“You did though,” he says gently. “You fed her, you gave her blankets and a safe place to go.” Taking the phone back from me, he switches apps to show me something else. “This is an excerpt from the first book she published. She talks about how the worst part of constantly moving wasn’t never being able to make friends, it was having to find a new safe space to hide. Check out the third paragraph there and where she says her favorite hiding place was.”
I struggle to focus on the letters on the screen, but when I do I see just how much that treehouse in Blackridge meant to her. I couldn’t save her, couldn’t even give her somewhere to spend the night, but those small acts of kindness I showed her meant something to her. They helped her keep going.
“Sid, I was a fucking asshole to her.”
I have to rub my chest it feels so tight, but as deserved, I get no relief.
“You were. There’s another mention in her third book, came out about a year ago. It’s an offhand comment she never goesinto detail on, but she says there’s only one person on earth who never tried to hurt her or take anything from her. I’m guessing she meant you. Well, kid you, anyway. And before you start jumping through mental hoops trying to convince yourself it still wasn’t her, I checked the records. Her family lived in Blackridge, Idaho exactly one street over from you the autumn you were twelve. To put it simply, if Alaina Barclay wasn’t the emaciated girl who visited you in your treehouse, then she really was a ghost.”
I’ve never wanted to disappear more than I do right now.
The pull I had to her the second we locked eyes wasn’t because I was searching for some sort of connection, it was because I found one. We found it that fall when we were children, and we found it again in a crowd of thousands. That wasn’t an accident. None of this was an accident.
And I found a way to fuck it up anyway. “I can see her face now,” I admit. “I can see her as she tells me her name, with those same blue/gray eyes. Goddamnit, Sid. I really fucking hurt her. She’ll never see me the same.”
“She handled it well. That talkshow host Tasha tried to put her through the ringer about what happened at dinner, but she handled it in stride. Never blamed you, never tried to say it was something it wasn’t.” He hesitates, then adds, “She’s going on a tour of her own now.”
Of course she handled it like a boss, because she’s the strongest person I’ve ever met. Much stronger than I’ll ever be. After everything she’s gone through, how was she still so warm? There was a sadness that followed her, yet when I looked into her eyes all I felt was a fire not even serial killers could snuff out. I never realized how cold I was until I turned her away. “What kind of tour?”
“It started out as a book signing, from what I can tell. She’s trying to shift from talking about her story for publicity to helping other people, so it’s more of a... I don’t know. Group therapy session? She’s trying to get in touch with other people like her who don’t have anyone else.”
I nod and stare at my hands for far too long before I decide to ask. I shouldn’t, she’d be better off without me, but I can’t help it. “Where will she be next?”
He grabs his phone once again and opens up our message thread, but I’ll have to charge mine if I want to see what he sent. “You now have the full schedule. I thought you might ask.”
“Is it dumb if I go? After how much I hurt her I know I’ll never truly have her again, but I need to apologize at least.”
I might have to make a scene, but she did everything she could so she could get in front of me and thank me for what I did as a kid. The least I can do is everything I can to get in front ofherto say I’m sorry for what I did as an adult.
“I’d be careful,” he says gently. “You’re a rockstar, it’s expected that dumb shit will happen when you’re involved, but her shit? It’s real. Those signings will be full of people like her who are desperate for a connection and a little understanding after a lifetime of the worst shit you could possibly imagine. If you turn up and it goes bad, it could fuck up a lot of things for her, and the others too.”
He’s right. The problem with me is I didn’t even consider any of that. “So what should I do? What wouldyoudo?”
He huffs. “Well, I think it’s pretty clear what I would do, which is hang onto anyscraps I’m given and let him ruin me slowly. Don’t take my advice. But you? Go. Don’t interrupt the signing, wait until it’s over, but go apologize.”
He’s talking about Levi. I may be a little self-absorbed sometimes, but I know how Sid feels about him, and I know Levi feels things too, I just don’t know what’s truly holding them back. “I’ll do what you say, but maybe you should take my advice in return. Ruin him back. You’re the only one who can, and it’s what he needs to get his head out of his ass. Levi is teetering at the edge of a cliff and there’s no denying he’s about to fall. Let him. Then show him he has somewhere safe to land.”
“I can’t,” he says simply. “I’ve told myself that a thousand times. But every time he gets close, when I think about how it’ll be for him... I can’t fucking do it. I’d rather spend my life saving him from himself while he Eiffel Towers blondes than let him fall like that. I’m just a supporting character, Bash. But you? You’re the main fucking event. Go get your girl.”
I hate that for him, but I also don’t know how to help. What they choose to do is on them, and if Levi doesn’t see whathe can have soon, their time might pass them by. I don’t want that to be us.
I don’t feel like a main character right now, because I feel like that’s her, and maybe that says more than anything else could. I want to support her and be her safe space. I want her to be my girl. It doesn’t matter that we just met, her darkness has always called to mine, and it’s time I get off my ass and learn to be her light. I just have to figure out how to deserve her, but first I need her to hear me.
I have to set this right.
Chapter Fifteen:
New Romantics
Alaina
God, there’s more people here than I thought.
When my agent originally booked this tour, she expected maybe ten or twenty people to show up to each stop. They’d listen to me speak for a few minutes, get their signed copies, and that would be that.
But there has to be fifty people here, all looking at me expectantly from their neat little rows of seats. I wonder how many of them have built walls to cover the rot within, and how many are just here to get their rocks off. I’m not sure it matters.
“Hello,” I start shakily. “Thank you all for coming today. My name is Alaina Barclay, daughter of infamous serial killers Greg and Antonietta Barclay. You’ve all heard my story. You’ve read about it, you’ve seen the documentaries, you’ve listened to the podcasts and the interviews. I’m not sure there’s anything new I can say to you, so this tour, I’d like to switch things up.” Not many people look surprised, which is good. Maybe they got the newsletter and are here for the right reasons. “The biggest thing I hear from other survivors is that community is everything. Without the support of other people who understand, navigating life can be very difficult. It’s not like we suffered a bad breakup or lost a good job, things that most people can relate to. What we’ve been through is heavy... so heavy no one should ever have to understand. But we do. So, I’d like to dedicate this tour toyourstories.”
