Chapter Thirteen #3
When they heard the story, Annette was so appalled she needed some deep breaths before she could unlock her jaw enough to speak. “Divide and conquer. Albert, you head to the school.”
Hilary was afraid to ask. “And where are you going?”
“Where do you think? Give me the address.”
As soon as Trenton understood, he was up and blocking the door. “You can’t.”
Annette set a hand to his chest. “I know you like to handle things on your own, but this situation clearly warrants adult intervention. Step aside.”
“No.” Trenton was white and looking a little too much like he had back in the car. “Please.”
Hilary pushed himself between them, unable to bear it. “Mom, don’t.”
“This can’t be allowed to fester any longer. That woman is clearly—”
“Not today.” He could see the pulse pounding in Trenton’s neck. He knew if he pressed his head over that chest, he’d be able to hear it. “Just not today.”
His mother backed down. “Fine. But we’re going to talk about this. And when we do, I expect you to help me bring Trenton around.”
“Am I still going to the school?” Albert asked. He already had his jacket on.
Trenton was unsure. They looked at each other. Hilary flashed his father a thumbs up. “Give ‘em hell from us, dad.”
Annette showed no mercy with the clippers. She used them bare, with no guard, and shaved Trenton to the scalp. It ought to have been a somber occasion, but it was fun to shave him, and weird to run his hand across barely existent stubble.
Annette gave the skin a good-natured slap. “Nice looking head you got there.”
It really was a nice shape. Like being bald had been its destiny. “I feel like you could be a supervillain,” Hilary mused. “One of those smart ones who makes more convincing arguments than the hero.”
Trenton didn’t ask for a mirror, content with the response. “As long as you like it.”
They did a baking soda and vinegar bath that smelled rancid, but that was also fun, somehow.
There was a feeling of catharsis and of starting over that was making Hilary a little giddy.
It made him nervous about coming off as insensitive.
After all, Trenton had a batshit mother who handed out pictures of his dead sister and called him a murderer at every opportunity.
But Trenton seemed stable. Once they were in bed and lying beside each other in the dark, the topic rose again.
“I’m just glad I’m an adult now,” Trenton said. “I was always a little nervous that I’d be put in foster care.”
“You don’t think that might have been better?”
“It would have been different, and I’m not sure I could have handled a new family thinking I was a baby killer. What if the other kids were afraid of me?”
“I’m surprised the kids at school don’t know about it.”
“They do. You hear about it sometimes, though not as much since I got bigger. I think it scares them a little. The thought that I might be a murderer.”
“If I thought someone was a murderer, I’d stay six billion miles away and use nice and respectful language like sir. But they’ve gone the call-him-a-whale-and-douse-him-in-poison route.”
Trenton snorted. “Maybe it helps them. Like by using stupid names, they can convince themselves I’m harmless.”
“Or, considering most still have a quarter of a brain, they look at you and know there’s no way you’re a killer.”
“Or that,” Trenton conceded. “They’ve never seen me violent. Not that I haven’t been tempted the last couple of months.”
“I was tempted too. At your place. And to that fucker from the bathroom. I thought I’d have to take you to the hospital.” Hilary took a breath, but when he spoke again, his voice cracked anyway. “I was scared.”
As always, those arms tightened the moment they sensed distress. “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing?”
“I’ll always apologize if you’re hurt. It’s my job to stop it.”
“And mine to stop yours.”
“You do.” And Trenton’s voice was on the scratchy side as well. “Always.”
“You cried today, didn’t you?”
“Because I could. Because it was you.”
“Fuck, I’ll really marry you.”
Trenton might have laughed. It sounded wet. “Please do.”
“It’s not a joke. I’ll put you on my health insurance and everything.”
“No, I know. I—” the arms tightened some more. “I was relieved. That’s why I cried. Because you knew the truth and were still looking at me like you loved me.”
“What truth? You didn’t kill her, asshole.”
Trenton pushed into his neck. Hilary liked that it was becoming a habit. “I didn’t mean to hide it. I just—every day, it was fun. I liked being with you so much that I—I didn’t want it to stop.”
“Don’t apologize.”
“I swear I’ll tell you everything you want to know. Whatever I remember. I don’t want to hide. I want—"
“I want it too. So don’t apologize.” Hilary touched him, tracing lines over that freshly shaved head, memorizing the new terrain.
“There’s no rush. We have forever, right?
Because we’re friends.” Trenton might have sobbed.
Just once. And the sound of it went into Hilary’s chest to reverberate there, sure to stick around forever.
He pressed that face a little closer, a little more securely into his neck. “We’re friends.”