Chapter 24
Simon
Boris hangs up and puts his phone back into his pocket. I can't move. Could this be a dream? A nightmare.
"I want you to leave."
"No, baby." He's about to say something else, but I speak over him.
"Yes. Leave." I'm about to tell him never to speak to me again, but the pain on his face tears at my heart. I can't explain it. I shouldn't care.
He deceived me.
He scared me, then he infiltrated my life and endangered my son.
"Go." My voice is surprisingly strong.
His shoulders slump, and the pain in my chest intensifies. He's always stood strong and proud, now he's folding in on himself.
"Simon."
I shake my head. "Get out of my house."
He gives me one short nod, but I can see his eyes filling with tears. I look away. He has no right to do this to me.
He grabs the jacket off the chair and leaves the kitchen. When the sound of the front door sounds, I let out a shuddering breath. This has to be a joke. A prank. A nightmare.
I slump against the wall. What should I do now?
I don't know how long I sit there. The light spilling in through the window wanders over the floor.
There had been claws. I wasn't imagining it. I'm almost sure. Could it be faked? If I'd seen it in a clip, I'd say it had been faked, but it wasn't some post on social media. Boris' hand had changed right in front of my eyes.
It had.
Which meant all of him could change. He could...turn into a wolf? A wolf Zahrah could take photos of. A wolf who'd pose exactly how she wanted him to. Could they understand what you said when they were in their animal form?
Shaking my head, I pull myself to my feet.
It can't be true.
Maybe I have a fever and am hallucinating. I nod to myself. It would explain a lot.
I slide my fingers along the wall as I head toward the bathroom--something I've told Ira a million times not to do. I don't want smears on the wallpaper.
I step into the shower and try not to think as the too-hot sprays pound my skin. How the fuck did I end up here? I had things under control, had I not? We got by, and then we didn't. No job and now monsters are invading my life, my mind.
I shudder despite the heat.
When I'm finally able to make myself get out of the shower and get dressed, I walk around the house without aim. I alternate between looking out the kitchen window and the window in Ira's room. Those are the only windows I can see Boris' house from.
I don't see him.
Time crawls and goes too fast at the same time. I don't want to step outside the door. What if he's there waiting for me?
When it's time to go get Ira, I put on shoes and a jacket, but I don't walk as I've promised myself we'll do from now on. I walk to the car, as fast as I can and still call it walking. The moment I close the door, I lock it. I check all mirrors, but Boris isn't there.
I sigh to myself.
For a couple of months, he could've hurt me if it was what he wanted to do, but he hasn't. He's fed me, looked out for me, and helped me take care of Ira.
Nope. I'm not letting memories change my mind. I can't let him into our lives.
An image of a grinning Boris flashes before my eyes. I shake my head and turn the key in the ignition.
At school, there's the normal hustle and bustle, but Ira is grinning as he climbs into the car.
"How was school?" I force a smile.
He shrugs. "Good. We got to work on our animal drawings for a little bit."
"Oh, how's it coming along?"
He scrunches his nose. "I'm gonna ask Boris if I can look at his photo."
"Eh...that might not...I don't think we should see Boris anymore."
I can't read the look he's giving me. My eyes bounce between the traffic and him, but he says nothing, and I don't think he's ever looked like he does now.
The drive home is silent. He doesn't utter a single word, and I cast around for something to say, something to get him engaged.
"Do you have any homework?" Right, the Santa letter. "How did it go with the Santa letter?"
He shrugs but says nothing. When I park, he unhooks his seatbelt and gets out of the car without looking at me. Fuck.
"Ira." I climb out and follow him to the front door. On the doorstep, there is a basket, and I don't need to lift the towel draped over it to know it contains bread. The scent is enough. I stare at it as if Boris might have hidden a snake underneath the bread rolls.
Ira picks up the basket but doesn't look at me. I want to tell him to put it down, but the scent is intoxicating, and I can't afford to throw away food.
I unlock the door, and we step inside.
Ira carries the basket into the kitchen, and I bring out butter, cheese, and a cucumber. "So, the Santa letter?"
"We wrote them."
Okay. I sigh. "Ira, I know you're disappointed, but--"
He slides off his chair and walks out of the kitchen. I stare. Never. He's never walked away from me mid-sentence before.
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