He squeezes my arm, and I pull away. This gentler side of Andershurts.
And this thing with the records…it’s as though a layer of skin has been stripped from my body. I’ve been hiding the thing that wasn’t hidden at all.
“I don’t want talk about this anymore.”
“Okay.”
We drive the rest of the way in silence. By the time we roll into Lufkin, it’s one thirty in the morning and I’m exhausted. I vaguely observe Christmas lights, but my eyes are gritty, and I just want a soft surface to crash on.
We pass the place where the two assholes killing sex workers are staying, and if I thought either of us could shoot straight, I’d just want to get it over with so I can sleep in tomorrow.
The Bash family has a huge ranch just off State Highway 103 with only a mailbox bearing the Norwegian flag to announce the turnoff. The private drive takes us deeper into the forest, surrounded by inky black.
“This all belong to your family?”
“Yes.”
We head down the long, pitch-black drive, the lights of the main house twinkling in the distance. All I know is that we’re staying in his parents’ vacation rental to avoid waking them so late. About halfway down the drive, Anders gestures for me to take a cut-through, which leads us to a small opening in the woods. This isn’t just some vacation rental. It’s a fairy-tale cabin in the forest.
The perfect getaway, I think sarcastically.
I wish I didn’t feel so wobbly, so unsteady on my feet and angry. I’m so goddamned angry.
We grab our things from the car, and I follow Anders along a pretty walkway. It’s a lot chillier here than it was in Austin, and there’s a low fog along the ground. The gas lamps lighting the walkway have a romantic glow about them that I choose to ignore.
Anders grabs his keychain and unlocks the door to the small open-concept cabin. It’s rustic with exposed log and concrete walls, but the furniture and the appliances are all up-to-date. The dark wood platform bed is enormous and piled high with pillows.
“I’ll take the couch, you’ve got the bed,” he says, grabbing blankets from the storage under the coffee table and tossing them on the couch before I can protest. I place my duffel on the luggage carrier by the bed and try not to vibrate out of my skin as I unpack my things.
“Mind if I take one?” he asks, gesturing toward the mountain of pillows stacked up on the bed.
I nod and continue to unpack as he brushes by. After grabbing the pillow, he pauses behind me, his body so close I can feel its heat and hesitation.
“Omar…I—I didn’t realize that you weren’t aware of how much we knew.”
My shoulders tense. “It’s fine, Anders.”
He shifts behind me, putting a hand on my upper arm. “It’s clearly not fine. I don’t want you thinking we’d ever use that against you. I certainly wouldn’t.”
I turn around, exhausted and incredulous, my mouth hanging open. “Bullshit.Bullshit. You use it against me all the time. How many times did my father writechethin the entries next to my name?”
Anders looks confused, so I enlighten him. “He was calling me apervert, Anders. I’m curious—how many times did he say that I was too soft to kill peoplein the right way?”
He looks down, seemingly unable to make eye contact with me.
“What’s worse is you think you know my history, andstillyou fill my car with fisting lube and poppers and gay escort flyers. Do you even have a clue about all the things I didoff bookfor him? I’m practically flayed alive before you, and all I am is a joke to you.”
He takes a half step in my direction but reverses when he sees me stiffen. His eyes plead with mine. “You are not a joke to me.I…I thought I was being flirty and cute, but…” He takes another step back, shaking his head as if maybe he really doesn’t understand his own motivations. Finally he looks at me, hand to his hip, more serious than I’ve ever seen him. “I can’t stop thinking about the fact that your father beheaded that gay POW in front of you and—”
I shove him against the wall, crowding him as I slap my palm against his mouth. “Shut your fucking mouth. Youstilldon’t know anything about me.Or him.He wasn’t just somegay POW, you asshole. He was my friend,” I say, my voice cracking.
Oh, fuck these tears.
And fuck his wide-eyed empathy.
Anders goes to open his mouth, and I tighten my grip, my voice shaking. “Do you even know what happened to him? Do you even know who he was?”
He shakes his head.
