“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
Odd pulls out his phone, his expression unreadable. “Roly told me and Anders that his mouth put Asadi in that room, and forgiving himself was the hardest thing he’d ever done. I’m sure it’s the hardest thing you’ll ever do, too—forgive him, that is. But you should if you can because he was in that room, too.”
He taps the screen a few times, then gently sets his phone down in front of me.
I check with Everett, whose eyes are glued to his plate of half-eaten spaghetti, dragging his fork through it.
Swallowing, I look down at Odd’s phone and suck in a breath so deep it makes me dizzy. Fuck, fuck, fuck,fuck.
Jesus Fucking Christ.
Tears blur my vision, and I push my plate out of the way with shaking hands, burying my head in my arms.
It’s a picture. A grainy close-up of Roly, bound to a chair, unconscious and listing to the side, only the ropes keeping him in place. Blood and drool spill from his mouth.
Oh god, Roly. I’m so fucking sorry.
Odd places his hand on my arm, comforting and devastating me at the same time. When he sees that he has my attention, he continues.
“Whatever his faults, I want you to consider that Roly spent three days tied to a chair, sitting in his own filth, suffering from a concussion so bad that his short-term memory will never be the same. He has fully forgiven your assault, refusing to even ban you from the gym. So maybe you can spare a little dignity and forbearance for the man.”
His whisper-quiet words shock me into silence, and the red-hot heat of shame courses through me, lighting up my chest and neck and face.
Habibi, this is why you have to let it go. If you hold on to the hurt, then you sentence yourself to that room. Me and Roly, we had other plans, and because of that, I got to enjoy the precious, short time with you.
I nod to myself, utterly humbled by the reality of what I’ve been shown.
I keep my eyes on my plate, trying very hard not to let the hot tears of embarrassment fall. I look down at the outfit Parker so sweetly put together for me, cringing at the spot of spaghetti sauce on the white T-shirt. I don’t even have the heart to look over at my friend, knowing her expression would only confirm what I know to be true—that, once again, I’d accomplished the exact opposite of what I’d intended.
When I was a kid, we used to live just around the corner from the public pool, and I always stubbornly ignored my mom’s warning to wear shoes. I was cured of my stubbornness by walking right into an enormous patch of goat’s head stickers, a particularly sharp, gnarly brand of sticker that feels like you’re stepping on bone shards.
Turns out, if you walk into a sticker patch, you’re going to have to walk right back out, further embedding the stickers you have while picking up new ones along the way. That’s what this little incident feels like. Walking barefoot through a huge patch of goat’s head stickers. Painful, while also feeling the shame of knowing so much of this pain was my own doing.
Wordlessly, I get up from the table and walk outside.
27
Rafi
I don’t know where I’m going, so I wander around in the fading light until I come upon a small, square building. These gunrunners, it seems, spared no expense. I walk up to the door and, surprisingly, it’s open.
It’s a small gym, but the ceilings are tall and the space is well-lit. It reminds me of Wrecked. I walk over to the hanging bars, jumping up to grab—barely—the lowest one. I swing my legs over the top and lower myself down, hanging from the backs of my knees like I did as a kid, feeling the swoop in my stomach as I screw my eyes shut.
“We are very protective of Roly.”
Everett’s voice echoes through the tall space, nearly shocking me off the bars.
“Whoa, there,” he says, his large hands steadying me. The familiar warmth of his voice bringing tears and comfort in equal measure.
I listen as his hands grip the bar next to mine, and grin in spite of myself when he curses and grunts. Finally, the woosh of air beside me tells me that he’s joined me in the upside-down. I peek over, and, like me, he’s got his arms crossed in front of him like a vampire in repose.
We swing for a while in silence.
“He’s our friend, he was hurt, he’s done so much to be a better person…he brings out the protective instinct in all of us. I promise you, Odd wasn’t doing it to hurt you. He’s a hard cat to know, but I suspect more than your shock, he wanted to realign your perspective.”
Tears run down the sides of my head and make dropping sounds when they hit the mat below me. “Consider my perspective realigned.”
We swing a moment longer, and it feels good and sad and fucked-up.
