Chapter 7 Ilya #2
I lead him into the bar. My arm hovers close to his back, itching to touch him again. Would it be too much if I wrapped my arm around him? Would it scare him to the point where he’ll insist on leaving?
The place is crowded, though, and somebody bumps into us. I grab Micah to prevent him from stumbling too far.
“Are you all right?” I ask.
Micah nods, but he presses against my side. “Yes,” he says, though he looks pale and uncertain.
I’m not sure I can let him return home, not with the way he’s reacting to these small things, not when he keeps talking about it in ways that make me think it won’t even be safe. But I nod.
“Let’s get our drinks and sit down.” I glance at the stage, where a woman is playing the guitar. She’s passable. Not amazing, yet most people are nodding along to her song.
Micah stays pressed against me as we wait for our drinks, and even as we carry them to the lone empty table, he doesn’t pull away. Only once we’ve sat down, with him in the chair immediately next to mine, does he breathe a little easier.
“Here,” I say, pushing the glass of water closer to him. “Drink.”
He takes the water and sips from it, his hands clutching the glass tightly. “Why did you pick this place?” he asks quietly.
Because I wanted to keep him close to me.
Because taking him to my home would have scared him.
Because I don’t want to let him go back to that asshole.
“I didn’t want to take you anywhere unfamiliar,” I say. “We both know this place. If you don’t trust me, maybe one of your other friends is here tonight.”
Even though I don’t want him to leave with anyone else
Micah huffs out a laugh. “I don’t have any other friends. I only need Adam,” he says. “He’s…” He looks at me, his eyes pleading. “He’s not that bad, Ilya. He just… gets angry sometimes. But he takes care of me.”
He sounds exactly that bad. Micah’s excuses are familiar too, ones my mother always used about my father. My sister begged her to divorce him after a particularly bad night, but my mother said that he wasn’t that bad. It was simply a bad night; he was stressed.
Excuse after excuse after excuse.
“If you say so,” I say. “How did you two meet?”
“I do say so,” Micah insisted, his cheeks flushing red. “I was in a bad situation, and he was there to help me. He was a dream come true. Charming, and kind, and…” His shoulders slump. “I don’t know what happened. Me, I guess.”
The anger bubbles up inside me. Micah is so young, and already so beaten down. At his age, he should be enjoying life and taking chances, not looking like this.
I reach out to ruffle his blond hair. He leans into the touch, his eyelids fluttering.
“You did nothing wrong,” I say firmly. “His actions reflect on himself, not you.”
“Then why does it always happen?” he asks, his voice so quiet that I can barely hear it over the sounds of the bar’s chatter and music.
He shakes his head. “I’m the only thing in common.
If there wasn’t something wrong with me, it wouldn’t keep happening.
” He takes a gulp of his water, and I see tears at the corners of his eyes.
“I have no good answers,” I say. I know how things ended for my family. My mother, beaten to death. My sister, married to a man almost as bad. And me, following in my father’s footsteps.
I look down at my hands, and it’s not just Artyom’s blood I see now.
I shake the thoughts away.
“Do you know how the scam call centers work?” I ask Micah. “The ones where they call and try to get access to your bank, or where they convince you to send money?”
Micah nods, looking confused at the change in topic. “Yeah?”
“When they find somebody who falls for their tricks, they share that information with others. So a person who has been duped once will be targeted again, and again, and again. It’s not the victim’s fault.
They were trusting, and once the world knows that they’re trusting, the scammers will work to exploit them for every last drop.
An investment scam leads to a recovery scam, and then a romance scam, and so on.
” I stop to scratch my beard. “It’s the scammer’s fault. Not the victim’s.”
“I’m not a victim,” Micah snaps, the tone so unlike what I’ve heard from him that it momentarily takes me aback.
A scam victim would say the same. They deny they were scammed, because it’s too humiliating.
It’s what keeps people like me in business. I’ve never found the business palatable, but I know plenty of others who do it.
They’re the idiots who keep falling for it.
My mother always pretended that her marriage was perfect. My sister cried to me after I’d beaten her good-for-nothing husband and said she didn’t want to be like our mother: sad, pathetic, and stupid.
I’ve never told anyone how I sat and watched as my father beat my mother, because part of me thought she deserved it for staying.
The shame of never intervening still haunts me.
“You aren’t a victim,” I agree. “But you asked why it kept happening to you.” I give him a sad smile. “This is why it keeps happening to many people.”
Micah shakes his head. “It’s not that,” he says. “It’s because—” He lets out a frustrated sound. “Never mind.” He falls silent again, fiddling with the glass in his hands, and he stares down at it. “Adam said you were a pervert. For being interested in somebody half your age.”
I let out a startled laugh. “Half my age? I don’t know how old you are, Micah. But you look like adult—like an adult to me.” I wince internally at having made such a basic mistake when I’m trying to have a serious conversation.
“But I don’t know you,” Micah replies. “You could be a… a serial killer. Or an axe murderer.”
I lean closer. “You shouldn’t trust me, Micah. I’m a dangerous man.” I run my knuckles along his jaw, and Micah doesn’t shy away from my touch. “You should trust yourself, though. Trust your instincts. Does it feel like I’m trying to hurt you?”
Micah tilts his head so that he’s almost nuzzling my hand.
“No,” he says softly. He lets himself stay that way for a moment before abruptly pulling back, casting a glance around like he expects to be caught doing this again.
“I need to call Adam,” he mumbles, fumbling with his phone as he pulls it out of his pocket.
I motion for him to go through with it, even though I still want to take the phone and throw it across the room to prevent him from ever contacting Adam again.
It’s what my father would have done.
Micah makes the call. It rings for a few seconds, then, annoyingly, Adam picks up.
“Adam!” Micah says. He tilts away from me and holds the phone directly against his ear. “Is everything okay? You left so fast. Was it work? I’m sorry I didn’t notice that you had to leave.”
Like it was his fault.
Like he’d had anything to do with Adam’s abrupt, cruel departure.
I can’t hear what Adam is saying on the other end of the line, but it makes Micah tense up.
“I’m… I got someone to pick me up,” he says carefully. He listens, and he closes his eyes. “No. No, it’s not… I’m… I’m going to be home soon.” Another moment, then he whispers, “But I want to come back home. I—”
Micah stops, and he pulls the phone away from his ear.
I can see that the call has ended.
I place my hands on the table. I hate that I’m about to make this offer, but I know I need to if I want to earn his trust.
“Would you like me to drive you back?” I ask.
Micah offers me a wobbly smile, but he shakes his head. “No. He needs time to calm down.” He takes a deep breath, then says quietly, “I don’t know how much time, and I don’t know where to go.”
“My condo’s spare room is open,” I say. Then I shake my head. “Or a hotel. I can get you a hotel room somewhere.”
Micah nibbles on that trembling lip, then says, “Your… Your condo. Please.”
I swallow hard, and remind myself to remain calm.
I won’t do anything to scare Micah.
“All right. My place,” I agree.
I’m going to prove that he can trust me.
But it’s going to be so, so hard to hold back.