Chapter 7
how do i bring that up at my next telehealth visit?
Saige
Islept for a couple of hours before waking, drenched in sweat and out of breath, after a nightmare I can't quite recall.
The only thing I remember is that I was sitting in the kitchen downstairs, and somehow, I knew Elias was dead, even though I didn't know what happened to him.
Miles was there, making me a sandwich, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't move; I couldn't scream.
All I could do was sit there, watching him, while sweat beaded on my forehead and tears rolled down my cheeks.
He dropped a plate in front of me with one of Nolan's fish between two pieces of white bread. And then he smiled…just before his bloody teeth started falling out onto the table.
I crawl out from under Dax's arm and then use the bathroom, splashing water on my face after washing my hands. Instead of getting back into bed, I go downstairs, wearing Dax's shirt and a pair of his boxers, to grab a glass of water.
Once I reach the bottom of the staircase, I look to the alarm panel by the door. It glows red, so surely Miles isn't in the kitchen making me a fish sandwich. Before I turn the corner, Arcadia nudges my leg. I pat her head, instantly relaxing, and cross the room.
I take a glass from the cabinet, fill it in the sink, and take a drink.
"Saige, is that you?"
I almost drop the damn glass. I didn't even see him lying on the couch.
"Um, yeah. Sorry."
"Sorry for what?"
I'm not sure, really. I guess for hiding from him in his own house, but I can't really say that.
"Waking you up."
"You didn't wake me up, Saige. I can't sleep. Will you come sit with me for a minute?"
I remember what Dax and Nolan told me—about today being his mother's birthday and that I should stay away from him. He'll be more volatile than usual, and he is; it's almost like I can feel it. There's weight in the space between us, as if he and I are magnets and our polarity repels each other.
Dax did say we were exactly alike.
Still, I wade through it, set my glass down on the table, and then take a seat at the other end of the couch.
"Nolan probably told you I would be gone all night, huh? And I'm sure Dax is out, so you thought it'd be safe."
I shrug. "Something like that, yeah."
I don't want to tell him we made up—that I love Dax, but not him. Especially not right now.
"Well, he wasn't lying. It's my mom's birthday.
I usually go to the grave, and then I'll spend a few hours in the cabin, just so she knows I didn't forget about her.
And then when it gets too cold, I go back to the house and spend the night there.
" He lays his head in my lap, wrapping his arms around my thighs, and I freeze.
"I think she must have felt so low and alone when she died.
I want her to know I still think about her, you know?
But I bought flowers, and after we went to the grave, I just didn't want to go.
Because now, that cabin just makes me think of you. "
My body tenses. Shit. Fuck. He's blaming me. This is somehow my fault…again.
"I want to tell you something about my mom that I've never told anyone else."
"I don't think that's a good idea," I tell him. "I don't think I'm the right person—"
"You're the right person, Saige. You're the only person."
"Okay…"
"The cabin was the only structure on the property when my dad bought it.
He and my mom lived there while they built the house, and she always loved it.
She loved it more than the house. She used to tell me that she didn't belong with people—she belonged with the trees—and that the happiest year of her life was in that tiny cabin. "
"That's nice."
"Well, wait. This is not a nice story…" he says.
"As I got older, something changed, you know?
It wasn't obvious at first, but then she lost her job.
We took her to doctors, but she didn't like the medication and always found a reason to stop taking it.
She started spending a lot of time out there, and then one night when I was eleven, she woke me up and told me we had to go to the cabin.
She gave me a pill and told me it would make me sleepy, and then said that she didn't think we were supposed to be with people anymore.
She said we were too different, and she wasn't sure the world could be saved—we needed to test it.
"So, to do that, we were going to go to sleep, and the cabin would get very hot, and it might be hard to breathe, but when we woke up, we'd know.
We'd either be safe at home and that would mean the world can be saved, or we'd wake up somewhere better together, and we'd be happier.
The next thing I remember is being on a stretcher with an oxygen mask over my face and the sirens. "
"Elias…" I whisper, blinking back tears. "I'm so sorry."
"She loved me, though. Don't look at me like that; it wasn't like that."
"Of course she did. I'd never think that."
"I never told anyone about the test; they all thought the fire was an accident.
That's what we did, you know? My dad taught me to lie about how sick she was.
When anyone asked, nothing was wrong. When my grandparents came over on my birthday, we didn't say she smashed my Xbox with a hammer because she thought the CSIS was using it to spy on her; we said she was fine.
And the thing is, after the cabin, she really was fine for a while.
She was…elated. She said now we knew—the world could be saved, and we were supposed to be here, and it was like she had purpose again.
It lasted for months, and so I started to think it was a good thing, too, and I was happy to keep the secret.
I was just a kid, you know? I believed it. "
I don't know what to say. I guess when it comes to Elias's mom, I don't think there's anything I can say.
Other than a few details I've gotten from Nolan and my mother, I never knew much about her.
My mom and I were the bad guys in her story, and so I never felt entitled to the details.
In fact, I actively avoided them. "I didn't know it was that bad. "
"Anyway, right after I started high school, she stabbed my dad.
She did go away after that—for six months.
When she came back, she stayed on her meds, and she did really well.
She even talked about wanting to go back to work, but my dad was just done, I guess.
I think she didn't leave a note because it was another test, and we were supposed to save her.
So, it's not your mom's fault, Saige. It's my fault. "
"Elias, that is not your fault. It's nobody's fault."
"It is my fault!" he shouts, causing me to jump. He quickly sits up, placing his hands on either side of my face. "Hey, it's okay. I didn't mean to scare you. I just mean that if I'd told someone what really happened, things would have been different. She might be alive."
"You were a child," I tell him. "She was supposed to be your protector. An eleven-year-old boy…is not supposed to carry something like that. Children aren't supposed to carry the weight of their parents."
I wait with bated breath while he considers what I said, half-expecting him to lose his shit. His hands drop from my face, one running up the outside of my thigh.
"There's a reason I'm telling you this, Saige."
"Okay…"
"I picked you," he says. "I decided you were mine that night, and I'm sorry you didn't really get a say in that, but that's just how it is now, isn't it? I think a part of you knows you've always been mine, even though you try to fight it. We're connected, you know?"
It doesn't seem like a good time to argue, so I nod.
"But if I get sick, Saige…" He pauses, choking on the words. "You can't let me get like that—you can't let me hurt you. You'll have to make it stop. I can't live like that. Do you know what I mean?"
"You mean…like get you help?"
"No, baby," he says. "That's not what I mean."
"But that's not you. I mean, I think you're sick and twisted," I say, my sad attempt at levity making him smile, "and you definitely need some help, but I don't think you'd do something like that."
"You don't know what it's like in my head on a good day, Saige."
"I don't want to talk about this anymore; you're scaring me."
"I'm not trying to scare you, and we don't need to talk about it again. I just need you to remember it, okay?"
"Yeah…okay."
"You know I love you, right?" he asks, using his right hand to tuck my hair behind my ear.
No, I don't know that. I think he was right the first time, and what he feels for me is an obsession. A chaotic, unstable obsession that scares the shit out of me.
And yet here I am, sitting in front of the person who ruined my life, leaning into him when he puts his hands on me. I think he's right—not that what he feels is love—but we are connected in a way. I can feel it. I've always felt it.
Instead of answering, I place my hand over his, kissing the inside of his palm before holding it in my lap.
His hand is so fucking enormous, it practically swallows mine.
When I open my mouth to tell him I'm going back to bed, he leans in, pressing his lips to mine.
They're soft, a contrast to literally everything else about him.
His tongue slips into my mouth, deepening the kiss while gently twisting with my own, and a pang of longing hits me right in the center of my chest. I think for a minute that I missed his lips—that I missed the way his scruffy face feels against mine when we kiss—and then quickly stuff it down.
But he's such a good kisser. I start wondering what his mouth would feel like between my legs, and instead of pulling away, I wrap my arms around his neck and climb into his lap.