He flinches like I hit him.
“I saw you.”I stand taller.“With men.And women.In their cars.In alleys.In empty buildings.I saw you put money in your pocket after.”
His whole body turns to stone.Then something else.Something cracks.
“Little Bird.”The words break in his mouth.“You… God, no.You weren’t supposed to—” He drags both hands down his face, scrubbing hard like he wants to erase himself.“You followed me?”
“Of course, I followed you.”I shrug.“You’re mine.”
He staggers back a step, bumping into the cracked wall.He looks sick.Not angry.Sick.He grips his stomach.His jaw grinds back and forth, and his nostrils pulse wide.
“I did that to feed you.”His voice strains.“When we were sleeping on the streets.When we had nothing.When you were freezing and hungry and small.I couldn’t get a job.I didn’t have anyone.I didn’t have a choice.”
“I know.”
“That was never supposed to be something you watched.Never.”
“I wasn’t scared.I just wanted to know where you went.”
He shuts his eyes like he can’t stand looking at me.Or maybe he can’t stand me looking at him.
“I’m not proud of any of that,” he says.“I’m not proud of the way people touched me or the way I let them.I did it so you could eat.Soyoudidn’t have to do anything like that.Ever.”
I don’t know what to say.My throat hurts.
When he opens his eyes again, they’re angry and sad.But he looks at me like I’m the whole reason he survived those awful years.
“You can’t talk about sex.”He steps forward, stops himself, steps back again.He’s rattled.Really rattled.“Not with anyone older.Not with anyone who wants something from you.You don’t let anyone see you naked.You don’t let anyone touch you.You don’t—”
“I already have.”
“Havewhat?”He goes deadly still.
“I had sex.”
He pins me with a look so terrifying my insides fold up.
“Who?”His shout hits like a fist.
“Why are you mad?”
“Who?”he roars.
I step back until my legs bump the tub’s cold edge.“A boy at school.”
“Which boy?What’s his name?”
“He’s…” My hands shake.“Just a boy in my English class.His brother.”
“His brother?”His face contorts.Not confusion.Fury.Pure and simple and lethal.“Where is this brother?Is he in school?”
“No.”My toes curl inside the tub.“He’s too old for school.”
He inhales sharply, his chest lifting with a dangerous, animal breath.“How old?”
“He has a car.”
“That’s not an age, Dove.”
