“What makes you assume it's fake?”
“Because they've never really liked me. I was always my father's son and that will never change. Thanks to me, my mom's life is forever ruined and cursed.”
I frown and shake my head. “That's not exactly fair. It's never the kid’s fault. You didn't ask to be a part of this life.”
“No, but I never fought hard against it, either.”
He slowly walks toward me, his feet dragging against the floor and the hospital gown flowing around him.
“It doesn’t matter if you didn’t. It never does.”
He nods, his bottom lip slipping between his teeth, and he sits on the edge of the bed. His gown is fully open in the back, exposing his underwear. It doesn't faze me or keep me from pulling him into my arms. At this point, this is our norm and having his bare leg touch mine as he slips under the blankets has my heart settling and the tension in my shoulders diminishes.
“Why did you give me this back?” I ask, twisting the knife between my fingers. “And how did it even get here?”
His fingers trace the chain, occasionally coming in contact with my skin. “I thought you should have it back and I called in a favor to my cousin. They found my car shortly after I was taken and hid it before the cops could get to it. I was so angry with you, I yanked it off my neck and tossed it on the passenger side.”
“Why would they hide your car from the cops?”
“My uncle was worried the wrong ones would get to it first and remove all the evidence. He thought he could find me quicker than them anyhow.”
Yet he didn't. “How'd he know where to look?”
“My dad put a tracker on it. He hid it so well, I looked right past it.” He keeps toying with my chain and I pull his hand away to set some boundaries. I’m not sure what the point is when I'm still holding his hand. Baby steps I guess.
It grows quiet between us and Ignacio sticks his hand out of the blanket, wrapping his fingers around mine. His eyes close, his head falling against the pillow, all worries disappearing from his face. It was only a few minutes ago that his expression was so heavy with distraught and now it's as if it was never there.
“I know you've probably been asked this a lot by now but how are you?” I face him, my nose merely inches away from his cheek.
His eyes slowly open and he strokes the back of my hand with his thumb. “Breathing. You?”
“Same.”
“I never thought I'd say this after being stuck in that hellhole for so long, eating stuff that barely qualifies as food, but the meals here suck ass.”
My head falls back against the pillow and I laugh. “Not as good as those Lucky Charms you used to devour every morning for breakfast, huh?”
One corner of his mouth lifts. “Hey, I'd sometimes balance it out with blueberry Pop Tarts and store-bought muffins.”
“You're right. My bad. At least the filling of the Pop Tarts were fruit flavored. Has to count for something, right?”
“Exactly,” he says, turning his face toward me. “Hey, Ev?”
“Yeah, Iggy.” I turn and our noses touch. He rubs his against mine.
“You think I'll ever be able to sleep again?”
I stroke his hair with my fingers, nothing about it being awkward or weird the way it would have felt before our time in the basement. Being this close has become so natural and I feel lost when we are apart.
It's unhealthy, and yet the only thing that feels wrong is being separated. I can't focus and I grow antsy when I'm alone, my anxiety rising as my mind drifts back to all the moments they broke us apart and how hard we clung to one another when they brought him back to me. He pressed his heart to mine to remind us we weren’t alone. As long as we had each other, they would never fully hurt us. Not when it was only me and him.
“I don't know. I could have sworn I heard you snoring last night.”
“Yeah because you were there. I meant…” He swallows hard, his head pressing to mine. “When I'm alone. After we leave here, I will be. I won’t be able to sneak into your room anymore and we'll probably not even—”
“See each other again?”
“Yeah,” he says breathlessly.