“They didn’t tell me why, though.”
“My brother died of leukemia when I was thirteen,” he says.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“No one knows. Only my family, John, and the company’s crisis team. I keep it from the internet.”
“Were you close?”
He smiles somewhat sadly and nods. “Yes, we were. We were twins.”
Twins?
“I like to keep it a secret. I don’t want him in the tabloids amongst my shit.”
“I can understand that.” I take his hand.
He puts his arms around my waist and lays his head against my body, seeking comfort. I can scarcely breathe. I’ve never witnessed him like this. He’s always so calm and controlled. His body is trembling. God only knows how hard it is for him to come to this event every year. He’s had no one to support him, to care for him.
“I’m glad you told me.”
“Tell me about your uncle.” He stops me from going further, tilting his head back to peer up at me.
I take a deep breath. “You won’t think of me differently?”
“No,” he says with such certainty that I don’t have any doubt.
“My uncle was…a disgusting man. I woke up one day and he was touching me. He had never done that before.” I stare over his shoulder. I can’t look into his eyes while I say this. “I opened my eyes. I shouldn’t have. It just spurred him on.”
Digging his fingers into my waist, Benjamin is silent, listening intently. I wish I could know what was going through his mind.
“I was fighting him, telling him to stop.”
“Please tell me he didn’t…?” Benjamin whispers, his words full of anguish.
“He didn’t.” I get up and go over to an empty chair and sit down in it, staring at the shiny black floor. “He didn’t get the chance to. I hurt him.”
Benjamin’s eyes widen in disbelief. “What?”
“I stabbed him with a butter knife on a plate next to my bed.” I remember the moment vividly. I can still feel the dull blade struggling to pierce the skin, finally breaking through the barrier. I remember how good it felt to hurt him.
Benjamin is clearly processing the information I just laid on him. “Did you kill him?”
“No, I didn’t. That’s why I can’t have people investigating my life. My last name is not Fontaine. It’s a name I made up after I ran away.”
“My god,” he utters, clutching his head in confusion.
“Please, don’t turn me in,” I choke out, tears blurring my eyes. “I know it was illegal, but—”
He gravitates to my corner of the room to embrace me tightly, holding my face against his warm chest. Actually telling someone lifts my heavy burden.
“Darce, I would never,” he whispers, pressing his lips to my hair. “I’m so sorry. God, I’m so sorry. I’ll tell my lawyer to stop pursuing the hearing.”
The constricting in my chest lessens a little at his words.
“How do you know your uncle is alive?”
“When I got here, I went online and read the news for Tampa.”
