I’ve been in fights before. Plenty of them. I’ve had to fight for my life more times than I can possibly remember. But never have I wanted to lash out the way I want to lash out at Ben right now.
Because I’m wounded. And lashing out is what a wounded animal does.
But I don’t hit him or raise my voice or anything except hiss out, “Don’t you ever call mebabyagain.”
24
Ben wantsto talk about it.
He tries right there by the motor, and then he tries back at the outpost, and then he tries again after we’ve buried Wilson, and then he tries once more when things have settled down in the late afternoon.
I will not speak to him.
I can’t. My emotions are in far too intense a turmoil to shape into coherent words.
Masking my feelings is what I’ve always done, and it holds me in good stead today. I put on a calm, competent act, and I’m convinced no one but Ben knows that something is wrong.
He, on the other hand, is visibly upset. So upset that person after person asks him what’s wrong. I pretend not to notice. Pretend not to be aware of his presence nearby throughout the afternoon.
I don’t think anything through. I don’t make any plans or decisions. I don’t lay out exactly what I want to say to Ben when I’m capable of talking.
I don’t have the mental energy for any of that. Every ounce of my physical and emotional effort is spent attempting to hold myself together.
It’s all I can do.
After dinner, when it’s getting dark, I know Ben won’t be put off any longer. If I don’t talk to him privately, he might actually pick me up and carry me to the storage room.
So after I’ve eaten with the others, I stand up, stretch my back, and then meet his eyes. He’s been lurking restlessly behind me this whole time. I jerk my head slightly in the direction of the building.
He nods and glowers and turns silently to walk inside.
He’s not even trying to give the folks around us an excuse.
“Please go talk to the guy,” Vella says, shaking her head as she looks back at him. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him, but I’ve never seen him so upset.”
“Yeah.” I take a shaky breath. “I’ll go see what’s wrong.”
I know what’s wrong, but for once I’m not the one who caused it.
When I findBen waiting in the storage room, I expect him to immediately launch into an explanation, but he doesn’t.
He stands in the middle of the floor, stiff and way too big for the small room, and he looks at me.
I close and latch the door. Inhale deeply and blow it out before I turn around to face him.
He’s expecting me to talk, but I don’t. I still have absolutely no idea what to say.
The silence goes on so long that eventually Ben’s features contort with stifled feeling. “I’m sorry. I really am.”
“Are you?” My voice is small and breaks slightly.
“Of course I am. I get why you’re so upset. But I was just tryin’ to?—”
His half-finished sentence is the thing that breaks the dam of my emotions. I jerk back abruptly, like he landed a blow, and I bite out, “Don’t you dare try to justify yourself!”
“Annabelle—”
“It was wrong. It was nothing but wrong. You know it was wrong. Youknowit. So don’t you fucking dare try to justify it.”
