“You know what I’m saying, though,” Bethany added after a long moment’s silence, her fingers twisting knots in the hem of Noam’s shirt. “Right?”
“It’s not like that,” Noam said, leaning into the words more forcefully than he meant to. “I mean—I know, obviously. I know what he’s capable of. But I think you have the wrong idea about me and Lehrer.”
Bethany leaned back enough to meet his gaze. “Then what’s the right idea?”
Noam wasn’t sure how to answer that. Later, he couldn’t even remember precisely what he said—just that he made up something fumbled about Lehrer being his instructor, Lehrer-as-political-figure, and escaped back to the bedroom as soon as he could.
But once he climbed into bed, the darkness opened up above him—and he knew that if he closed his eyes, the old nightmare would seep in to fill the far corners of his mind: Brennan’s body still warm in Noam’s arms as he dragged it into the chair, Brennan’s eyes staring without seeing. He grabbed for his bottle of sleeping pills but then hesitated with five tablets clutched in hand, breath hitching in his chest. Because ... because what if he took the pills and he fell asleep and he couldn’t wake up? What if he stayed trapped in that memory for hours, circling over it again and again until his alarm rang?
Noam shoved the pills into his pocket and made himself get up, traipsing back into the common room and turning on the fluorescent overhead light. He stayed there all night, pacing from window to wall and back when the fatigue threatened to rise up and drag him under. And finally—after he’d read two whole books and made six cups of coffee, after his body felt like it had been dragged over miles of gravel—the sun rose over the horizon and the night was over, and Noam was safe again.
Flyer hidden alongside paraphernalia stolen from C. Lehrer’s records, concealed under a floorboard beneath Noam Álvaro’s barracks bed.
Carolinia National Domestic Violence Hotline
+6 99 182 5555
Your relationship might be abusive if your partner:
Is jealous and possessive, saying things like “You’re the only person who matters to me.”
Isolates you, refusing to let you spend time with other friends and family.
Is controlling; they might demand to know where you are at all times or read your private messages.
Becomes angry when you disagree with them or don’t follow their advice.
Pressures or forces you to have sex. This includes having sex when you are too drunk to consent.
Blames you for their own bad behavior.
Is condescending and critical.
Hits you, restrains you, or is rough and forceful in their physical interactions with you.
Is violent toward other people or has a history of assault and domestic violence.
Seems to have a split personality; sometimes they are charming and affectionate, but they can become aggressive and angry at the flip of a switch.
Makes excuses for abusive behavior, saying things like “No one else would understand our relationship.”
Believes they are above the law.
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
DARA
“It feels like it won’t ever stop snowing,” Dara said. He tipped his head forward to press his brow against the icy window glass. The street outside was bare and white, emptied of people even though it was only eight p.m. The market lights strung over the outdoor patio of the music hall across the street glimmered like fireflies in a blizzard, made small and weak by the storm. There was a crack in the bottom right pane of the window, tiny branches of ice breaking away from it in fractals; that must be why his room was so damn cold all the time.
“Weather channel said it’s going to keep up through Sunday,” Priya said from behind him. She was sitting on the floor, leaning back against his bed and toying with the little origami bird she’d folded. “You’re not missing much, being stuck in this apartment. It’s all traffic jams and frostbite out there.”
“Maybe I like traffic jams and frostbite.”
Dara pushed away from the window, crossing the narrow room to drop into the rickety desk chair instead. Priya perched her tiny bird atop her knee and stared at it.
“Okay,” she said. “Explain this to me.”
Dara exhaled. “I’ll do my best,” he said. “It will be ... I can’t do it anymore, myself. I can’t train you the way I was trained.”
