“So I can protect myself. So I’m not completely helpless when…” I twirl a lock of my hair, the knot in my throat keeping me from finishing my sentence. I bite my tongue to keep the tears at bay, but I know I can’t hold them off forever.
Blake must notice, as he moves to crouch before me, taking my freezing hands in his. “If you want to learn, I will be happy to teach you, Alexis. But I promise I willneverlet anything happen to you.”
“You can’t promise that, Blake,” I say softly. “This world isn’t as black and white as you guys think it is. Danger isn’t always fists and weapons—sometimes it’s sweet words and spiked drinks.”
His hand moves to my cheek and I lean into it, craving the comfort. “Are you saying he…?”
“By the time I came to, I was powerless to stop him.” White-hot tears escape my lids, burning my cheeks like acid. Fire spreads through my lungs, leaving nothing in its wake, but Ifeel like I can finally breathe again after holding my breath for fourteen months.
I never told anyone this part—not even Alissa. I didn’t know how to. I guess I always figured if I pressed down the memory far enough, pretended it didn’t happen, that I would forget it did.
But it did happen, and I can never truly destroy those memories.
“I never want to feel that powerless again. I can’t—go through that again.” I forcefully wipe the tears off my face with the sleeves of my lavender knit sweater.
Telling someone, saying it out loud, seems to have reopened that wound yet lessens the burden. I don’t feel judged for my tears, though. If anything, my tears are a testament to how safe and loved I feel right now.
Blake looks at me, those bright blue eyes swirling with sadness and rage and a helplessness I know all too well. I know the feeling. “I’m so sorry this happened to you, Alexis.”
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” I say quietly. “Will you teach me or not?”
A muscle twitches in Blake’s jaw as he nods. His eyes have gone softer now, taking in every inch of my face, my eyes. “I’ll teach you everything I know, and everything I don’t. But not tonight. Tonight, I want you to tell me what it was like to grow up here.”
He smiles, a soft, loving thing, and I look at him for a long moment, mapping every inch of his face so I can cling to his image when my thoughts go dark. The lump in my throat refuses to shrink, the tears still on stand-by, but I'm thankful for his effort to get me to think of something positive. It’s clear I'm not over it in the slightest–I should probably get a therapist after all of this dies down–but I refuse to let it ruin our first Christmas together.
“Well, if you want the full experience, I think we might as well start here.” I wipe my cheeks again and reach down to the foot of the bed, where two carefully wrapped gifts are labeled eitherAlexisorBlake. Checking the tag, I hand him the one with his name. “It’s our Christmas Eve gift from Mom and Dad. It’s a family tradition from when we were little.”
“And…I got one?” Wonder shines in his eyes like a little kid on Christmas morning. I know he said his mother isn’t maternal in the slightest, but I don’t think I had a clear idea of how deep that neglect ran until we came here.
The way he kept thanking Mom for cooking and did the dishesto pay her back,like doing something out of love is a concept he’s never heard of. Or how he keeps checking in with me to make sure he isn’t breaking some unspoken rule or the way he keeps calling Dad ‘sir’while the latter really, truly hates formality. It’s like he’s trying to prove himself and his worth at every turn, trying to earn a place at our table. It’s sad that he thinks he has to earn it in the first place.
I smile, my cheeks still damp with tears. “Of course you get one, weirdo. You’re part of this family too.”
He peels the tape off the shiny paper to reveal black and red plaid fabric. I see Mom chose to go for a classic scheme this year.
He looks at me expectantly, and I unwrap mine to show him. “We match! We all do. Mom likes that cliché Christmas movie scene of the whole family in matching pajamas on Christmas morning, so she gifts us matching sets every year.”
“That’s adorable,” Blake says. He holds out the pajama pants, and I can only hope they fit. I had to guess his size. “How about we try these bad boys on and you pick a movie for us to watch? I have no interest in going back out into that blizzard.”
Blake is exaggerating, of course, but the snow has picked up pace. It doesn’t stop my siblings or friends from partying,doesn’t even slow them down. But for the first time in many years, I don’t feel sad about missing out.
Because I have something right here that is just as special.
Chapter 29
Alexis
Bright winter sunlightstreams through the window, reflecting off the fresh layer of snow outside.
Blake’s arm is wrapped tight around my stomach, protecting me even in sleep. I don’t want to move, to wake him, but I’d also rather not pee myself. I carefully maneuver out of his arms, sliding one of my old stuffed elephants in my place so he’s less likely to wake up, and make a break for it.
I make it to the tiny bathroom just in time, and when I step back out I’m too awake to go back to bed. I’d probably wake Blake if I go back to get my phone, so I decide to leave it and find something else to do downstairs.
Of course, going downstairs is mistake number one. My mother is like a bloodhound, sensing the exact moment you wake up so she can rope you into helping her do whatever. This morning, it’s baking cinnamon rolls from scratch. Judging by the burnt smell, she desperately needs the help.
“Good morning,” I chirp, and round the small island to kiss her cheek. She’s wearing the same pajamas I am, but she paired it with a truly awful knit Christmas sweater of a koalain a Christmas hat with the text “have a koala-ty Christmas”stitched around it. I hope she didn’t make any for us.
Mom smiles. “Good morning, love. I’m having some trouble with the cinnamon rolls, can you take a look?”
