“You had dreams, okay? You were...you were in and out of consciousness.” I made eye contact with him before looking back at our linked hands. “Occasionally, you’d wake as someone else. No, not someone else. You were still yourself, just at different times in your life.”
His fingers loosened around my wrist, trembling as he pulled away. “Go on.”
“You...at one point, you thought I was Quell.”
“What?” He froze, shaking his head as if his concussion sucked him backward. “No, I—”
“You called out to your family. You told them to run. That you’d...take care of things.”
He choked, holding up his palm. “Enough. I’ve heard enough.”
Scooting upright, I sat on my knees, the leash once again following me as I moved. I knew I shouldn’t. I should honor his wishes to stop. But the desire to help smash his walls and make him realize he was safe was too strong. The sooner he trusted me—the quicker he faced his memories and found happiness—the safer I would be too.
“I don’t think you’ve heard enough at all. I think you’ve suppressed a hell of a lot of stuff from your past. Stuff that’s slowly killing you. What you lived through here...in this place?” I exhaled hard. “God, I can’t imagine the pain, the despair, the horror you all went through.”
His head shot up. “You don’t know shit.”
“I agree with you. No one should have to go through what you did. But you also can’t pretend it didn’t happen. You’re shoving it away. It’s there, inside you, but instead of facing it, you bury it. You would rather—”
“Just because you heard some insane mumblings from a guy who has the worst fucking concussion in history—while he was asleep, mind you—doesn’t reveal the truth. It’s not real. None of it is real. You’re mistaken.”
“If it’s not real, how do you explain the books?”
Once again, he went horrifyingly still. “What books?”
I gulped, wishing I’d never started this. I wasn’t just playing with fire; I’d drenched myself in a can of gasoline. “The Fables by Stuart Page. Morals for all occasions.”
The immediate change in him terrified me.
He shut down.
His eyes went blank, his jaw went slack, his body swayed as if he was about to pass out. I wanted him to. He needed to rest. This was too much, too soon. I’d overstepped and been far too hasty.
Way to go, Gem.
Shifting toward him, I touched his thigh, his arm, his cheek.
Up close, I was wrong that his stare had gone blank. It hadn’t. The opposite was true. Black thoughts all crammed inside, obsidian memories, charcoal agony, and a lifetime of tar-coated torture. It was crowded in there. Far too congested with darkness to ever hope he could be pulled into the light.
God, what have I done?
I’d pushed him off a different cliff this time.
His mind was free-falling, tumbling, tangled with evil abominations of his past.
Cupping his cheeks in both my hands, I had to do something to put an end to those soul-sucking shadows inside him. For a man who’d been touched against his will so much, I refused to kiss him or use affection that could come across as demands.
Instead, I stroked his scruff and ran my thumbs over his dry lips.
Kindness.
Give him kindness.
“Hey...it’s okay. Just...come back to me. Go back to sleep. You’re safe. I promise on my life that you’re safe. I’m not leaving, you have my word. I’ll go collect some food, alright? I’ll cook for you. I’ll come back with a feast, and we’ll have a picnic on the carpet. We can talk. How does that sound? Nothing more. You can trust me with everything you are. All you have to do is go to sleep. I’ll pick some delicious cucumbers and grate a few carrots, and I’ll even try to cook some french fries like you did that day. Unless you have a request, of course. I’ll make whatever you want. Name a vegetable, and it’s yours.”
Something switched inside him.
A trigger I’d somehow stupidly activated.
Rearing back, he swatted my hands off his face. “Vegetable?” His lips twisted into a snarl. A fury cloaked him, fierce and brutal—a menacing fervor I hadn’t seen since the first time we met—when he’d stood naked at the bottom of the stairs and flew like a demon to kill me.
Grabbing my shoulders, he used me as a crutch to trip to his feet before jerking me to stand before him. Shaking me, he barked, “Is that how you’ve been feeding me? By raiding my goddamn vegetable patch?”
“I—” I scowled. What was the big deal? The food was planted to eat, wasn’t it?
“Answer me!” He shook me again, his rage growing blacker, thicker with each heartbeat. “Don’t fucking tell me you’ve been helping yourself. That you’ve eaten things without any thought to winter. Tell me!”
I jiggled in his furious hands as he trembled and shook me. I held on to his arms, gripping both good and broken. He shouldn’t be moving. The splint could only do so much and only if he stopped using it as if the bones weren’t trying to knit together.