“This is my confession.
As dark as I am, I will always find enough light to
adore you to pieces with all of my pieces.”
—Johnny Nguyen
Irest my head against the seat. My eyes are set on the familiar houses flicking by, yet all I see are peacock feathers, bright and blue, bones and paint, white and smooth. After saying my goodbyes to Frankie, I stopped by Batshit Betsy’s trailer to say hi, and the news was on. But the images featured felt off to me. My child self saw many things, but not one memory is as clear as that skull I just saw on screen.
I’ve always painted pictures of them, skulls and other ... parts. I paint them just as I recall. There are no peacock feathers. No perfectly proportioned streaks decorating their cheekbones. There is white, and there is red, and there are black bursts of agony hiding behind the oily remnants of flesh that were stripped from them.
Watching that reporter, the images, I just wanted it to stop. I was ready to tear the cord straight from the wall if I had to. Batshit Betsy wouldn’t have it. “Hate me if you wanna, but you can’t ignore these things forever.”
She wasn’t done at that either. She went on and on about Mama and Katerina, even when I covered my ears with my hands.
“Never know what you’re gonna get with a closed adoption, you know. The family just wasn’t ever the same after Katerina, ‘specially Agnes. Two of my cats went missing when they were kids, and I swear to this day it was that woman who did somethin’ to ‘em. Shame, really, to see a brilliant mind weighed down by so much evil. Her poetry was dark, I s’pose, but it was music to my soul. Matter o’ fact, she won contests ‘round here for years.”
Ugh. I jab the window button until fresh air whips at my face, and I close my eyes.
I don’t want to know Katerina. I don’t want to remember that the only mother who ever told me she loved me was such a horrifying person.
I do, however, have hopes of getting to know Sofia better.
One day.
“Hey, you all right?”
Dazed, I turn to face Aubrey, who has one hand on the steering wheel and the other hanging out the window.
“We can drive around a little if you want. I’m sure the boys will survive without us a bit longer.”
The boys.
Adam.
Oh god. Did he have to watch that, too? Is he still watching it now, those images flashing in his eyes, that reporter’s voice drilling into his ears?
I chew on my lip and shake my head. “No. I have to see him.” I have to hold him. I need him to holdme. I haven’t been able to shake the ache for him since I walked away with bitter words on my tongue. And now ... god, now, it hurts so much worse.
“Wait—” Aubrey slows the vehicle, focused on something outside her window. “Is that ... Is that Adam? He’soutside?”
I lean forward to see past her, squinting through the sun. Adam is bent forward, one hand on his thigh and the other rubbing the back of his neck.
I’m unbuckled and out of the car before it comes to a full stop. “Adam!”
My eyes burn at the sight of him. I’ve never seen him like this, and I don’t think I can take it. I race across the street and slide my fingers into his damp hair.
His eyes are wild when they lock on me, unhinged and desperate. My heart stutters at the look alone. I take his hand, and I’m about to pull him toward the inn when I spot the rays of sun seeping past the glass windows, reflecting on the floor.
Darting a glance back at the car’s blacked-out windows, I jerk my head across the street. “Come on.” He doesn’t move at first, his posture tense, muscles straining against his shirt. I step close enough to press my body against his and curl my arm around his torso. My voice is stronger than I feel. “Come with me, Adam.”
When he steps forward, I breathe a sigh of relief and guide him toward the car.
I need him to be okay.
I needhim.
Aubrey slips out of the vehicle, leaving the keys in the ignition, just as I get him settled into the backseat. I pull the door shut and climb onto his lap so I’m straddling him, then cup his face in my hands.
