He blinks slowly. “I feel like I had half an orgasm and I’ll never get the rest.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It means I like being manic and coming down is the worst thing in the world.”
“Injection kicking in?”
“Maybe.”
I didn’t expect it to happen so soon, and I’m not naïve enough to believe that one shot of sedative will tumble Ludo down from his destructive high, but there’s a twisted comfort in watching the energy drain from him. Even if it comes back when the drug wears off, maybe he can rest awhile first.
But before any of that can happen, I need to somehow wash the dirt and grime from his skin. Brush the leaves and twigs from his hair. Dress the blisters on his feet.
“Come on.” I hold out my hand. “Let’s go upstairs.”
* * *
I run Ludo a bath and help him undress. He shivers and I shut the bathroom window. The sun has gone down, and the chilly front the weather bloke on the radio has been wittering about all week has moved in.
As ever, my eyes are drawn to the scars on Ludo’s skin from the past and the fresh bruises and scrapes from right now, but I try not to contemplate how this could’ve turned out if he’d been on his own. There’s no point—he’snoton his own, and I don’t plan on him ever being again.
“Aidan?”
“Yeah?”
Ludo comes closer and knocks his head against my chest. “Why do you think you’re a horrible person?”
“I don’t think I’m a horrible person. That takes effort.”
“Apathetic, then. Same thing.”
“No, it’s not. If I was horrible, I’d care enough to be nasty. As it is, I’m nasty by default because I don’t care.”
“Care about who?”
“Anyone who isn’t important to me.”
Ludo taps his fingers on my abdomen, a hyperactive rhythm that threatens the odd calm the bathroom seems to have cast on him. I still them with my own and pull back a touch. “I’ve always found it difficult to get emotional about things that don’t directly affect me. And even then, sometimes it’s like there’s a big black hole where my heart should be.”
“Have you always felt like that?”
“No. Michael thinks living with my dad sucked the life out of me.”
“Do you agree with him?”
“Not until I met you.”
Ludo tilts his head sideways, and I know that even with the kaleidoscope of colours blasting through his mind, he understands. Because he always does. He gets me.
And I’ve got him.
I coax him into the bath and sit on the floor. He’s filthy, but I don’t want to wash him unless he really can’t—or won’t—do it himself. Instead I focus on examining the cuts and bruises littering his body in case he needs actual medical help.
He doesn’t as far as I can see, but I can’t help imagining what on earth he’s been up to in the woods to get in such a mess. So I ask him, naturally, cos I’m sure it’s super helpful right now.
Ludo frowns at the grazes on his arms. “I can’t remember. I think I’ve gone a bit magic.”
“Magic?”
