LUCAS
It never takes much to wake me. I can’t remember the last time I slept deeply—if I ever did beyond early childhood, and even then.
This time, it’s the slightest shift on the other side of the mattress. Delilah has me sleeping lighter than ever. I doubt she’d do anything drastic, but there’s never any telling. The idea of her giving in to despair while I lie here sleeping isn’t one I can live with.
She must have rolled from her side onto her back, and that’s what woke me. Now, she’s staring at the ceiling. No pretense of trying to sleep. Her chest rises and falls evenly, but that’s just about the only way to tell she’s still alive.
“What are you doing awake?” I murmur, rubbing sleep from my eyes.
“I don’t know. I’ve been this way since we lay down. It’s not like I’m trying to stay awake.”
“Did you try to sleep, though?”
How does a persontryto sleep?” I don’t like the way her voice sounds. How flat and almost dead it is.
“They close their eyes and try to relax.”
“I did that already.” She turns her head slightly, enough to catch sight of me from the corner of her vision. “Any other ideas?”
Yes, in fact. I know exactly what I would normally do in a situation like this. A way of releasing tension that always works. Something tells me she’s not interested at the moment, and after what she’s been through today, it wouldn’t seem right to suggest it. I hardly recognize myself anymore. If Lauren was here, she might be able to help me make sense of it. Since when do I have a conscience? A sense of right and wrong, fair and otherwise?
“How about talking? I’m here. I have nothing better to do. What’s on your mind?”
“Is that a serious question? No offense, but you know what’s on my mind.” She props the back of her head up on one folded arm before sighing. “Everything I ever thought I knew was a lie. I mean, I knew my father hated me just for being born. I wasn’t another son like he wanted. He couldn’t be bothered to love me for who I was, but it’s not like I asked to be born.”
“I know.”
“But this? I never figured it was this bad. He threatened my mother. He told her he would kill me if I ever discovered who she was. Why would he do that?”
I’m not sure if that’s a rhetorical question. I was never much good at those. “I wouldn’t put anything past a man like that. I don’t know why he made the choices he made when it came to you.”
“I mean, I’ve always felt alone. I never really had friends. The more I think about it, the more obvious it seems that my mother kept me at arm’s length so I wouldn’t know how much she cared. She was determined to keep me safe.”
“She loved you. She did what she had to do.”
“Yeah, and look where it got her. Now she’s dead, and somebody might have killed her, and I can’t even apologize for all the times I was a real bitch. I didn’t make things easy for her. I mean, I tried to stay out of her way as much as I could, but there were times she tried to reach out to me, too. I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t care.”
“That’s not your fault. All kids are like that.”
“It’s not the same. You know, she probably could have had a much better life without me. All this time, I figured she was lazy and satisfied living in that shithole. Now I wonder, did he make her live there? What if she wanted to leave but was never able to because of me?”
It seems like the longer she thinks about this, the worse it gets. Every question leads to three more. “All you’re doing is punishing yourself by dwelling on this.”
“It’s not like I want to. I’m not doing it on purpose.”
She falls silent again, and I wait to see whether she has anything else on her mind. What am I supposed to do about this? How am I supposed to act? I’m not used to wanting to be helpful. Caring.
There’s no way not to care after seeing her react to everything that took place in that grimy, grungy trailer. Learning her aunt was dead and that the woman wasn’t her aunt at all. And this on the heels of Nathaniel and the whorehouse. How long until she shatters?
How is that any of my concern? Of all the times for me to grow a sense of empathy.
“I’m all alone. I mean, I was before, too. But there was always knowing she was there. I could go back to her if I needed to; if things were so bad that I didn’t have any other option. Now I have nobody at all.”
“You’re young.” What a lame fucking thing to say. It’s better than blurting out something stupid like offering to be the support she needs. That would be a true mistake.
“What’s wrong with me? Why don’t I get to have friends and family like everybody else? Don’t I deserve that? Why am I always alone?”
“It could be a strength,” I point out. “When you don’t need people, you can’t be hurt by them.”