Chapter Twenty-Six #2
Tears came to Hilary’s eyes, and seeing them again, and so soon, Trenton panicked. “Don’t—!” Still bound up, he could only lurch and bump up against him. “It doesn’t hurt, Hil. It doesn’t matter at all.”
Hilary gave up on the tape and fell against him, putting his arms around him and pressing forward like he was trying to crawl up and into his chest. “It scarred. Your arm. And it still hurts you.”
The change of topic had him scrambling. “It doesn’t. It really doesn’t.”
“It does. And not just when you’re remembering the past. Whenever you exert it. And when it’s raining. I see you rubbing it.”
Trenton was still integrating all the memories from his seven lives, but his friend didn’t have that struggle, all the memories already lined up like soldiers to be used against him.
“But that’s nothing. Everyone has things like that. It’s just part of getting older, Hilary. And anyway, it’s not your fault. You didn’t—”
“But I did! I provoked her. Even when I didn’t have to. And doubled down on it despite knowing there would be consequences. I did it, and I dragged you into it, and because of me—”
“No.” It was a shocking revelation. He thought he’d known the weight of what the past had done to Hilary.
The things Axel had done. And the effects of his own running and forgetting.
Too much for a boy—even a man—to withstand.
But still not all. Because Hilary was also carrying this, a burden he had picked up all on his own, perhaps the heaviest of them all.
The blame didn’t belong to Hilary. The man had to see that.
He was too smart not to see it. And yet, Hilary had said it and had been saying it for so long that it had become the truth.
And the worst part—worse than the sinking realization of just how much damage such a belief could bring—was knowing it had been avoidable.
If he’d been there. If his mind hadn’t cut its losses and run, he might have argued with it before that belief set in.
Might have shown Hilary the fallacy of it.
“Cut me free.” It was focus he needed. He hadn’t forgotten the danger that crackled all around him. He couldn’t afford to be reckless. “Just an arm is enough. Give me an arm, Hilary. Use the scissors.”
The man’s hands were back to shaking again, trembling with a palsy that made wielding the scissors dangerous, and Hilary knew it. He dropped them and wouldn’t pick them up again. “I cut you. Before.”
“It doesn’t matter. You can’t hurt me in a way that matters.”
“Bullshit! You hurt me all the time.”
“Because I’m not as good of a protector as you are. Use the scissors, Hilary. I’ll help you.”
Hilary made that sound again as he did it, soft and heartbreaking, like a child being forced to do something he wasn’t ready for. So brave, always so brave, to think of the kind of hell Hilary been going through alone—and for him. For him.
“I would kill them again, Hil. It wasn’t enough to do it once. I’m so sorry I ran. I never meant to, not with Amelia either. There’s no excuse, and I’m not making one, but Hilary, I think I could have faced it better if I’d loved you less.”
Hilary didn’t answer. He couldn’t, absorbed with the work of the scissors and not accidentally impaling him.
Trenton could have suggested a knife. The ones in the kitchen were certainly sharp enough, but saying so would only instigate another panic attack.
So he could only wait there and try to keep still, though every cell in his body was thrumming with fifteen years of on-again, off-again memories not nearly enough to quench the need for this man.
“If I could have made them take me instead. If I could go back—”
“They did take you. They took us both, Trenton.”
“But they didn’t. Because to you, they—” He couldn’t say it. Even fifteen years later. Even when he’d been forcing Hilary to face it by himself all this time. “To you, they—”
The scissors shot upward, nearly clipping Trenton in the face as they suddenly broke through the tape.
His hands came apart in a snap of force, and Hilary crowed with triumph, sounding so like himself, so much like the usual Hilary, that it brought out the sob Trenton had been holding back even as he got clumsy arms up around his beloved, his hands useless stumps that couldn’t grip, so he could only sort of smash Hilary against him as the blood pumped furiously through his arms and back into starving fingers.
“You gave me the penguin.” It was all flooding in now.
More and more, a great unleashing of memory.
“Four years ago. And I should have remembered.”
“You kept it.” Hilary sounded a little husky again. “You usually can’t keep the things I gave you. It made me hope a little to see it. As if you were coming closer to me.”
“I was. I was closer. I’ve been coming closer all this time.” And it wasn’t just words. Now that he had more of a global view he could see it, could pinpoint the progress, though he knew that offered little comfort.
“It was worse for you,” Hilary offered. “That’s why you forgot. Because you were forced to be the audience, not because you were weak.”
“I was. I still am. Hilary, if you hadn’t come for me—”
“You would have remembered faster, I think. That’s what mom says.
She kept telling me to leave it alone. That a little space would help more than constantly pushing it into your face.
But I couldn’t leave you alone, like it was better to have you never remember than be without you, even for a day.
I was so stupid. I’m still so stupid. Do you love me? ”
“How can you ask that?” It felt as if his ribs were pushing up against the tape, and like any further expansion would have them splintering into shards. “If we did this another thousand times, If I woke up forgetting again every day of forever, it would still be you.”
“You’re supposed to be kissing me.” Tears were spilling over those lids. Every time Hilary cried meant falling for him yet again. “How many times do I have to tell you to kiss me before you finally do it?”