33. THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-THREE
The next couple days are a blur. Napping, eating, and watching TV. There’s almost something idyllic about it all, and if it wasn’t for how everything started it would probably be really nice.
Finn is out in the backyard, chopping wood because he wants to use the fireplace tonight. We had lunch, and I told him I wanted to nap—and I did, I just… got distracted.
…In his closet.
It’s really only full of clothes. Baggy sweatshirts, graphic tees, and comfy pants. I don’t know why I thought there’d be some secret hidden in here, which sucks since he walks in while I’m buried in a pile of clothes.
“Bunny? What are you doing?” He’s not upset yet, which is a positive.
I can’t even hide how embarrassed I am to get caught like this, gawking up at him with cherry red cheeks. “I just… Clothes, uh… cold.”
Squinting, Finn kneels down beside me. Sweat runs down his forehead, his face full of more color than usual. He must have been working really hard out there. “Are you telling the truth, Duncan?”
“Yeah! I… Sorry.” I swear I used to be okay at lying, but now every interaction ends with me crumbling. “I know… it looks bad. I didn’t want to bother you while you were busy.”
“That’s okay,” he picks me up with ease, “you can always bother me. You know I don’t mind.”
“Yeah… right. Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.”
The mattress groans as we fall onto it, springs creaking out beneath our combined weight. Finn’s fingers begin carding through my hair, deepset eyes fixated on me the same way you’d admire at a beautiful painting.
“I’m so l-lucky…” he mumbles under his breath. “You’re really… Hah… Being here with you is r-really like a dream, sometimes.”
Looking away, I can’t stop the way my face goes hot. How could anyone withstand someone talking to them like that? Even if he’s a dork with a triangle smile, it’s still sweet. It’s always been sweet—he’s always been sweet.
“I want… I wanna ask you something…”
Finn leans in, some kind of sick anticipation sprawled across his face. “What is it? You can ask me a-anything.”
“How come all the picture frames are empty?” It’s been on my mind ever since I noticed it. Not a single frame actually has anything in it. Why even bother keeping them up?
The air goes dead between us as Finn stares at me with an unnerving expression, his body still. “It’s… I-It’s nothing…” I swear he gets paler, and his face contorts into a mix of absolute horror and something akin to anger. “Really. It’s… just my family. Old stuff.”
Obviously there’s a story there, but even though I really want to know, I can tell this is something I shouldn’t poke around in. “O-Oh… I… yeah, okay. Sorry.”
“No, it’s…” Finn squeezes his eyes shut, groaning before capturing me in his arms. Holding me against his chest, he lets out another discontented noise. “I want to tell you… I… I don’t want you to hate me—or be scared of me.”
Isn’t that sort of ironic? If I was going to do either of those things, it probably would’ve already happened by now. Maybe I am a little scared of him, though, or rather the unpredictability he carries. Sometimes being around Finn feels like a ticking timebomb, but I don’t hate him.
I should, but I don’t.
“I wouldn’t hate you. But you don’t have to tell me anything, Finn.” Taking in that face of his, it’s obvious that whatever this is has been gnawing at him for a while. “I’m here for you.”
Comforting him this way is so odd. I wouldn’t have expected it in a million years. Yeah, before when we hung out at my place he was a little clingy—but I figured he just wasn’t that popular with no friends.
How was I supposed to know he didn’t have any friends? That’s not right. How can someone go through life like that? At least I have—or had—Haley. I really can’t imagine what my life would be without her.
“It’s my dad. He wasn’t exactly…” Finn groans, planting dejected kisses on the top of my head. “He sucked. Treated me and my mom like shit.”
“That’s… Sorry…”
“He always said shit to me. Always called me names. Always told my mom that she raised a fucking retard.” Grimacing at the memory, he takes a breath. “The one time she really fought back… I never saw her again.”
My breathing stops.
“I know he did something to her. I-I know it… but who’s gonna believe the retarded twelve year old with speech issues?”
“Finn…”
“But I’m not.” His hold on me tightens. “I’m not a retard. I’m not worthless, and I’m not weak. Especially… especially n-not when I’m with you… when I’m with you… I feel… right. I feel good.”
Even if this is some temporary fleeting feeling, it hits hard. His words are a sledgehammer to the brain, and all I can do is look up at him with wide eyes. How could I ever make someone feel that way?
I’m just me. Duncan Armette. Local closet case. But to him, I’m so much more. That feeling of being needed is the most addictive drug. It makes me feel happy and warm and erratic all at once.
Without so much as a peep I lean forward, gently kissing him. It’s not like before. There’s nothing I need saving from, and that's truly the worst parts. I’m doing this because I want to—because it feels right.
I can’t make any more excuses for myself. I want this. I’m doing this because I want it. I’m afraid it stopped being about survival a long time ago, and I’m honestly not sure what to make of that.
Finn’s hands grab hold of my cheeks, pulling me back so he can stare into my eyes. He's like the most pathetic thing, eyes glimmering in the dim lighting of the sunset outside his bedroom.
“I love you,” he whines out so needily. “Can you say it back, please?”
The little fantasy I had in my head cracks, tiny shards spilling out right into my psyche. I can’t say that. I don’t—I don’t think I feel that. Do I feel it? What does love feel like? How can I love him?
His expression shifts into something full of sorrow, but he doesn’t do anything other than kiss my forehead. “...It’s okay. I know… it’s a lot to a-ask. But… you’ll say it one day.”
I think I agree with him. My legs are fucked. Completely fucked. They’re probably going to be disfigured, and I doubt I'll ever get to walk again. Yet here I am, cozying up to the man who did it and kissing him.
What the hell happened to me? How did I get this bad?