“Good.” It’s the only response that feels right. Maybe it’s not right to wish death on anyone, but I don’t feel sorry that it happened.
The corners of Sebastian’s lips lift. He’s clearly amused by my answer.
“Why did he do it?” I know I’m pushing my luck, but I’m taking advantage of his momentary willingness to divulge information.
“Eros and I were just kids. He took us camping. We rode our dirt bikes. Took us fishing. Made s’mores around the campfire. Gave us one of the best days of our lives before swallowing a handle of vodka. We went to bed, and the next thing I knew, Eros was screaming from his sleeping bag and his dad was on top of him with a knife.”
Tears burn my eyes, and I fight to keep them from falling, but thinking of a baby Sebastian and Eros going through something so horrific makes it nearly impossible. My chest aches as sadness for them wars with rage for Eros’ dad.
“If he wasn’t dead, I’d kill him,” I announce.
Sebastian lifts an eyebrow, not expecting that from me, I’m sure. His hands smooth up and down my thighs in a comforting gesture. “Me too.”
“What else happened?” I don’t know why I ask. I know they made it out alive, but I feel like I need to hear the end of this story.
He stares blankly ahead as he finishes his story. “I wrestled him off Eros, but not before he got him good.” I think about Eros’ scar that runs from the top of his shoulder to the underside of his peck, my skin prickling with anger. I want to find him and hug him. How can someone go through something like that and still be so happy, so full of life? “He came after me next. Got me under the lip before Eros hit him over the head with a lantern. We took off on our dirt bikes, trying to remember how to get back to where we came from—our parents were with a different carnival back then—but he’d taken us so far out in the middle of nowhere, and it was so dark that it was a lost cause.” His thumb bounces on my thigh, but I don’t even think he notices he’s doing it. “Finally, a police officer on his way home from the night shift spotted us and brought us to the hospital. Doctors said Eros was lucky to be alive. He needed over fifty fucking staples to close his chest.”
My stomach twists, and I think I might puke. I flatten my lips to steady my trembling chin. “How did he die?”
“He shot himself at the campsite. I think he planned to kill himself all along. He just wanted to kill us first.”
“But why?” I ask angrily. “Why would anyone want to hurt two little boys?”
“He had his reasons.” Sebastian won’t meet my eyes, his nostrils flaring. He stands, depositing me back onto the table. “Story time’s over.”
And then he’s walking out the door.
Not knowing what to do with myself, I stand, grabbing my phone from the counter before digging my music box out of my suitcase. I crawl into Sebastian’s bunk and curl up under his blankets, tucking the music box into my chest. I have the sudden urge to call my dad. He used to fix everything. He was a good man once—the best man—before he threw it all away for a little white pill. I turn my phone over, scrolling through my call log to find his name, but it’s been so long that I’ve used his number that it’s not even there. I dial the number I know by heart, hoping by some miracle he’ll answer and tell me he’s okay. That he’s getting better.
The phone rings. And rings. And rings. Finally, it goes to his voicemail, the recording still from before. “You’ve reached Dr. Gavin Thorne. If this is a medical emergency, please hang up and dial nine-one-one. Otherwise, leave your name and number and I’ll call you back at my earliest convenience.” It physically hurts to hear his voice. To remember what he was like before his addiction stole him from us. Sometimes, loving an addict feels more like mourning their death.
“Dad…” I start, but my voice breaks. I clear my throat before continuing. “It’s me. I love you. And I guess… I guess I just called to say that I’m not ready to lose you yet. I don’t care what you’ve done. It’s not too late to make it better. Please get help.” I hang up the phone, covering my mouth as I finally let out the tears that I’ve been holding back for the better part of two years. I cry for Sebastian and Eros, and I cry for the man my dad used to be. And I cry for me. For the sixteen-year-old girl who lost her father to addiction and never really dealt with it.
I don’t know how long I cry, soaking Sebastian’s pillows with tears until I drift to sleep, thinking about two little boys in sleeping bags.
MY MIND STIRS AWAKE. I’M warm and comfortable, so comfortable that I slip back into sleep. I’m on my side, and a strong arm is curled around my waist protectively. Light snores come from behind me, and I can feel his breath puffing up the baby hairs at the nape of my neck. Am I still dreaming?
My eyes shoot open, finally conscious enough to remember that I fell asleep in Sebastian’s bed last night. Slowly, I turn toward him. He doesn’t even stir. He looks so innocent like this. So young. I stretch my neck to press my lips to the scar under his lip before laying my head back down, soaking up this feeling while I can. I’ve never been held like this before, and I have the sinking feeling that once Sebastian wakes up, he’ll go back to being his calloused, grumpy self, shattering the illusion of safety.
I can tell the moment he rouses, feeling something else rouse along with him. He stretches his arms above his head, his hips pushing into me. His eyes aren’t even open when he rolls me onto my back, fitting himself in between my thighs. I’m still not wearing underwear, and I can feel every inch of him through his boxers.
“Morning,” he says into my neck. His voice is deep and gravelly with sleep as he holds my arms above my head, pressing himself into me.
A soft moan slips out, and he covers my mouth with his palm, rocking into me once more. Our breathing turns heavy, our bodies coated with a light sheen of sweat. I’m about to come when I hear the door to the trailer spring shut. My wide eyes snap up to meet Sebastian’s, but it’s too late, I’m already falling over the edge, and Sebastian keeps moving, his rough palm covering my mouth as he grinds into me, taking advantage of the privacy curtain on his bunk.
I come quietly, heart pounding, blood rushing into my ears. Sebastian slowly rolls his hips, bringing me down before he pushes off me and opens the curtain. I try to slink back against the wall, making as little noise as possible.
“What are you doing up this early?” Sebastian asks.
“Haven’t gone to bed yet,” Eros explains, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
Sebastian bends over, retrieving his jeans from the night before then walks away. A second later, I hear the bathroom door shut.
“Good morning, Evan,” Eros sings, and I know from his tone alone that he heard us. I adjust my dress, pulling it down to cover my ass before swinging my legs over the side of the bed. Thankfully, Lathan and Tres are passed out on their bunks across from me, oblivious.
Remembering what Sebastian told me last night, I stand, padding toward Eros, before I throw my arms around his waist, laying my head against his chest—against the eight-inch, puckered scar. I don’t say anything, not wanting to throw Sebastian under the bus for telling me something so personal. I hear his heartbeat, strong and steady. At first, he doesn’t react. He holds his arms out at his sides, his posture stiff, but then his huge palm flattens against the back of my head.
“I always knew you had a thing for me, Jailbait.”