My bark of laughter surprises us both. “That’s probably the most unpleasant image anyone has ever described to me. And I’ve lived with Hendrix for years.”
Aleksander’s quiet chuckle joins mine. “I don’t want to know.”
“I think that’s wise. What about you?”
Again with the bewilderment. “What about me?”
“Food. What’s your favorite?”
Awkward silence ensues.
“I don’t have one.”
“Everyone has one.”
He shrugs.
Okay.I try again.
“I could live off pizza for the rest of my life as long as no one tried to put pineapple or anchovies on it.” More awkward silence. “Has anyone told you that you are a difficult person to have a conversation with?”
His fingers drum against the side of his pants leg. I always thought his “quirks” were just that—quirks. Like how Syn changes clothes after being outside because she hates how they smell, or Hen’s obsession with food, or my tactile compulsion where I always need to touch something. Preferably Syn. I love how soft her hair is. And her skin. And her lips. Basically every inch of her.
I didn’t know Aleksander had OCD and panic attacks until I overheard him talking to Syn about it the other night when they were sitting on the back deck, gazing up at the stars. I hope one day he will trust me enough, like he trusts her, to share that part of himself with me.
Bridges can’t be built in a day, but maybe I can start laying the foundation.
“Ask me anything,” I tell him.
“Like what?”
“Whatever you want.”
He snaps the stalk of a sunflower. “Syn will like these.”
I appreciate how his first thought, his first concern, is always her.
“She will. Green is her favorite color, but she likes yellow because it’s Con’s.”
“I know.” He selects a few more and bundles them together in his hand. “Why didn’t you ever fight back?”
I guess my invitation for him to ask whatever he wants means going straight for the jugular.
“Every time I did, I spent weeks recovering from the brutality of his whip.”
I lift my closed fist in front of my face, the pinkish discoloration of a cigar burn still visible. Seeing it brings immense shame because Aleksander’s query is one I have asked myself a million times. I’m a grown-ass man. An adult. I was bigger and stronger than him. So why did I let him continue to hurt me?
Maybe I thought it was my punishment for—what I believed at the time—Dierdre killing herself. I spent ten years thinking that I failed to protect her. Or maybe it’s because I felt like I deserved it. When you’re told by your parent that you’re a worthless piece of shit your entire life, at some point, you start to believe it.
“The tiniest disappointment would set him off. Apparently, I disappointed him a lot. So, I bided my time and patiently waited. We had plans to take over the Council after we graduated. Kill them all. We’d been building alliances, positioning the pieces. And then I saw Syn, and everything changed.”
We may not have recognized the girl we loved because she had changed so much over the decade we were apart, but our hearts and our souls knew who she was, even when we didn’t. The instant attraction I felt when I first laid eyes on her in the Bierkeller. Our all-consuming obsession with her. My fierce need to protect her at all costs.
Aleksander watches me with unnerving intensity. “Why do you hate me so much?”
Spotting a lone dandelion puffball, I pick it and hold it out to the wind. Syn loves to make wishes on these things. The breeze plucks the feathery pappi from the receptacle and disperses the seeds. A hundred wishes float in the air. I steal one for myself.
“Because you’re in love with the girl who is my everything.”
