This isn’t a restful place for me anymore.
It’s a test. I’m pushing myself to stay somewhere that makes me uncomfortable because if I start to avoid sitting in the placewhere Cristofer shot me, my fear will grow, and I don’t like to be afraid of anything. I like to confront my fears.
I drain most of my water and pick at my pasta. “How long does it usually take him to hunt and kill a feral?”
“Not long. By the time news of a wild animal attack hits the papers, the feral is attacking everyone and everything. Aren kills them fast and comes home.”
“He had his enforcers watch me.” I eat more of my pasta, but it’s not as delicious as it was before. Because I’m nearly full, or has this conversation soured my appetite?
“You weren’t behaving like a feral, and something happened on his last hunt in California.”
I turn to look at him. “What happened?”
He’s studying the forest opposite when he shakes his head. “You’ll have to ask him.”
“Because he told you not to tell me?”
He glances at me. “Because you two need to learn to communicate with each other. Aren is terrible at it, and you…”
My eyes narrow, and I point my fork at him warningly. “I have a fork, and I’m not afraid to use it.”
He flashes me a brief smile, light green eyes sparkling. “You have good reason for not trusting him. You never will if I tell you more about him than he will tell you about himself.”
True.
I return to my pasta lunch. “I would prefer there were another way.”
“Another way to do what?”
“Of dealing with ferals. Aren’s way doesn’t seem fair.”
“The world isn’t fair.”
I take a deep breath and release it so I won’t snap at him. He doesn’t deserve it. “I know that.” I study him for a beat. “Why is it easier to talk to you than Aren?”
“Why do you think it is?”
“You’re a good listener,” I guess.
He shrugs. “I’m better than Aren, but most people are since he’s so impatient. I’m no worse than anyone else. Do you think that’s why?”
I study him for a bit longer, considering it.
It’s not just Finan I find it easier to talk to. It’s Gregor, too. Basically, everyone except Aren.
“You won’t use what I say against me,” I realize.
And it hits me just how much Aren hurt me. Being locked in a silver cage was bad enough. But it was things he’d found out about me and Doug, my ex, and flung into my face to hurt me that left scars. He made me feel like it wasn’t safe to tell him anything. That anything I said would be used against me.
That block is still there between us, and I don’t know how or even if I can break it down, or if I even want to. It’s going to require trust. Trusting people is not something I ever learned how to do. Not without someone immediately turning around and stabbing me in the back.
I couldn’t trust anyone in foster care; everyone always seemed to have some secret motivation.
I learned I couldn’t trust my high school ex-boyfriend, who lied about me being a slut and spread stories about me being Trash Girl, the girl cops found looking for food in a dumpster. All because I refused to sleep with him.
Then, in college, when I finally let my guard down and slept with a guy in my first year, I discovered I was just a bet.
Even Cristofer, who I liked and regarded as a friend, turned out to be a killer.
