The Contradiction of Solitude (30 page)

“I spent three years half alive. Half dead. Living in that house where nobody spoke and just silently waited to end it all. My dad was the one who got away first. A heart attack the doctors said. I didn’t believe them. I knew better. He just couldn’t live in a world where Amelia was gone, but the man who took her away was still alive…”

Elian’s voice carried off into the dark.

The man who took her away was still alive.

Still alive.

I pulled back and looked up at Elian. Sweet, foolish Elian, who loved me irrationally. I ran my fingers along his neck. Over raised, rigid skin.

“What happened?” I asked. No need to explain.

Elian dropped his hands. He let me go.

“Tell me,” I begged.
Tell me.

“I did it to myself,” he said quickly. Hurriedly. Spitting the words out before they could shred him.

“Tell me,” I repeated. Encouraging. Trying to placate and soothe.

Elian stood up and walked to the window. His back to me, his eyes searching, searching. Out into the night. Scratches at the window. We weren’t alone. Memories became tangible things seeking us out.

“I hadn’t been away from home long. I had just turned sixteen and was living in New York City. Sleeping on a park bench, stealing food out of trashcans. All I could think about was Amelia. It had been almost four years but she was still everywhere.” He sounded agitated. Wild.

“I was standing outside of a deli, begging for money when I saw
his
face on a television inside. I leaned into the doorway and tried to listen. It was his trial. It was being televised for everyone to see. He looked so smug. So
proud
.” He clenched his teeth. He pulled at his hair.

I imagined my dad’s face but I didn’t see it smug or proud. It was the blur. A beloved, yearned for blur.

“Then I heard her name. Amelia’s. Read with all the others. And his face never changed. He didn’t acknowledge her in any way. It was like he didn’t care…”

“I love the stars, Layna. So much. And one day I hope you will love them too.”

I wanted to yell at Elian! To call him an idiot! I wanted to scream and shout that my father cared for his stars. So much.

Too much.

They took him away from me.

Forever.

I hated those girls,
his stars
. I hated them so much. But I could never share the deepest, darkest mysteries of my traitorous heart. Because this man who was unraveling in front of me would never understand how I hated. How I loathed.

How I loved.

“They said her name like she was insignificant. Like she didn’t
matter.”
He suffered. He cried. Tears were the testament to his sorrow. I wanted to lick them dry.

“I ran. I ran and I ran. I don’t know where I was going, only where I ended up. By the river. A rusty, old knife in my hand. I don’t remember picking it up. I don’t remember anything but cutting.” His fingers trembled as he scratched his nails along the jagged curves of scars left behind. The visible ones. The ones eyes could see.

“I cut. And I cut. The blood was everywhere. On my hands. On my clothes. Dripping on the ground.”

Elian wrapped his hand around his neck as though he were trying to choke the words, cut them off. Cut them out before they could hurt him all over again.

I watched him in fascination. Enthralled by his pain. Hoping he’d squeeze just a little bit tighter.

Scared that he’d squeeze too much.

Stop…

“I realized what I had done and I hid myself away. Knowing that if anyone saw me, I’d be taken to a hospital and then I’d be sent back home. I couldn’t go back there. So I found a piece of cloth and held it against the cuts until they stopped bleeding. I stole a tube of antiseptic cream from a drug store and made sure they didn’t get infected. But the damage was already done. Now I’m left with them.”

I got to my feet and crossed the room to where he stood. I didn’t give him a chance to move away. I trapped him against the window. Ensnared him with my arms tight around his waist.

“I love them,” I whispered into the fabric of his shirt.

Elian leaned his forehead against the pane of glass, eyes closed. Wind howling outside.

“You love these ugly, repulsive things?” he asked in disbelief. Horrified.

I nipped at his skin beneath the shirt. Piercing flesh. A scolding. A warning.

“You’re the only one who understands me,” Elian moaned as I touched him with my teeth.

“I’m the only one who will ever love your scars, Elian. The
only one,”
I responded. Emphatic. Real.

Did he hear me? Did he comprehend what I was trying to say?

“Why can’t I stay away from you?” he murmured. He wanted to know. I would never give him the answers. They were mine to keep. I wouldn’t share them.

“I would never let you stay away,” I promised as he turned in my arms and tried to hold me in return. I wouldn’t let him. I didn’t want him to touch me.

Not with his hatred still bitter on his lips.

But
I
could touch
him.

With my claws and my fangs. My forked tongue and devil’s horns.

My body absorbed his and claimed it all.

“I don’t ever want to leave,” Elian murmured into my hair. Our clothing lost. Our breathing labored.

“You’ll never leave.” I gave him the assurance that he needed. With my body. With my locked away heart.

“What about you, Layna? Will you leave? Will I be left here, a shell, after you’ve gone? Will I die waiting for you to return?”

I grinned.

I didn’t answer him.

I didn’t have to.

We both already knew.

T
he room was empty. Except for the pale light streaming in through the window. Dark. Dusty. The grit of grime and years of dirt crunched beneath my shoes.

“Daddy?”

My voice echoed. Bouncing off walls. Hitting me square in the chest. Alone. Alone.

Alone.

“Hello?” I moved farther into the room, dragging my fingers along the wall. The wood splintered beneath my palm. Shards digging deep. Embedding under skin.

The blood began as a trickle. The barest of sensations as it dripped down my arm.

I giggled. It tickled. I pressed my hand into the wall. Harder as I moved. Deeper into the room. Shuffling. Wearisome movements.

It smelled like him. Like Daddy. Like smoke and mint.

“Daddy?” I called again. There was a sound. The faintest of whispers. Barely intelligible. Saying…something…

The blood came thicker. Quicker. Pouring from vicious open wounds. I walked through the puddles. It splashed at my calves.

I giggled louder. And louder. The blood warm and embracing. Grasping at my feet as I advanced ever closer. Closer.

I wasn’t alone.

Never, ever alone.

“Daddy!” I cried. Knowing it was him. And I felt a blissful delight that I hadn’t experienced in so, so long.

“Daddy!” I yelled again. I slipped and fell, falling forward, my hands flung out to brace my impact. The blood went up my nose. It filled my mouth. I swallowed, drinking it. Pulling it in.

Hands sure and strong lifted me to my feet and I knew it was him.

Daddy!

I looked up. And up. And up.

Into Dancing Green Eyes.

And a face obscured with throbbing, aching red.

I woke up abruptly. Not in quiet peace but in fearful realization.

Something was different.

Wrong.

The dream was unlike any I had ever had before. Recollections were converging. Confusing me. Muddling my mind.

I slid out of bed and fell to my knees. I covered my face with my hands and rocked.

And rocked.

Back and forth.

Dancing Green Eyes.

And the blood. Everywhere the blood.

Before it brought me comfort.

It gave me, in the silent reprieve of dreams, a moment where I could feel close to him and not hate him. Not be mired in the guilt. In the shame.

I could simply embrace the love I always felt but was so often scared to let out.

But tonight…

I shuddered. I felt sick.

Something was wrong.

I pulled out the box kept in secret under my bed. I opened the lid and stared down into the contents. Years of denial. Years of carefully kept thoughts and barely contained memories.

I picked up the letter on top and considered opening it.

But to open it now would unleash things I wasn’t sure I was ready or able to deal with.

I put the phone to my ear and waited. A different voice answered my desperate call in the middle of the night.

“Elian.”