UnWholly (Unwind Dystology 2)
Risa sighs. “It’s not a place you want to go, Cam.”
“Maybe I do.”
She doesn’t have the strength to fight it, so she lies back down and fixes her eyes on the stars as she speaks. “Impulsive. Brooding. Occasionally self-loathing.”
“Sounds like a real gem.”
“You didn’t let me finish. He’s also clever, loyal, passionate, responsible, and a strong leader, but is too humble to admit all that to himself.”
“Is?”
“Was,” she says, covering. “Sometimes it feels like he’s still here.”
“I think I would have liked to have known him.”
Risa shakes her head. “He’d hate you.”
“Why?”
“Because he was also jealous.”
Silence falls between them again, but this time it’s not awkward at all.
“I’m glad you shared that with me,” Cam says. “There’s something I’d like to share with you, too.”
Risa has no idea what he’s going to say, but she finds she’s actually curious.
“Did you know a kid named Samson when you were back at the state home?” he asks.
She searches her thoughts. “Yes—he was on the harvest camp bus with me.”
“Well, he had a secret crush on you.”
At first it boggles Risa how he would know this, and when the truth dawns on her, a surge of reflexive adrenaline triggers her fight-or-flight response. She gets up, fully prepared to run back to the mansion, or jump off the cliff, or whatever it will take to get away from this revelation, but Cam eclipses her like a moon before one of his precious stars.
“Algebra!” he says. “He was a math whiz. I got the part of him that does algebra. It’s just a tiny part, but when I came across your picture, well, I guess it was enough to make me stop and take notice. Then, when Roberta heard that you’d been captured, she pulled strings to get you here. For me. So it’s my fault that you’re here.”
She doesn’t want to look at him, but she can’t stop. It’s like looking at a traffic accident. “How am I supposed to feel about this, Cam? I can’t pretend not to be horrified! I’m here because of some whim you had, but that whim wasn’t even yours! It was that poor kid’s!”
“No, it wasn’t like that,” says Cam quickly. “Samson was like . . . like a friend who taps you on the shoulder to get your attention . . . but what I feel for you—it’s all me. Not just algebra, but, well, the whole equation.”
She turns her back to him, grabbing the blanket and wrapping it around herself. “I want you to go now.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, “but I didn’t want there to be any secrets between us.”
“Please leave.”
He keeps his distance, but he doesn’t go. “ ‘I’d rather be partly great than entirely useless.’ Wasn’t that the last thing he said to you? I feel it’s my responsibility to make that wish come true.”
And finally he goes inside, leaving her alone with way too many people’s thoughts.
- - -
Ten minutes later Risa still stands with the blanket wrapped around her, not wanting to go inside, but the circular pattern of her own thoughts begins to nauseate her.
I can’t give in to this—I must give in to this—I can’t give in to this, over and over until she just wants to shut herself down.
When she finally steps into the house, she hears music, which is not unusual, but this music isn’t being pumped through the sound system. Someone is playing classical guitar. The piece sounds Spanish, and although many things sound Spanish when played on a classical twelve-string, this has a definite flamenco feel.