I’ve argued that he barely touched me at all. Just to help me learn my balance. My hand. My elbow. That’s it.
Ryan does not accept this at all. No one is allowed to touch me but him.
You’re dead!I remind us both.
He’s relentless, though. His incessant nagging is making me agitated. My muscles remain tense throughout the day, so I ache by the time I lie down at night. Not that Ryan’s voice has business hours. He haunts my dreams, too.
A combination of memories of him cleansing me and him scolding me for being disloyal to him. I’m his favorite boy. His sole joy. I’m supposed to set the example of a perfect member of the temple. Instead, I’m committing sins for the world to see.
On the fifth morning, I feel like I haven’t slept in a month. I’m so damn tired. I’m grumpy and frustrated and kind of want to break down and cry because I’m exhausted.
He’s trying to drive me to death, too. I know he is. He lives on in my head to drive me insane because I didn’t follow him into death like I was supposed to.
“Morning,” Avory greets when I step into the kitchen. He’s sorting the breakfast delivery. When he looks at me, he frowns. “What’s wrong, Malin?”
I shake my head. I’ve told Avory and Ellory that I hear Ryan’s voice and see him sometimes in places that he’s always been in relation to me. They know. They also don’t know what to do about it.
“Nothing,” I murmur and fill a glass of water from the fridge tap. The chill of it makes me shiver.
“Not sleeping?”
“No.”
“Do you want to talk to Mark?”
Mark is the family doctor. He practically lives here these days with all the kids around—between well-child checks, kids’ colds, and pregnancy, the Van Dorens might as well be his only clients.
“No, thanks.” There’s no cure for this. I know that. Not until I can figure out how to shut Ryan up. I’m forced to endure him in death just as I had in life.
“I’m going into the office,” I tell him.
“You want me to pack up some breakfast?”
I’m about to say no, but I pause. My stomach growls. I didn’t eat last night because Ryan was giving me a headache. “Yes, please.”
“Hold on just a second.” I watch as he opens cabinets until he finds what he’s looking for. Avory takes one of the plates and puts each component into a different section of the partitioned food container. He sticks the lid on and then puts it into a pack that retains heat.
I take it from him when he offers it. His hand grips my wrist before I can pull away. I meet his eyes. “Don’t wait too long to talk to Mark. Sleep is a necessity, Malin.”
I nod. “Okay.”
I know they worry about me. I’ve always been a worry for them. Since the moment I ran to Ellory on the boat off the island. Terrified. Alone. Grieving.
Avory smiles. It’s not a happy smile. More like an acceptance of my agreement. I leave the house and climb into the car they bought for me.
I’m not sure I actually accomplish anything at work. I’m not even sure I have an actual job. I just go into the office designated for me whenever I want and push papers around on my desk. Click through my email. Hopefully, not screw anything up while I tap around on the computer.
I hope I’m given fake things to work on. Or at the very least, someone has access to my computer and can undo anything I fuck up. Like a child’s phone, where a parent can access it remotely.
I drive slowly. With the influx of brothers living on the Estate now, there are more cars. They drive kids to the school onthe adjacent property before either going home or to the office building. I’m not sure many of them work anymore. Avory and Ellory don’t. Imry doesn’t, though I think Haze does.
I wonder if they’ll work again once the kids are in school.
I stop at the intersection. Straight on brings me further around the lake and to the office. If I take a right, I head to the gates that lead to the school. A glance at the time says that it’s still drop off, so I continue straight. I have no business there, and I remember what my therapist told Ellory. Because I was sexually abused as a child, I’m more prone to becoming a predator.
It makes my stomach churn. Is it true, or was that just one person’s sick opinion of me? Do victims of abuse become predators? I haven’t found the courage to research whether that’s true because I’m afraid of the answer.
I have no desire at all to hurt anyone. I don’t even want to touch anyone. I’ve been touched so damn much that I enjoy not being touched. Even innocent touch can sometimes feel icky.
