I nod.
“You knew?” she asks, her brows drawing together.
I nod again. Father forbid me from telling her anything.
She closes her eyes and shakes her head, rubbing her forehead. “Of course. You just never understood why and what it means.”
“What did he do?” I ask her.
She ponders it for a moment. “He … probed me on the inside.” She swallows.
I can tell it’s difficult for her to discuss. If she means what I think she means, it means he touched her in a way that made her feel bad. In a place only I’m supposed to go.
Just the thought of it makes me ball my hands into fists. How dare he do that to her.
“I … I’m sorry,” she mumbles.
I look up, shaking off my anger. Did she just say she was sorry? “What?”
“I …” She bursts out into sniffles again, and I don’t know what’s wrong.
“Tell me,” I say, cocking my head, hoping to catch her attention.
“I tried to run,” she says, barely able to look me in the eyes.
“He was mad …” I say, frowning, only now realizing why.
He wasn’t mad at me. He was mad at her for doing something he didn’t want her to do.
“I fled. Outside,” she says.
“Outside,” I mumble, remembering she said that word before. I only know the ‘outside’ of this cage. The few rooms that are here and beyond. But I get the feeling she means far beyond that. The bigger world … where she came from.
Did she try to go back there?
“Why?” I ask.
A harshness boils up inside me that I can’t put into words. A kind of … betrayal. If she fled, that means she wanted to get away from here. Away from … me.
“Away from me?” I ask, my voice changing in pitch because it hurts me to know this. To know she was almost gone, and I wouldn’t even have had the chance to say goodbye. That she wouldn’t even think of taking me or even telling me.
“I’m sorry …” she mumbles again, her cheeks stained with wetness. “I wanted to … I wanted to take you with me, but I didn’t have any time.”
I cross my arms. “Don’t want to go.”
She stares at me for a few seconds before bursting out into a strange laughter, followed by headshakes and more wet drops rolling down her cheeks.
“Of course, you’d say that,” she says. “You don’t know any better.”
“Better?” I ask. “That world better than me?”
She licks her lips, her face contorting with guilt. “Look … I don’t know anymore, okay? I like you, I honestly do, but I like … my world too. I miss home.”
Home. I know that word. This is my home. The place I was born. The only place I know. It’s where I feel most comfortable at. Maybe she misses that. Comfort.
And I believed I could give her that comfort. That I could give her anything she’d ever need. Guess I was wrong.
I look away and get up from the ground.
“I’m sorry,” she repeats, but I don’t know what to do with her words.
I don’t know what it means to be with her when she wants to be somewhere else. Does she even like me as much as I like her? Could she ever want me the way I want her when she never chose to be here in the first place?
No.
I chose for her to be here.
It’s my fault she’s here.
That’s why I fight so desperately for her acceptance. For her to crave me back.
Because once I stop fighting for that, once I give up … all that’s left is the guilt deep inside my heart, knowing it was my choice to bring her here.
I picked her.
And I bear the weight of that decision.
“Please … don’t go … don’t … please talk to me,” she says, still sniffing, reaching for the window. “I can’t be alone, not in here. Please. I need you.”
Her pleas break me. Force me to turn around as I sit down on the bed and gaze at her, wondering how I can fix this brokenness that I feel inside me.
“Tell me …” I say with a low voice, unable to push myself to speak louder. “Do you want me?”
“Yes,” she says. “No … I mean … yes, but I don’t know.” She sighs and shakes her head. “It’s so confusing.”
“Yes or no?”
“It’s not as easy as that. Liking you has nothing to do with being out there in the real world.” She slams her hand down on the floor. “I wish I could explain the concept of freedom to you, but I can’t. Dammit.”
“Freedom … is outside. Without me. You want that?”
“No … of course not.” She shakes her head. “Listen, Cage … I like you, but it’s not right.”
I make a face. “Not right?”
Is she saying she doesn’t want me anymore?