They were presents.
This was payment.
Payment for what?
I would never accept straight-up cash.
I sat back in my chair, my lips thinning.
He leaned forward, understanding my subtle refusal. “I thought as much.” Taking the bill, he creased the green paper, his face shedding the tense affliction between us and becoming almost innocent in study. His fingers crimped and folded, magically turning flat money into a simple crane even I had been taught in school.
Pushing it back toward me, he murmured, “Now, it’s a gift. Not payment.”
I hated that he understood me so much. That he could read me so well. It was an invasion of my privacy. An assault on everything I tried to keep hidden and secret.
I paused for a second before reaching forward and plucking the green bird from the table-cloth. Just because he’d read me correctly didn’t mean I’d punish him for it. I loved his origami just as much as I hated his music.
Cradling it in my palm, I nodded in acceptance. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. It’s in return for something.”
“For what?”
He rubbed his jaw. “For things I want to know.”
I sat in silence, trying to make sense of this.
Elder leaned forward, his hands clasped together, elbows resting on the table. “For each question I ask, you will give me an answer.”
I waited for more.
When he didn’t continue, I asked, “Where does the money come in?”
“I told you I’d give you a set worth. A value you had to repay in order to earn your freedom. You refused my offer of freedom. Now, you must do what I say to receive it.”
“And if I don’t want it?” I blurted, surprising both of us with brutal honesty. “If I don’t want to return home to a city I no longer feel safe in, to a mother who never liked me, and to friends who no longer know me? What then?”
“Then you take your money and start a new life.”
My heart panged to think of another existence. One without travel and yachts, and most of all him. I wasn’t superficial. I didn’t like Elder for the expensive lifestyle he could give me. I liked Elder for the quality of life he could give me. The understanding he offered. The kindred knowledge he shared. Those attributes were priceless in my eyes.
Twirling the crane, I whispered, “So you still want to be rid of me?”
“It’s not a matter of what I want, Pim.” He glowered. “It’s about what’s right.”
I didn’t reply for a moment, trying to understand what was right and wrong. Was our connection wrong? Was whatever growing between us something terrible and in need of severing? Who was pure enough to judge right and wrong? Who was there to tell us we were breaking the rules when we were making our own and finding ground where we could both survive?
I looked up, studying the grey shadows under his eyes and the tension in his jaw. Elder seemed so capable that I forgot what he’d told me. Conveniently ignored his need for simplicity, music, and the unorthodox ways to keep his tendencies at bay.
“You want me gone for you.”
He shook his head. “That’s not true.”
“So you deny I’m making your life more complicated?”
He snorted, his bark becoming a sad laugh. “I would never deny that when it’s so painfully true.”
I bit my lip, hating how helium had replaced oxygen making me squeaky and thin and ready to burst at any moment. “Oh.” So I was the wrong in this equation. Elder was my right, but I was his wrong. As I healed, he succumbed. As I got better, he got worse.
We couldn’t survive together because I fed off his charity and protectiveness while he drowned under my fledgling sexuality and hope.
I supposed it was a good thing to be honest with each other. To know now that no matter what happened tonight, we started this knowing we had an ending.
You knew that, Pim!
You always knew this was temporary.
Just because I knew didn’t mean it wasn’t a rusty blade stabbing at my heart.
Stroking the money crane as if it would come alive and peck at the crumbs left from dinner, I murmured, “How much am I worth?”
His jaw clenched. “How much do you think you’re worth?”
What an awful question. Answer too low and he would still believe I hadn’t overcome my past. Answer too high, and he would think I was above his help and send me away. That I valued myself more than I valued him. “I can’t answer that.”
“In that case, how much do you think I’m worth?” His eyes glowed black, daring me to guess.
The question caught me by surprise. “Do you mean literal net worth or figurative soul price?”
“Are they two separate things?”
“Definitely.” I placed the hundred dollar crane on the table, resting it in the middle of my napkin as if the white linen was a pond it had just landed upon. “A soul is priceless and could never have a monetary sum attached. Net worth might make a difference in this life, but when we die, we’re all worth the same.”