, and my brain sees the memory contained inside.”
The throbbing intensified. Her throat felt funny, like she couldn’t swallow. Could she even speak? “You’ve seen my memories.”
“I can’t smell your memories. I think it has something to do with how you said food doesn’t taste right. Scent plays an important part in people’s appetites.”
Thank God and all his tubby little angels. If Lathan ever saw the horrors in her mind, her humiliation would be deeper than a bottomless abyss. “So an episode is when you’re having…er…smelling someone’s memory?”
“Pretty much.”
“And that’s what happened at Mom’s? You were smelling a memory.”
“Yeah.”
“Whose memory?”
Something shifted in his eyes, softened into an expression she’d never seen from him before. Recognition slammed into her. Pity. He was giving her a look overflowing with pity.
That day he’d almost hit her in the kitchen, he’d gotten mad at her for pitying him. Back then, she didn’t understand his anger. Now she got it. Pity sucked giant elephant balls. His pity made her a victim. Pity pissed her off.
“You know.” Her brain paused, letting the space between thoughts grow infinite while she waited for confirmation.
“Since the night I met you. From Junior.”
He hadn’t even questioned what she meant. He didn’t need to. He knew. No wonder he never asked her questions about Junior. About her mom. About her life. He already knew the answers.
“How could you not tell me something this important? I trusted you.” She tried to pull her hand out of his, but he kept a viselike grip on her.
“And I’ve never betrayed your trust. Not once. Let me explain.” He spoke with a calm his face didn’t express.
“Explain!” The word exploded from her mouth loud enough that he had to have heard it. “You just did. From the moment I met you, you’ve been secretly looking at everyone’s memories about me. Not many good ones, are there? Bet you really enjoyed Matt’s and—”
“You wanna know why I didn’t tell you?” The volume of Lathan’s voice overrode her. “Because of the reaction you’re having right now. And—” He dragged her toward the stairs.
She tried to pull back, but his strength was far superior to hers. “Let me go.” Anger made her resist him the entire way up the stairs, but his grip never slackened.
In the bedroom, he stopped in front of his dresser and dropped her hand. Curiosity kept her rooted to the spot.
He ripped open the bottom drawer and scooped out an armload of files. He dropped them at her feet. “—this. This is why I didn’t tell you. Because after you read through just a few pages, you’ll prefer Morty’s Motor Lodge over staying with me.”
His face was red. His eyes bloodshot and shiny and pleading. He turned and left the room.
Anger at his deceit roiled beneath her skin. There was nothing these papers could possibly say that would excuse him for not telling her he knew every rotten detail of her life. She almost followed him to tell him as much, but the file titled Children’s Hospital caught her attention.
She opened it.
June 12, 1989
Name: Lathaniel Owen Montgomery
DOB: May 28, 1983
Presenting Problem:
Six-year-old boy of below-average weight and above-average height. His parents have brought him in—at the insistence of the boy’s pediatrician—for his continual violent outbursts. On several occasions, he has struck both of his parents, but both insist they don’t believe his violence is intentional. He becomes unresponsive to them and appears to be responding to internal stimuli—hallucinations—and acts out according to what he is seeing. The boy rarely eats, claiming his food always tastes bad. His pediatrician has mentioned a feeding tube if the weight loss persists.
Observations:
The patient acts in a bizarre manner. He sweeps his hands through the air as if he is blind, yet his eyes are open. His left eye flutters and moves independent of the right one. His parents claim their doctor has said their son’s eyes are normal. The boy’s behavior is always worse following this kind of episode where his eye is moving.