“A far cry from anywhere.” Shyness tightens my throat, but I’ve lived for too long in the shadow of my past. “I’d like it if you held me. For comfort.” And for more, although I’m not bold enough to spell it out.
He hesitates long enough I think he’s going to refuse.
Then he sits on the bed beside me. He lies down on top of the covers, still wearing his clothes. He even has his boots on. Hardly the intimacy I was hoping for, but when he pulls me close, I sigh in repletion. A kiss to my crown that doesn’t end. His breath stirs my hair.
The warmth soothes me the way I hoped, but I can’t shake the feeling that we’re not alone in this bed, that old ghosts followed him into the room, that they hover around us now, dark and insistent. “This place is like a freaking castle,” I whisper, and his lips curve in a smile. “And my father actually liked to stay at nice places when we traveled before.”
“It took some getting used to after the barracks in the army.”
He has talked about his time in the army, even though I know there’s a lot that’s classified. That part I understand. It’s what comes before that’s still a mystery. He told me about the well. About how his father would throw him down there. It’s very little to know about someone’s childhood. Enough to make me afraid to learn more. Is it possible to know the man without his past? Can anyone appear fully formed without being impacted every day from what came before?
“And your house before the army,” I say, bracing myself, fortifying my courage against what I’m sure will be a brick wall. Possibly I’ll even face his scorn. He won’t like this.
He stiffens, but he doesn’t immediately push me away. That’s better than I expected. The ghosts around us seem to stir, as if some of them came from the past. As if they like being mentioned.
“Yes,” he says, his voice low. “Different from that.”
It’s not much of an invitation, but more than he’s ever shown before. I feel like someone navigating an ancient temple filled with traps. One wrong step, and I might be faced with flying arrows or boulders with spikes running down a ramp. “What was it like instead?”
A long silence. The ghosts become thick in the room.
“It was… dirty. That’s the main thing I remember. There was barely enough money for food. Definitely none for Windex. Even the water came out brown from the tap, as if nothing there could ever be pure.”
My heart squeezes. “I’m sorry.”
“I think living in the woods would have been cleaner, actually. At least there would have been fresh air. We lived in such filth that the bugs had a field day. They feasted on us, until it felt more like their home than ours.”
A heave of my stomach. “You don’t have to—”
“Disgusting, isn’t it? I learned to pick fleas and ticks off my body the way other children fiddle with the controls of a video game. I never expected to be free of them completely. They stuck to my skin. They climbed into my eyes while I slept because they liked the moisture.”
I sit up abruptly with a useless wave of my hand, as if I can bat the ghosts away. Of course they aren’t real. They’re inside him. Inside Liam. “I wish I could meet your father,” I cry, tears in my eyes. The moisture that fleas would seek. “I would hit him over and over again. I would hurt him.”
A soft chuckle. “So bloodthirsty. Perhaps you and I aren’t so different after all.”
“Wasn’t there someone? A teacher or—”
“My mother did her best while she was there. She would wash our clothes in the powdered soap we purchased in bulk. It dried outside in the sun, where the heat could kill anything living there. At least until it was brought back inside the house. It was worse when she left. Most of the teachers knew better than to confront my father. They might find someone waiting for them at night.”
His mother left. My mother left. It leaves a hole of a certain shape that can never be filled. It’s always there, wondering why you weren’t good enough. I put my hand over his chest, feeling the way the breath rises and falls. “Why did she go?”
“Why did she stay as long as she did? That’s the question. I suppose I’m the reason.”
Tears burn behind my eyes. “You blame yourself.”
“After Elijah I suppose she realized it would never end. It was a rough delivery. There was no doctor. She must have known my father would continue getting her pregnant until she finally died.”
“Have you looked for her?” It’s something North Security does—find people. They trade in information even more than weapons. That’s the world we live in.
“No.” A wealth of emotion hides beneath the steel of his voice. “Why should I?”
“Because she’s your mother.” If mine hadn’t died I would have sought her out. Of course, if mine hadn’t died I would have gone to her when my father was thought dead.
I never would have met Liam North.
“Not anymore.”
Sympathy rises like a fine mist. “You’re angry at her. I understand that but—”