A specific memory starts to tap at the back of my mind, but I can’t focus on anything but the words coming out of Fiero’s mouth.
“To the others, you were just going through typical teenage stuff. They brushed it off, figuring you’d be back to your normal self soon enough, but I watched you.”
My lashes lift but he no longer feels like safety; he feels like a bomb about to drop.
“I knew there was another reason for why you’d stepped into the shadows. I just…”
His voice catches and I see a glimmer of vulnerability.
“I just wanted to help.” He clears his throat and passes a hand through his hair. “But I didn’t think you’d take me seriously. I was a late developer. I was small back then, hadn’t filled out yet, and my voice hadn’t broken…”
Out of nowhere, the memory slams through to the front of my mind and I clap a hand over my mouth.
I remember.
A kid in class, one I’d never paid any attention to, asked me the simplest of questions.Was I okay?
He was short, slight, and underdeveloped compared to the other boys in class. But most importantly, he was connected to a mob.
My response was cruel. It had to be.
I made the entire class laugh at him.
Oh my God.
“That was you?” My words are a whisper.
He doesn’t respond. He simply lets the memory creep to the front of my mind, growing more horrific and unforgivable with every step.
That boy was nothing like the man standing in front of me now. Not that it matters; what I did was indefensible, regardless.
He left school that same day and never came back. I couldn’tlet anyone know it, but the guilt wracked me for years, until I pushed it away like all my other high school experiences.
“I—”
Oh dear God.
Tears burn behind my eyes. I made fun of his voice and his size. I used everything he was against him.
“I was a kid,” I whisper. “I didn’t know what I was doing.”
His expression hardens.
“My father heard about it before I got home,” he continues after a moment, his voice lower now. “And in the world I grew up in, being exposed in that way isn’t just embarrassing…”
My chest twists painfully.
“…it’s weakness.”
I hold my breath, afraid to know what I’d really done—what my actions caused.
He finishes with a shrug. “And weakness gets beaten out of you.”
I choke a sob into my hand, tears streaming over my fingers.
He continues, his voice ringing in my ears like a war siren. “I stopped speaking that day.”
He lets that settle in because it doesn’t make any sense.
