“Want to tell me about it?” Conin asks.
“Not right now,” I say, but I will. I’ll open up and Conin will listen. He will say that he plans to protect me and that nothing bad will ever happen to me. I can come and escape into his corner of the world whenever I need to.
I didn’t realize it then, but that was the night I fell in love with Conin. Soon, we were under the blankets, on that tiny bed, us two, and the warmth of our bodies.
“You’re safe here,” he said.
I believed him.
There’s the steadfast song of birds.
Forms made of skin and metal press against my own. They don’t leave, they stay. Firm. Diligent. Familiar. It’s dark now. It’s too dark, almost as if I’ve lost the ability to see.
I was always fond of the dark. No one could see me. No one could judge. Lukeman Gray went to sleep. Thax escaped reality in the only way he knew how. And I would run to be alone, but alone with Conin. He would always make it better. Atlas makes it better, too. They put me back together, piece by piece. I carry myself the rest of the way there.
The taste of ash finds me.
I’m falling, falling, falling.
Conin’s hands are on me, Atlas’s too, and they’re traveling over every corner and crevice, searching for the warm, sticky wetness pooled over the concave that is my stomach. I look down and I’m bleeding, bleeding, bleeding.
How unusual.
The world quiets. I hear soft voices, but I don’t fret.
It’s better now,I think.
Better when the sun goes down.
To be continued . . .
