“Kit?”
“Yes?” he answers, not looking at me.
Words bubble up in my mind, threatening to pour through my lips. The way he revealed himself to me earlier made me feel like maybe I could open up to him. Even trust him with my secrets.
But now I don’t feel safe.
Even though he did open up, he still left out a lot of details. And he stayed far away from the hard topics.
If I start talking about where I’ve been and what’s happened to me… would he understand because it’s what his grandfather did to him?
“Lexa?” he prods, looking slightly frustrated.
“Nothing,” I say firmly. “It’s nothing.”
He gets a strange look in his eyes. It makes me so uncomfortable, I look down and glare at the pizza.
“You still haven’t told me why you left town,” he blurts. “Or where you went.”
I look up at him in shock, a piece of pizza trembling in my shaking hand. It’s so close to what I was thinking that it scares me.
What does he know? Is he trying to tell me he knows the answer to these questions?
“I’d rather not talk about that,” I say, trying to sound firm.
“Why?” he presses. “Is there something you don’t want me to know?”
His eyes seem to turn a brighter blue, burning into me like lasers. The fear ignites down inside my belly, tightening my chest, and all my doubts and questions stir like leaves in a tornado.
“I’m done with this conversation!” I snap, praying that I sound angry, not terrified. “I’m not letting you bully me like this.”
“Bully!” he repeats. “How is it bullying to ask why you left town or where you’ve been living all this time? You left right after we slept together, and then your mother—”
Kit stops talking abruptly, his face going completely white. He stares at me with wild eyes. I don’t know if he’s scared or about to tear me apart in frantic rage.
I can’t take this.
“Fuck you,” I whisper. “How fucking dare you.”
I turn around and storm out of the kitchen, running up the stairs to the bathroom. As I flick the lock, it isn’t lost on me that this is a very routine thing for me to do.
I used to hide in the bathroom from Father… until one night, he broke through it. I had to beg him just to put the door back on. He never replaced the lock.
For a few minutes, I just sit with my back pressed against the door, trying to stop myself from trembling. The idea of sinking into a nice, hot bath is tempting, but I know I’m too wired to enjoy it.
Am I ever going to feel safe? Is this feeling going to chase me for the rest of my life?
When I slip under the hot water in the shower, I immediately feel exhausted. The emotional toll weighs me down, making it hard to keep my eyes open. I rinse myself off quickly and dry off, hoping Kit is asleep by the time I get to the bedroom.
When I walk in, the room is dark. His breathing sounds slow and even. I’m surprised that he can sleep at a time like this, but I’m also grateful I don’t have to talk to him. Part of me wants to shake him awake and scream all my questions in his face. The rest of me wants to run from the house and never see him again.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, I see he’s left me a cup of warm cocoa and some cookies. I have to wonder about this small, sweet gesture that he has done every night and what it means.
Surely, he can’t know this is what mother always made as a treat to make me feel better?
How could he know that?
I crunch through the sweet cookies, washing them down with the warm, rich cocoa. It does make me feel better, and I feel grateful to him for making the effort.
