I hadn’t opened that. I didn’t wash or change my own bedding or towels, so I’d never felt the need. Matthew pulled the tags off and wrapped it around me. It was warm and soft, and it made it harder for me to hold in the tears that wanted to spill out.
He took a seat beside me. “I’ve always tried not to push you into things you don’t want to do, but I really must insist that you talk to me this time.”
My fingers weaved through soft fur as I considered that. I didn’t know how to tell him anything. How could I confess to being a murderer in any way that was acceptable? In any way that wasn’t ugly and disgusting? It wasn’t possible. But I wanted to tell him anyway.
“Tristan,” I whispered. The name was a curse that cooled the room. I pulled the blanket up higher.
Matthew didn’t speak, and I didn’t look at him. I was afraid of what I might find if I did. His arm wrapped around the back of my shoulders. “Do you know where he is?”
“Not exactly.”
“But you know what happened to him?”
I nodded. Matthew’s hand rubbed up and down my arm. “He’s dead.”
Matthew’s hand paused, only for a moment before he continued the soothing motion. “Did he hurt you?”
I exhaled shakily. “He hurt Logan worse.”
Silence. And then his other hand was on me, cradling my head and pulling me into a tighter embrace. “Then I’m glad he’s dead.”
As if it were that simple.
“Ikilledsomeone, Matthew.”
“I know.” He held me tighter. “I know. I’m sorry you’ve had to carry this on your own for so long. But you have me now.”
I cried. I cried like I’d wanted to for weeks, months. Because there was someone to listen. Someone to comfort.
When I was done crying, my head throbbed and my eyes were heavy. Matthew’s hands kept gently scratching my scalp. He was in no rush to move me along. He had time for me. I didn’t want it to end. The weight on my soul had eased, even if only a tiny bit. Sharing my secret with Matthew had given it less hold over me.
“There’s something else.” I sniffed, sitting up from where I’d been resting against him. When I met his eyes, I didn’t see judgement, or disgust, or anger. He was looking at me the way he always looked at me.
“You can tell me anything.”
My breath escaped me. My head throbbed harder. Anxiety prickled over my scalp and chest. If being a murderer didn’t faze him, then maybe it was safe to tell him more, to tell him everything. To finally be able to tellsomeone.
“I think I fell in love with someone.”
Matthew smiled. “That’s wonderful.”
I shook my head. “No. I can’t… I… it’s… a man.”
I expected Matthew to be surprised to some extent, finding out I was in love with a man, but his smile didn’t fade. “That’s wonderful,” he said again.
“You know what my dad is like. You know it isn’t possible.”
Matthew nodded softly, his smile turning wistful. “What I know, is that you’re twenty-four and you have your whole life ahead of you. There’s so much more of the world than the small piece he’s given you, and I know that you’re strong enough to reach for it, when you’re ready.”
I shook my head again, emotions swirling together and bubbling up inside me. “I can’t. I’m not strong at all. I can’t be anything but what he wants me to be.”
“My dear boy, you’re already so much more.”
I wanted to believe him. I wanted to argue. The longing for more and the fear of the unknown both fighting for center place. It hurt. I didn’t know how to fix it, or if I even wanted to.
I was so tired from the effort it took just to exist. How could I ever fight for more?
“Tell me about him,” Matthew asked, his thumb smoothing over the crease in my brow.
