49. Claire
Chapter forty-nine
Claire
It’s weird, lying in bed next to Remy. We haven’t done anything more than innocent touch since the night I told him I can never love him. Maybe he took that to mean that I didn’t want him in my life, but I’m not sure how I even meant it… or if I did. I wanted to push him away, wanted to push Rhea away, wanted everyone to just fucking leave me alone so that my black hole heart wouldn’t rip them apart.
And now, suddenly I don’t want to be alone anymore.
It's why I’m grateful that he insisted if we were going to stay here, rather than going back to his house together, that we were going to share a room. I don’t think there’s any danger to be had here in their little compound, but after a week of having him just across the hall from me, the thought of having two separate rooms feels lonely.
The only problem is, now he’s asleep next to me, wearing nothing but his boxers and I can’t think about anything other than how badly I want things to go back to the way they were before I left. Given the chance to do it over, I wouldn’t have left in the first place—not because of everything that came after, but because it was a mistake to begin with.
I’ve always loved to swim, but I never realized I was drowning until he pulled me against him and helped me fight the tide. I thought I knew what I wanted, what I needed to do to get what I wanted. I thought a life with a husband and kids, and a stable home would feed the part of my soul that’s always been empty, and I justified leaving him because he couldn’t fill that hole .
Now I know the hole was never just for the normal life I thought I wanted—it was for the other part of me… the space where my sister should have been. I might never have known about her if I hadn’t left him, but now I know that the problem wasn’t him or me. The problem was the bitch who separated us, the one who made sure I would never have the love of a family because she stole me from everyone who ever cared about me up until Rhea.
The bitch is gone, but it’s not as if that magically fixes everything.
I’ll work on the whole sister thing in due time. Twenty-one years apart is a lot to try and make up for, and we’ve both got our own shit to work through, clearly. The more pressing matter is the man sleeping inches away from me. I briefly entertain the idea of climbing atop him and waking him with his cock in my mouth, but something tells me that wouldn’t move the dial after it was said and done.
The air is thick and hot, and I’ve tossed and turned for hours by the time I sit up, abandoning the idea of sleep. Just like the first night I met him, I think I’ll go out to the pool and try to burn the restless energy out of my veins.
I don’t have a swimsuit, and I’m not keen on going in my bra and panties, so I throw a large shirt over the tank that would have shown everything once it got wet, and step into a pair of shorts, gathering my hair off my neck.
I swipe the key card off the dresser and open the door as quietly as I can, hoping the light that filters in from the hall doesn’t wake him. It doesn’t reach far enough to touch him, so I slip out into the corridor and let the door close slowly behind me, ensuring it doesn’t click too loudly into place.
The hallway is cooler, and I can breathe easier now that there’s a physical barrier between us and I know I’m not going to launch myself, naked, onto his lap. I feel the heat coiled inside of me easing with each step I put between us, and I’m practically skipping through the hall, delirious with relief at the idea of getting out to the pool.
I stop as soon as I hear the sobbing. The sound sends a strange familiarity through me… not quite déjà vu, but too familiar to ignore the unsettling feeling it procures under my ribs.
Pinpointing the sound with which door it’s coming from, I listen for a moment, torn between minding my own business or checking that everything is okay. I end up knocking on the door, the rapping sound interrupting the soft sobs. I hear her try to stifle them, and then wait to see if I go away, but I don’t. When I knock again, I hear movement on the other side of the door, and after a minute, it opens.
I haven’t met the girl who appears on the other side, opening it slowly so that she can appraise me and try to decide whether I’m any kind of threat. I can tell by the wide eyes that she looks at me with that she’s young… probably the youngest I’ve seen here. The whites of her eyes are red and raw, which tells me she’s been crying for a while, and I suddenly remember that my eyes aren’t back to normal yet, either. I’m probably a scary sight for a child right now.
“Are you okay?” I offer, because it would probably be more unsettling if I ran away without following up with the reason I knocked on her door.
I know how stupid it is to ask that, even without knowing the extent of what these people have been through. I snapped at my best friend for asking such a useless question, for wasting my mental energy with filler words, and now I’ve done the same to this girl. To be fair, no one gives you lessons on how to be a victim, though the degree I’ve been working toward should have taught me how to treat a victim.
“Yes,” the girl sniffles, doing her best to quell the tears still welling in her eyes, to hide them from me.
“I couldn’t sleep.” I tell her, talking simply for the sake of keeping her from shutting the door in my face… keeping her from being alone. “It’s my first night here. ”
She manages a watery smile for me. “It’s not bad here.” She assures me. “You’ll be okay.”
“I’m Claire,” I tell her. “What’s your name?”
For a moment, I think she isn’t going to give it to me. She holds her name like it’s privileged information, and then she swallows whatever doubts she has about me.
“I’m Taissa.”
Taissa. The girl who wanted to see Remy. I know for a fact she didn’t, because he hasn’t left my side but for a minute as Rich showed me around earlier. At dinner, I studied faces as best I could without being rude, and I don’t remember seeing Taissa there.
“Are you hungry? I’m going to go find something to eat, but I’m afraid to go alone.”
I see her hesitation in every breath as she glances back at the safety of her room, and then peeks out into the hall behind me. Pressuring her won’t make her feel inclined to come with me, but my lie about being scared entreats her to not let me go alone.
“Okay,” she agrees. “Just give me a minute to put a sweater on.”
She manages a small smile for me when she returns, blinking away the last of the tears in her eyes. “You don’t have to be scared here. These people… they’re not like the rest.”
“The rest?” I puzzle, unsure what she means by it.
“The rest of the world. It’s cruel, evil.” She shivers and pulls at the edges of her green hoodie. “They’re different here.”
I want to tell her that’s not true, that there is still plenty of good in the world. I want to give her the confidence to return to a world full of strangers and think that everything will be alright, but I don’t have it in me to lie to her. The truth is these people are exceptional.
Remy is exceptional.
I watch her out of the corner of my eye as she looks anxiously at the elevator we’re approaching. I nod toward the door that leads to the stairwell. “Mind if we take the stairs? I’m restless… have to move as much as I can. ”
“Of course.” Taissa says easily, looking grateful for my request. As we step into the stairwell, I realize how dark it is and grope for a light switch, but I don’t feel anything. “They’re motion activated, but they’re a bit… finnicky. Should kick on in a minute.”
She leads me into the stairwell, showing me that it’s fine, but I stay rooted to the spot, my mouth suddenly dry.
“Claire?”
It’s stupid to be scared of the dark after everything. Honestly, it is better to be alone in the dark than in the light with some of the monsters I know, but that thought doesn’t make my legs move. Taissa steps in front of me, and then her hand closes around my wrist, drawing my attention.
“Are you afraid of the dark?”
“I know it’s stupid.” My voice is a whisper, strained past the heavy breaths slipping past my lungs. “I just…”
“It’s not stupid.” She says, cutting me off before I can say anything more. “Fear is how we know we’re alive.”
I blink, studying her delicate face. “Living hurts.”
I don’t know what made me say it, and I kind of hate myself the minute it slips out. I’m supposed to be helping her, and here I am, whining about my fears to a teenager.
“It sure does.” Her lips quirk into a little smile. “Would it help if I sing?”
I’m not sure what she means until she tips her head toward the stairs that descend into the dark. “I’ll hold your hand and sing, so you know I’m with you.”
I feel so absurd that I want to cry and laugh all at once, the sound of the fire alarm filling the back of my skull and red lights cutting through my vision.
“Yeah,” I nod, slipping my hand into hers.
She begins singing the minute her fingers close around mine, and while I don’t recognize the melody and I think she’s singing in a different language entirely, her voice is beautiful and the sound is soothing. I feel for the banister with my free hand, using it to guide me down the stairs, and to ground me in reality. We’re halfway down the first set of stairs by the time the light flickers on with a resounding click that showcases the ugly linoleum walls. I don’t say anything, though I do breathe a little easier, and Taissa doesn’t stop singing, doesn’t let go of my hand.
We stay linked together the whole way downstairs, until we spill out into the hotel’s ambient-lit lobby.
It’s weird. I’ve spent the last week in a hotel with Remy, and now I’m here in this one with her, and suddenly, I realized it’s the first time I’ve stayed in a hotel. And the penthouse suite we occupied in Washington is hardly a real hotel experience. But this, with Taissa? It’s a weird first to note, but for some reason, I tell her anyway.
She stares at me for a moment, like she’s trying to imagine my life story, and then smiles a little. “It’s my first time in a hotel, too.”
The confession takes me by surprise enough that I stop walking to face her. I know why this is my first time in a hotel (or second, if I count it as a separate incident). I didn’t get vacations as a child—apparently the families I stayed with were too busy spending all their money trying to keep me to be able to enjoy a getaway. As an adult, everywhere I’ve stayed with Rhea has been lavish— someone’s home or a vacation rental.
“You’ve never stayed at a hotel?”
“No.” She laughs, glancing nervously around. “I… I didn’t have a normal childhood.”
“Me either.” I laugh ruefully, the memories of Addison’s confession making rage pool in my stomach. I can’t acknowledge it—I won’t acknowledge it in front of her.
I pull her in the direction of the kitchen, wondering if Elaine is up baking or something. I can’t imagine she ever gets a minute to rest with all these people to cook for. I hope Remy is compensating her enough for all the extra work.
“I’ve never been outside until the day they rescued us. ”
Taissa’s words are rushed, like if she doesn’t say them fast, they’ll never get out. They give me pause to face her just as I turned the kitchen light on and notice her pallor for the first time. “What?”
She’s stark white, enough for me to see the web of veins under her skin. The irises of her eyes are the palest blue, a color like ice when she peeks up at me through her silver hair. And for her, my heart shatters. “My mom had me there. They let her keep me, because they said I was so sickly I’d die anyway. I never did, but when I was ten, she did. Her body gave up, and I had to step up into her spot.”
She bites her lip, like she thinks she’s said too much, and I bite mine to keep it from trembling. “You… stepped into her spot?”
“They don’t care for you for free.” She shrugs. “I got used to it.”
Her words feel like a knife to the heart, a stabbing pain that twists deep inside. It’s hard to breathe as I contemplate the honesty of her statement. I don’t know how anyone could ever get used to it, and I don’t even know exactly what it is.
“How old are you?”
I know I’m about to hate myself for asking, because the answer is terrible no matter what it is. But she wants to talk to me… I get the sense she hasn’t had many people to talk to lately. Despite that, she speaks well.
“My mom has been dead for five years, I think. So… fifteen?”
Despite my best intentions, a sob breaks from my chest, and I shake my head profusely. “I’m so sorry. I…”
“It’s okay.” Taissa shrugs. “You didn’t do anything.”
“No.” I sigh, wiping a hand over my face to clear the tears that are threatening to fall.
Five years of abuse, and fifteen of captivity. She was only ten when they started letting men…
“I need food.” I say, because it’s probably the only thing that will keep me from throwing up right now. And Taissa doesn’t need to bear witness to that. “What’s your favorite? ”
She shrugs, as if she’s never really thought about it. “I stick to soup, usually, because of my teeth.”
I regret turning to her the minute I do and see her bracing her jaw, showing me her empty gums. I hadn’t even realized that the faint lisp I’ve been hearing wasn’t an accent.
I swallow the bile that rose to the back of my throat and manage a closed-lipped smile of my own.
“Well, how about mashed potatoes?” I pick up the box sitting on a shelf against the wall. It’s a well-stocked shelf, full of staples like beans and rice and canned goods. It looks like Elaine has prepared for nuclear fallout down here. Part of me thinks we may all be better off if that happened and we had to hunker together, cut off from the cruelty of the rest of the world.
When I see the blank look on her face, I have to wonder whether I’m the crazy one.
“You’ve never had mashed potatoes? Surely Elaine…”
“I don’t come to dinner with the rest.” Taissa says quietly. “Miss Elaine just brings my soup for me.”
“Oh.” I bite my lip, looking at the cans lined up on the middle shelf, broths, stocks, consommés. “Any preference?”
“I’ll try the potatoes, if you’re making them anyway.”
“Yeah?” I smile. “Are you sure? I don’t mind…”
“I’m sure. We’re sharing all kinds of firsts… may as well add this to the list.”
Something about the way she says it makes me laugh, so I open the fridge to get out the milk and butter. It’s lucky it’s an industrial size refrigerator, considering Elaine’s got it stuffed so full that the butter falls at my feet when I open the door.
“So…” I venture, filling the pot that I found hanging above the stove with water. “They rescued you guys?”
“Yes,” Taissa’s voice is quiet as she says it. I don’t want to push her to reveal anything more, so I simply smile at her, waiting to see if she feels like going on. “I’ve dreamed about stuff like that.” Her voice is low, almost like she’s embarrassed .
I lean in close to her, so that she knows what I’m about to tell her is just as much a confession as hers. She really is beautiful, like a porcelain doll. She even blushes a little, pink rising to dust the tops of her cheekbones when I tell her, “Me too.”
I set the water to boil and appraise her, deciding whether I should go on. She’s a child, which makes telling her things about myself strange, but at the same time, she’s lived through more than many women do their whole lives. I guess that affords her a special sort of adult privilege. “I used to dream that it would storm hard enough to shatter the windows, and the house would fall away like paper, the water would flood in and sweep my bed out like a ship to the sea.”
I laugh, because it sounds ridiculous to me now. I’ve been adrift at sea for years, looking for shore and unable to find it, unable to find a way to move forward. I thought I needed to know where I come from to know who I am, but truly, I don’t think that’s helped. Finding out your mother had it worse than you did kind of shatters the illusion that things will get better. They never did for her.
“That sounds lonely.” Taissa says quietly.
I was always lonely as a child. But given the choice of feeling lonely in the company of monsters or feeling lonely at sea, I would still choose the latter.
“Yeah,” I nod. “But in my dreams, it was peaceful.”
“In my dreams, when they rescued us all, everything was just magically fixed.” Taissa admits. “Not that way in real life.”
I want to laugh at that, too, because it’s wildly relatable. Instead, I shake my head. “It never is.”
I can feel her watch me as I measure out the ingredients and pour them into the pot. “Did they rescue you, too?”
The question gives me a moment of pause, because I don’t know how exactly to explain that. They did rescue me, of course. Remy did, the senator did, Rhea did. But I’m not sure how to explain that to her, or whether she needs that explained. “Yes, they did. ”
“Do they do this kind of thing often?”
“Rescue people?” I ask, because it sounds sort of silly.
She’s a child , I remind myself again. She was pulled from the dark and brought into this world, so it’s only natural that she might think this is some sort of fairytale situation. Although, I guess I did think of Remy as an angel of vengeance.
I think of the night we killed together, when he told me that Giante would die whether I participated or not, how he assured me that the choice was mine alone, that what I was going to do would leave a mark on my soul.
I think of before that, when he came for me in the dark, when he killed Mac and Slick and kept me out of Wes’ clutches. And then I think of his confession, of him telling me that he’d bought women before to set them free.
“Yeah,” I swallow past the lump that suddenly feels like it’s lodged itself in my throat. “I guess they do.”
She’s quiet again as I dole out our midnight snack, watching with the slightest hint of anxiety pulling her lips downward.
“If you don’t like it, I can make you soup.” I promise her.
Taissa nods nervously, swirling the fork through her mountain of potatoes, and then her eyes flicker to me as I eat mine. I don’t have much of an appetite, honestly. Elaine’s dinner was delicious and I ate as much as I could, and while that was hours ago, I’m not hungry. But even cooking something so simple has been a good distraction from the restless energy I couldn’t get rid of.
“It’s not the pinnacle of fine food,” I tell her, savoring the melt in my mouth. “But it’s a good comfort food.”
That entices her to at least try, and when she does, it takes her by surprise. Her eyes even flutter a little as she moans, and I try not to laugh, but I fail. She doesn’t seem bothered when her eyes open again, though, after a moment of savoring her first taste of something other than soup. I wonder how long she’s been without teeth—at fifteen, your wisdom teeth haven’t even come in yet.
“It’s so good.” She whispers, in awe.
I can’t help myself—I chuckle again. “You’re going to have to keep this our secret, or else I think Elaine will be jealous that you think me such a fabulous chef.”
That gets a real laugh out of her. She tosses her head back, snorts, and then covers her mouth, embarrassed. When I only grin at her, she eases a little, and we eat in comfortable silence for a while.
She speaks out of the blue, when our plates are empty and our stomachs are full, and it pulls me from a haze I didn’t realize I was in. I can tell by the way she’s speaking that she must have been thinking about it for a while before she decided to voice it.
“It’s funny, isn’t it?”
“Hmm?” I blink, trying to figure out if I missed something she’d said previously. “What is?”
“How you’re afraid of the dark,” she whispers, like she doesn’t want to betray my secret to the dishes in the cupboards. “And I’m afraid of the light.”