"So you got a thing for pity cases," I mutter.
"No."
His voice is so sharp, I’m forced to turn around.
"I never pitied you," he says with such intense conviction I feel shame burn my cheeks. "But I did always worry you’d be out of my reach. And I didn’t know how right I was until... " his hands scrub over his messy dark hair, the tube in his arm staying in. "Meu Deus, monsters! I saw them, but... "
He slips into Portuguese, showing he’s not as unflappable as he appears.
"I imagine it’s hard to wrap your head around if you haven’t known most of your life," I say quietly.
Then he shoots the series of questions that need answering.
How long have I known monsters are real?
Since I was a kid.
Where do they come from?
Another realm—I left the part about from under the bed out. He doesn’t need more to worry about.
Why are they here?
They came for me.
He doesn’t ask why, which is good because I don’t think I should answer that. Either he’s struggling to absorb everything, or the head injury keeps him from digging deeper.
Once I’ve assured Miguel we aren’t approaching an apocalypse of monsters taking over the world, I fall back into the squeaky vinyl chair.
His brows knit and his face reflects a consternation and seriousness I’ve never seen on him before. "Are you okay?"
I chuckle, a hollow sound that bounces off the sterile walls. "That's a loaded question."
He leans forward, wincing slightly. Guilt flares in me bright and hot. "I mean it, Evie. After what happened, I just... I want to know if you're okay."
I sigh, tracing a pattern on the bedsheet with my finger. "Okay is a relative term in my world. But yeah, I'm managing."
He nods, a frown creasing his forehead. "I've been thinking a lot, you know, while lying here. About us, about that night."
I meet his gaze, the weight of unspoken words hanging between us. "Miguel... "
He raises a hand, stopping me. "No, let me finish. I know now, more than ever, that your world... it's not something I can be a part of. And you know that too. Hell, you knew before I did, but I didn’t want to let go."
My throat tightens, a mix of relief and sadness swirling in my chest. "I do know, and I'm sorry. Sorry that I dragged you into my mess."
"It's not your fault, Evie. You're fighting your own battles. I just... I wish things could've been different." He reaches out, his hand gently grasping mine.
I squeeze his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin. "You were my highway exit to a normal life, you know. I desperately wanted to take it, but I am what I am." I want him to know, toreallyknow that I tried.
Silence falls, comfortable yet tinged with regret.
He finally breaks it, his voice softer now. "I didn’t fall for you because I pitied you," he says, rounding back to my earlier accusation. "I fell for you because you know who you are, and I desperately wanted to know who that person is because she’s special."
My muscles tighten, my body recoiling at hearing something so counter to how I feel about myself. But he goes on.
"It’s like you are awake in a way no one else is, and you really see the world. But Evie," he licks his chapped lips, his voice taking an even more serious tone, "I think you’ve seen a lot of bad because of that."
I can’t help the snort even as my lashes turn wet from unshed tears. A strange feeling fills my chest, like a twisting sensation but not in a bad way—more like a twisting anticipation, as if I’m on the verge of something. Like a glass window I didn’t realize was there is about to be broken through.
