Chapter 14 #2
He stopped, siding my way.
“I’ll get dressed. I’ll come with you.”
He didn’t say a word, but I saw a little of his light return to his eyes, and it brightened the dingy corridor. I saw a little weight ease up from his shoulders as he took the stairs two at a time.
I’d found a dress in the kitchen, in a pile of clean laundry that had been sitting there for over half a week.
I wandered ahead, flappy sandals stomping down on grass strands and carefully avoiding the pretty flowers.
“Are you doing okay?” Woodrow’s voice moved with the breeze, wrapping around me.
“I’m okay,” I lied.
“Please, don’t lie to me.”
I waited for him to catch up, and he accepted the invitation, moving to my side, salad box in hand.
I continued again, and he remained at my pace.
“It’s been hard.”
He nodded. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything. If you have no memory of it. If you genuinely see it as someone else’s actions, it’s not your place to apologize.”
“But you don’t see it that way.”
“I see your turmoil.”
Darkness fell around us as trees clouded over. Orange leaves crested the floor and crunched beneath our shoes. Autumn was always my favorite time of year.
“It’s killing me. It kills me that you’re the first person to love me, and that’s what happened. You shouldn’t have been included. He only defends me against my parents. . . he acts out of hate because they do. They created a monster. You shouldn’t have been included.”
“Is Nessie?” I quizzed, remembering the words Hell spat.
“He’s never hurt her. . . but he scares her a lot, and he enjoys that.”
“He doesn’t hurt her because she loves you?”
“She doesn’t. She likes me, I guess. She understands my condition more than you’d imagine a seven-year-old to understand. And she loves Woody.”
“And Woody, what’s his purpose?” I needed to understand him. . . them. . . all of it.
“As Woody, I have someone. Someone who cares, genuinely cares—Nessie. But as me, as Woodrow, I have nothing but violence and sneers.”
The pain in his body had his hand reaching for mine, but he retracted before I could hold onto him, and I would have. . . because my feelings of love and compassion hadn’t disappeared, they were just now attended with hatred and fear.
“And then I got you. I didn’t understand it. I had no idea where you came from. It wasn’t me that was told of you. And you’ve seen Woody’s diary entries; they make no sense. Hell holds back; he keeps things from me.”
“And you really have no awareness. . .?”
“During a switch, no. Nothing. Not as me, anyway. There are times when Hell watches everything, like he’s in the background of my conscience.
Sometimes, Woody does this, too. But when they take over, I rarely get that.
It’s like I’m asleep. And they get to act on my behalf, acting out in ways I wouldn’t dare to. Doing things I wouldn’t.”
Woodrow reached for my hand again, allowing himself to get closer this time. His eyes closed in a silent prayer that I wouldn’t pull away. I didn’t. I let his fingers wrap around mine, and I held on to him.
“He did something unforgivable, and I know that because I can’t forgive it. I want him to go away for it. Forever. At one time, he was all I had, but then you came along.”
He thought back over one of our more intimate conversations. Of what had brought me here.
“I hate the things you went through. I promised myself that I’d make you happy; that I’d do anything for you never to feel that fear again.”
I squeezed his hand, eyes finding him as we continued to walk.
“What happened to me breaks my heart. What Hell did rips me to pieces.” His grip didn’t waver, even as my words ruptured the organ in his chest. “And it’ll probably happen again?”
“I can’t answer that. But I fear that we both know what could happen. What my father will—”
“He’s scum.”
“He is. He’s a monster.” Woodrow shrugged, his shoulders lifting high, rising his tee enough for me to see the bruises on his back. “And he and my mother created one. They made me worse. . . and now, they can’t handle me.”
“He could help you. You were right when you said he chose not to.”
Woodrow nodded again, his head barely moving, not to cause himself pain.
“Woodrow. . .” I turned to him, blocking his path. “I know you hate yourself.”
“I do.”
“I don’t. I hate what happened, and I hate the other one.
” I didn’t use the name Hell. I didn’t want it on my tongue, and even now, after he’d proved why they called him that, I still thought it was a stupid damn name.
“But I love you more than I hate him. You’re all I have.
You . . .and Nessie. But it’s different.
With you, it’s different. And I can’t lose it, even if it gets me hurt.
” On pointed toes, I stretched to kiss him, my mouth against his as I whispered, “Some people are worth suffering for.”
His lips parted on mine to tell me he didn’t want me to suffer at all, but I silenced him, sealing the unsaid message.
His hands braced my hips, steadying me as he welcomed the intimate touch. He barely kissed me back. But he held me for a minute before we continued to the hutch.
The longest minute ever.
A moment of silence for what we could have lost.
The most special of bonds.