“It’s not related,” she insisted. Why wouldn’t he believe her?
“I don’t mean it’s time to tell me because of your stalker, I mean it’s time to tell me because you’ve held it inside for so long, you need to let it out.”
She didn’t want to let it out. She wanted to keep it buried forever. Where it belonged.
“That’s okay. We can go slow.”
Sam said it so confidently like it was a forgone conclusion that she would tell him.
“What was your life like after the fire, when you moved in with your grandparents?”
“Step-grandparents,” she corrected automatically. “It was different.”
“Different how?”
“We weren’t really allowed out of the house except for school,” she began tentatively. “My step-grandparents didn’t like the house being dirty, so we weren’t allowed to play outdoors. My mom didn’t like to let us out of her sight after David and Eli’s deaths, so we spent most of our time trapped in that house.”
“That’s why you like space and always moving.”
“One of the reasons,” she acknowledged.
“Why did you stop dancing, Naomi?”
She had loved dancing so much, she’d wanted a career as a ballerina. Her teachers had told her that with her natural talent and with a lot of hard work, she could make her dreams come true. She had worked hard. Spent hours at her dance studio practicing, she got up early every morning to practice and she found time to practice every night before bed, sometimes she had even practiced at school at recess and lunchtime. But after the fire she couldn’t stomach the thought of dancing. It all seemed so pointless, so frivolous. How could she spend her life dancing on a stage when there were fires that claimed children in their beds at night? She had needed to do something with her life that really meant something.
“Naomi?”
“Because my life had been changed forever.”
“Who? Who touched you? Who hurt you?” Sam’s hand on her shoulder was gentle, his voice calm, but his eyes were like blazing fires.
“Why would you think someone hurt me?”
“Because I was there when Jonathon and Allina asked you if Harry Caucchi ever did anything to you. Because you're afraid of monsters under your bed. Because I see it every time I look into your eyes.”
Startled, she looked deep into Sam’s eyes to see if he was bluffing. She didn’t see anything deceitful there though, just pain and anger. How could he see it when he looked at her? It was like they shared some sort of connection that went so deep that he could literally feel her pain.
“Tell me, Naomi,” he urged. “You need to let it out. I know you do. And you're safe with me. I told you this is a safe place for you to say whatever you need to say.”
She hesitated. She didn’t want to discuss this. Not with Sam and not with anyone else. “I already said it’s not related to what’s happening now.”
Sam exploded. “I don’t care, Naomi,” he raged, standing and storming around the room. “Don’t you know that it eats me up inside to know that someone hurt you? Don’t you know that I want to track down that person and tear them limb from limb?” Stopping in front of her, he dropped to his knees and gently held her face. “Talk to me, honey, please.”
“Honey?” She had never heard Sam use any term of endearment, with anyone, ever.
“You do things to me, Naomi, that no one else does. It’s killing me that I can't make this thing with your stalker better for you. But I can be here to listen to you, and you need to talk. You need to tell someone.”
Perhaps he was right? She wasn't really sure. Part of her was aghast at the idea of talking about it. And yet part of her wondered whether sharing with Sam might help, it might give her someone to help her shoulder the pain that some days felt like it was crushing her. “It started the first night at their house. It was bigger than ours. It had six bedrooms, and there were only three of us kids, so we all got our own rooms. I’d never had my own room before, and it had only been a few days since the fire, I’d spent a couple of days in the hospital, and I couldn’t sleep. Those first days I would hear David and Eli’s screams all the time. It’s like someone recorded them and stuck it on repeat. I wasn't close with my step-grandparents, they didn’t like me, even at eight I got why. I don’t think they wanted me to move in but there was nowhere else for me to go, and my mom loved me despite how I was conceived.” She was battling tears that were fighting to fall down her cheeks.
“Of course she did.” Sam dropped his hands to clasp hers. “It’s okay to cry. Why are you fighting it?”
“No.” She shook her head defiantly. “I have to be strong, tough, in control.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s expected,” she answered simply.
Sam looked like he wanted to dispute that, but instead, he asked, “What happened that first night?”