“Sorry, I don’t know why I’m so messed up. Must be the food poisoning.”
She ignores me, or it’s possible she didn’t hear me. “Be right back.” She takes off and her retreating figure blurs to mix with the evergreens.
Sleep begs to take me. A cool breeze combines with the warm sun that filters through the boughs and settles against my skin. My eyelids grow heavy, but before they fall shut, a hand grips my chin.
“I need you to eat.” She shoves a sandwich into my hand.
I push it back to her. “I can’t. I—”
Her face comes close to mine, so close I can feel her breath on my lips, see the tiny flecks of gray in her eyes, and smell the sweet scent of her shampoo. “Do you trust me?”
“No.”
“Eat it.” Her eyes are cold and hard; this isn’t a request, and I’m too tired to fight.
I take a bite of the sandwich and groan as the flavor floods my mouth. I’m suddenly ravenous, as if all my internal organs just realized they were starving.
She relaxes a little as I swallow bite after bite, until finally she drops next to me to lean against the tree, legs cocked, forearms resting against her jean-clad knees.
As soon as I finish the sandwich, she hands me a bottled water. I drink it in seconds, and she hands me another.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know why—”
“You haven’t eaten since Friday.”
“So?”
Her head tilts and she pins me with a glare that has me dropping my eyes to avoid it. “It’s Monday, Lucas.”
My head whips around. “What?”
She shoves a bag of green grapes in front of my face. “Eat.”
I do as I’m told. Fear of getting sick tickles the back of my mind but my hunger overtakes my unease.
“I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I get the feeling you’re just as clueless as I am.”
I stop chewing, shocked at how well she can read me, and then shove more grapes in my mouth.
“Thing is, a lot happened and . . .” She turns her eyes toward mine and hurt shines through them. “We need to have a serious talk.”
FIFTEEN
SHYANN
Thank God he’s back.
As much as I want to tie him up and interrogate him about what all went down on Friday night, what the hell he did for two days holed up in his house, I can tell he’s scared. That lost look in his eyes I feel in my chest.
A flicker of the terrified boy I’ve seen before is back and the confusion on his face is enough to rip open old wounds.
I spent all weekend in the office researching what I thought was going on with Lucas, and after collecting as much information as I could, I’m afraid to be right.
Oh, Lucas, what have you been through?
After I feed him my entire lunch, including my midmorning and midafternoon snack, as well as my emergency chocolate stash, his color seems better. He’s more alert and has the energy to hold up his own body.
We’re tucked back far enough into the forest that no one can see us, but saws and nail guns can be heard beyond the trees. I turn to him and catch him staring at me, his eyebrows pinched together, and he’s chewing that bottom lip that I know feels even softer than it looks. He studies the ground.
“Who’s Gage?” Ugh . . . smooth approach, Shyann. Then again, finesse has never been my thing.
“Gage is . . . me.” His shoulders drop and he shakes his head. “It’s complicated.”
I knew it. He’s in there, both Gage and Lucas. “What do you know?”
He licks his lips and pulls his knees up to rest his forearms on them. “Ever since I can remember, I’ve had these . . . blackouts.”
I swallow, nervous more for him than myself.
“They were random at first, or at least I thought. But when I got older, I noticed a pattern, like, they never happened at school or when I was home alone with my sister and brothers. They always happened when I was in trouble for something.”
“How long do they usually last?”
He digs the heel of his boot into the dirt, raking out a hole it seems he’d rather crawl into than keep talking.
“It’s okay. You can trust me.”
“When I was ten, I went dark for days. When I came to, I couldn’t remember anything.”
I turn my head away, attempting to hide my shock, hoping he doesn’t see my reaction to the disturbing information. “You always lose days? Like this weekend?”
“No, on average they last a few hours. Sometimes less. Depends on how bad things are.” He grimaces.
“What kind of things?” I’m terrified to know the answer.
“Back then? The punishments.” He gazes at me with troubled eyes. “Now? The threat.”
“What did it this time?”
He shrugs and whispers, “You were upset. I wanted to . . . comfort you. That’s the last thing I remember.”
My gut churns, a sickening feeling only rivaled by my sadness. “You felt threatened . . . by me?”
“Women. They trigger them.” He cringes slightly away from me as if he’s expecting me to lash out.