“Then he should have worn a condom when he fucked my mother.” He’s trying to say things to hurt me. Well, the damage is already done.
“It takes two people to make a baby, Sylas. He’s not the only one to blame.” I try to speak gently, aware he could explode at any moment and he’s got a glass in his hand.
He shakes his head.
“If you saw how many years my father has suffered. He loved her. He really loved her. Still does. Just because she’s gone, doesn’t mean he’s stopped.” He’ll never stop loving her, and it scares me. I’m afraid to love someone that much—so much so that when they’re taken from you, you spend the rest of your life aching for them, unable to move on or get past it.
I throw caution to the wind and finish another glass. Why the hell not.
“I just wanted my parents to love each other, but they never did. It wasn’t easy growing up. Nothing near as hard as you had it, though,” I say. He’s grinding his teeth together. I can almost hear the sound. Finally, he speaks.
“My parents didn’t love each other either. I always wondered why my mother married that monster. She didn’t love him and he sure as hell didn’t love her.” There are so many factors that go into a person marrying someone they don’t love. So many factors.
I take another chance and lean toward him. I can’t have anything on my back anymore. It’s too uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry about that. I really am. You’re a victim of circumstances that were completely out of your control. It’s not right, Sylas. It’s okay to be angry about it.”
I reach out to him again and this time I make contact with his arm. He’s warm through the material of his long-sleeve shirt. I wish he would wear short sleeves, at least with me. When he doesn’t pull away, I touch him again, stroking the material and wishing it was his inked skin. I could spend the rest of my life staring at his tattoos. Every time I see him naked, I notice something new. He’s a walking, talking, breathing piece of art.
“I’m sorry for how everything’s turned out. I wish I could go back,” I say. I wonder if he can hear the regret in my voice. I know I can.
He moves away from me and I hope he can’t see the hurt I know I can’t hide.
“Well, there’s nothing we can do about the past. It’s done. It’s over.” It’s not. Not for me. I still love him.
I sigh and get up from the couch and walk across the room. This is too hard. He’s too much and he makes me believe that things could be different. If I only said the right thing and he opened up to trust me again. I wouldn’t break it this time. I stare out the window for a few moments, marshaling my scrambled thoughts.
“Everything’s all fucked up, Quinn.” I wince when I accidently use his alias. “Sylas.” I face him again and I see a universe worth of emotions cross his eyes. I can’t stop a few tears from leaking out of my eyes and racing down my cheeks.
I wipe them away, but don’t hide them from him.
“I didn’t want it to be like this. Not with you,” I say. He’s still on the couch, but poised, as if he’s ready to get up and throw himself at me. In my mind, I’m begging him to. I know that if he’ll only kiss me, it will be over. Our bodies know each other too well, and he won’t be able to fight our connection anymore.
“I didn’t come here for this, Saige.” I open my mouth to say something, but he’s right. I can’t use sex as a weapon anymore. If I want him, it’s going to have to be the right way from here on out. I’m not even sure if I know how to do that.
“I’ll give you a ride,” I say, a little desperately. He gets up and shakes his head.
“No, I can catch a cab. I’ll walk.” His voice is firm, telling me not to follow him. Not to touch him.
“Sylas,” I say as he reaches for the door handle and turns it. The tears are back, but he doesn’t care.
“Goodbye, Saige,” he says before he shuts the door in my face.
****
My body is in so much pain that I grab some water and some aspirin and head to bed. I pull the curtains to block out the daylight and lay on my stomach.
The tears flow freely, and I don’t bother to brush them away. They soak into my pillow, which sticks to my face.
Minutes tick by. The silence is driving me crazy. I don’t like silence. Most of the time, if I’m alone, I need to have music or television, or some noise going.
My phone buzzes on my nightstand and I slap my hand around to find it. I don’t even bother to see who’s calling before I answer.
“Hello? Sylas?” I’m breathless, as if I’ve run a mile.
“Nope,” Lo says. “Sorry to disappoint you. But I could be whoever Sylas is if you want me to be.” Shit. I shouldn’t have said his name. Now I’m going to have to explain.
“Sorry, I was sleeping and having a dream,” I say. It’s a lame excuse, but I don’t have the energy for something better.
“Oooohhhh, what kind? The naked kind, I’m hoping.”
“Not really,” I say, sitting up. My face is disgusting and my eyes are puffy. I’m sure they’re red also. One of the wonderful upsides of having extremely pale skin. Along with sun burning easily and not being able to hide a blush. Not that I blush very often. I don’t find much in life blush-worthy.
“Are you still there?” Lo asks.
“Yeah. Just… tired.” As if on cue, I yawn.
“Why are you so tired? It’s the middle of the day.”
“I got my tattoo done and I self-medicated the pain with some booze,” I say, and it’s not a lie.
Lo doesn’t know about Sylas. Well, she knows about Quinn, but not the whole story. I’ve kept his real identity a secret because I owe him at least that. He hasn’t broadcasted mine, which surprises me. It’s not like he couldn’t, if he wanted to.
“You did? Holy crap, I need to see it now. I’m on my way.” I don’t want to see Lo. She’ll know something bad happened the second she looks at my face. But when Lo wants to do something, she’s going to do it.
“I’m in my bedroom,” I say and end the call.
Before Lo gets here, I get up and wash my face and grab some ice cubes from the freezer. Tossing them in a paper towel, I press the homemade icepack to each eye in turn, hoping it will take down the swelling and the redness.
I check myself in the mirror and I’m still red, but a little less puffy. I’ll just tell Saige that I pussied out during the tattoo or something.
I head back to the bedroom and lay back down in the dark.
Lo bursts through fifteen minutes later. She has a key to my place that I never made for her, but somehow has anyway.
“Why is it so dark in here?” A second later the curtains are thrown open and sunlight invades. Ugh. I want it to be dark for a long time.
“Lemme see, lemme see.” She rips my shirt up. Lo has no respect for my personal space.
“Ugh, get off me,” I say, rolling away from her.
“I wouldn’t have to manhandle you if you’d just show me,” she says. I want to tell her to leave, but I pull up my shirt and turn my back. She turns the lights on and shoves me around so she can get a good look through the plastic that Crash taped on to protect it.
“That is sick, Saige. Seriously awesome. I’m totally jealous.” I turn and face her and her expression immediately changes.
“What’s wrong?” I roll my eyes. It was stupid to think I could put anything past her.
“Nothing. Just… Quinn and I had a fight.” That’s close enough to the truth. I hate lying to Lo. Next to Dad, she’s the person I’m closest with. I’ve been lying to her since we became friends and I have little fantasies of telling her someday about my other life.
But I could never do that to Dad. It would expose him and ruin all the things he’s trying to do. It’s not just about me, and that’s the part that’s so hard sometimes.
“Tell me,” she says, her voice going soft as she sits with me on the bed.
“It’s stupid. It was so stupid. One of those things that starts small and turns into something much bigger and I’m pretty sure it’s unfixable.” I’m able to swallow the tears back this time. I think I’m all cried out. For now.