I still feel an itch because I haven’t reestablished my routine in almost a month now. There are things I’ve let fall, and I haven’t picked them back up. It’s under my skin. A constant itch.
Taking care of Huntley somehow scratches that itch. Not completely, of course. The things I need to be doing are still there. Having half my life remain consistent helps, though. Changing my bedding so that it’s all fresh and within its sets helps. Cleaning my kitchen so everything feels reset helps.
Most surprisingly, taking care of Huntley helps a lot. I love everything about the way it makes me feel to take care of him. His smile. The way he breathes. How he relaxes entirely in my arms.
Maybe it’s his trust in the things I do for him. That I’ll take care of him. I’m here when he needs me, and I’ll give him some space when he wants it. I’ll make him orgasm whenever he wants, however he wants.
Seeing him get stronger leaves me with a surprising sense of pride and satisfaction. As if it’s my own accomplishments and not someone else’s.
Perhaps most of all, seeing him attack Kairo because of how my brother was talking to me… Besides Jalon and Arath, no one has done that before. It’s unexpectedly touching.
Huntley yawns as I wash him, leaning heavily against the shower wall. I can feel him sagging as his fatigue catches up with him. Still, I’m thorough and gentle as I wash every single inch of this man until I’m satisfied that he’s clean. Then, I quickly wash myself.
Drying him when he’s tired is more challenging, but I manage. Once he’s relatively dry, I scoop him up and bring him to my bed, where I tuck him in securely. Huntley is asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.
For a while, I watch him sleep. I imagine that even in his unconscious state, he’s grown accustomed to having me watch him sleep. I can’t help it. He’s captivating.
I’ll never understand why his scream resonated so deeply in my soul that day. Maybe it was the pitch or the fear. The pain. It could be any of those things. I’m not inclined to believe them, though.
It’s something else. Something I understand even less. For some reason, Iknewthis man was mine. The second I heard him, before I’d so much as laid eyes on him, I knew.
I’m reminded of the conversation with my nephews and what Imry shared with us about Loren the day Loren saw Oakley for the first time. I’d thought it was strange. But then, Loren’s mind works differently. He’s a sociopath. I’d thought that, because his brain is wired differently, maybe it’s programmed for one person and as soon as he saw Oakley, his brain recognized his one person.
I’m not a sociopath, though. However, Loren and I have something in common. My brain is also wired differently. Not in the same way. I don’t have an antisocial disorder. I’m undiagnosed because my parents refused to admit that I wasdifferentin any way. Van Dorens aren’t different; we’re all normal.
I’ve lived with my quirks my entire life, and while there have been whispers about what ‘ails’ me, we continue calling them quirks to this day. Arath used to say that I’m a very particular flavor, and some people don’t have a sophisticated enough palate to appreciate it.
Kairo said I was a freak. When he uses ‘special,’ it’s not in a complimentary way.
As I stare at a sleeping Huntley, I wonder if perhaps whatever Loren felt the moment he saw Oakley is the same thing I felt the moment I heard Huntley scream. Everything in me recognized him, and I reacted without thinking.
I brush his hair from his forehead and move around the bed to pull the curtains closed. My footsteps are nearly silent as I leave the bedroom. Huntley’s lunch is on the kitchen table. He was so tired that I didn’t bring him out to eat.
Wrapping it up, I set it on the counter and wander through my house until I find myself standing in the spare bedroom. On my wall is a small family tree. Not the giant monstrosity in tapestry form that’s hanging in the great hall at the Estate.
This one has dry-erase marker on it as I circle the relatives I think maybe defied being normal. In my generation and in my direct family, it’s just me. But in Jalon’s kids, there are two—Loren and Ellory, although Loren is the only one diagnosed.
I’m not sure if no one else recognizes that Ellory shares the same disorder as Loren. There’s a chance that Loren is just… heavily within the sociopathic sphere and that Ellory’s managed to hide his. Maybe the relationship between Ellory and Avory has taken the attention away from Ellory’s own antisocial disorder.
Either way, I’m pretty confident that Ellory is also sociopathic. Or… psychopathic. I’m not a doctor and don’t really understand the difference.
Moving on from my immediate family, there’s our cousin Rhodes. I’m confident he falls somewhere on the antisocial spectrum. Is it a spectrum? He’sdifferent, whatever that means. Further down the line, almost all of Aunt Calico’s children aredifferent. Three of the four from what I’ve witnessed. Our cousin Solana and her sister’s youngest daughter, Dakota.
On and on and on.
I can’t help but wonder how my kids will turn out. Will they be like me? Will they have an antisocial disorder?
Will they look at a stranger and suddenly recognize them as theirs? Do these things run in families, or are they environmental? Circumstantial?
Turning away, I leave my side project to the silence of the spare bedroom. I’m looking forward to this next generation of Van Dorens. There are a lot of secrets to unlock concerning our family, and while they don’t matter in the big picture, it’s a curiosity that I’d love to develop a working hypothesis for.
Especially in situations like mine and Loren’s. It would be nice to be prepared when your life is about to turn upside down.
15
HUNTLEY
The towerin which my company resides is fifteen stories. I stare up at it while leaning on my crutch. Oxley didn’t want me to go back to work yet. Not until I no longer need the crutches. Mark said I could go back when I was feeling up to it, and he’d write me a note for whatever I’d like.
