Chapter 2
She wanted to make sure that Rayn knew she was thinking about him. That she thought about what it would have been like to have grown up with him in a normal family. Loving parents. A dog. That shit.
She figured this would have to do for the dog. Appropriate to get a German shepherd in Germany, right?
I smiled as I ran my hands over the fake fur of the stuffed dog with its German flag collar.
Violette had brought it back for me—along with a whole bunch of other things, including an elephant figurine from Thailand, a beautiful inlaid box from Japan, some wine from France that I didn’t want to open because I didn’t have a good reason to drink it, a little bell from Austria, and chocolates from Switzerland.
It was nice that my sister wanted to be my sister, even though neither one of us had gotten a typical childhood and therefore had very little idea of what that relationship was supposed to be like.
Hers had definitely been more typical than mine—since being locked in an asylum was not at all typical—but it clearly hadn’t been a happy one.
I wished for her that it had been better, but I was glad that she, at least, had gotten the ‘right’ kind of magic and hadn’t been through what I had.
Melissa had asked me once if I was jealous of Violette.
Maybe if I had been, that would be more normal, but I wasn’t.
She’d had her own troubles, I’d had mine.
We both still did. I wondered if maybe she’d had the easier childhood, but now I had the easier adulthood—I had no conflicting feelings about my parents.
They hadn’t taken care of me. They hadn’t put hopes or dreams on me.
I had no sense of obligation to them for anything.
I was able to live my life for myself.
Sort of.
I still felt obligated to Ward and Mason, of course. And Hart. They’d gotten me out of Tranquil Brook, given me a job and the chance to build that life with their support.
And then there was Raj. I didn’t exactly feel a sense of obligation to him, not in the same way.
I did have gratitude. Gratitude for his forgiveness for all the times I’d invaded his thoughts and dreams. Gratitude for the fact that he tolerated me—that he cared about me, despite the fact that I wasn’t normal and often needed him to explain things that other people probably didn’t.
It wasn’t something I’d ever really expected—to have a real romantic relationship.
After the asylum, I guess I’d figured it would be enough of a miracle if I managed to live as a semi-functional adult, much less one who had friends or relationships.
And when I’d gotten friends, they’d pushed me to go on dates, and those had all been either mind-numbingly boring or complete disasters.
So I’d more or less given up on that idea, too.
And then Raj had happened.
To be honest, I still didn’t quite understand how.
He’d been almost hostile, and then kind, and then angry, and then suddenly he’d asked me out.
I kept waiting for him to change his mind. To decide that he wasn’t actually interested in dating me, and that’s why he wasn’t really interested in being physically intimate with me.
Except that he seemed to enjoy kissing and cuddling and hand-holding well enough.
I wondered if he was asexual, or demisexual the way I figured I probably was, but he’d not said anything about it. Of course, neither had I.
Not that I felt at all demi around Raj. His fingers on my skin, his lips on mine…
they were absolutely guaranteed to make my blood feel like it was on fire.
I’d thought that maybe he was going to push things a little more, but then— Then a case had been called in, and whatever had been about to happen, didn’t.
I’d gotten a text from him about six hours later telling me that it was going to be a very long night, but that he’d be in touch again when he could.
That had been about fifty-two hours ago.
I tried to convince myself to stop checking my phone for more text messages, but it wasn’t working.
Are you awake?
The buzz and glowing screen immediately caught my attention, despite the fact that I’d actually put on a streaming show—something I didn’t do very often—to distract myself both visually and aurally from thinking about the fact that it had now been fifty-five hours and thirteen minutes.
Yes, I sent back as quickly as I could grab the phone and type out the word.
Any chance I can come over?
Please.
I immediately paused the show, shoved myself out of the giant bean bag chair, and hurried to the kitchen. I had no doubt that Raj would probably be hungry, and I could at least heat up a couple of frozen pizzas for him.
I got the cheapest ones possible, which actually weren’t terrible, so that I could always have at least a half-dozen in the freezer, since every time we made them for dinner, he ate at least two to my one. Two pepperoni and one Supreme, this time, since I’d eat some, too.
And then I pulled out a little square package of frozen cookie dough and threw those on a pan to put in the oven as soon as the pizzas were finished.
I’d just pulled the pizzas out when my phone buzzed again.
Downstairs.
I hit the button, holding it down long enough to be sure he’d be able to pull the door open. Then I went over to the door of the apartment and flipped open the lock and cracked it, letting him know he could just come in.
Then I went back to the kitchen to turn down the temperature and put the cookies into the oven.
I heard the soft creak of the door as he came in, and I moved back to the main room to greet him, and then froze.
He looked terrible.
There was an unhealthy greyish tinge to his dark skin, puffy circles under his eyes that were almost black, the whites around his gold-brown irises bloodshot.
The parts of his cheeks that were usually clean-shaven were covered in stubble.
His clothes—the same ones he’d had on when he left two days before—were rumpled and stained, and his hair, usually so smoothly brushed back, was ruffled and unkempt.
“Raj?” I asked, afraid—not of him, but for him. For whatever had done this to him.
He crossed the room, pushing the door shut behind him, and wrapped me in his arms, burying his face in the side of my neck, holding me so tightly it almost—but not quite—hurt.
It was the roughest he’d ever been with me—not that I minded, although it was a little worrying.
I hugged him back tightly, not sure exactly what I was supposed to do.
Under my hands, I felt his back rise and fall, deep breaths that expanded and contracted his lungs. Until one of them hitched.
“Raj?” I asked again, worried.
He shuddered. “Just… give me a minute,” he rasped, his arms tightening even more.
I squeezed back, feeling my heart pound in my chest, worry rolling through me. But I stayed silent, trying to give him the time he needed.
“He… The vic looked a little like you,” Raj whispered, then. “Not exactly. Not… not enough that anyone would ever confuse you. But enough.”
I was glad that I knew what he meant.
There were people who reminded you of other people, whether they looked exactly like them or not.
Like Carol at the coffee shop down the street from Beyond the Veil, who always remind me of Sara-no-H, who had died at Tranquil Brook.
They had the same hair color, the same pale skin, although Carol’s eyes were brown instead of green, and she was taller.
But it was the way they both moved, like frightened birds, that always made me think of Sara.
It was a disconcerting thought, though, that there was someone out there who was dead who reminded Raj of me.
“It—hurt,” he whispered. “Physically. Like a punch to the chest.”
“I’m sorry,” I murmured back.
He drew in a deep breath, his big body shuddering against me.
“I just… I couldn’t breathe. And then, of course, I realized that was impossible.
Because you’d been here. And then I could tell it wasn’t…
But then I couldn’t get it out of my head.
” He was holding me tightly enough that I felt him swallow. “Fuck.”
“It wasn’t me,” I said softly, not really sure what else to say. “I’m right here.”
“Thank fucking God.” Another shuddering breath. Then he squeezed me tightly enough that I made an involuntary squeak of protest. “Sorry,” he mumbled, stepping back.
“No, it’s okay,” I held on, my fingers tight around his forearms. “Raj—”
His body was tense. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he whispered.
I stepped closer and wrapped my arms around his waist. “You didn’t,” I assured him. “Just a tight squeeze of air. That’s all.”
He hesitated a second, but then he wrapped me in his arms again. “Still,” he murmured. “I don’t ever want to hurt you.”
“You won’t.” I couldn’t promise that, of course. Neither could he. No one ever can, especially when you think about all the ways people hurt each other with words and without them without ever raising a fist or palm. He might never mean to, but if we stayed together, it was inevitable.
I hoped very much that whatever I did, he’d be able to forgive me for it. Again. I’d already asked him for far more than I deserved.
He relaxed a little, enough to nuzzle into my hair. “Promise me you’ll tell me if I ever get close,” he said softly.
“I promise,” I said into the fabric of his shirt, my cheek resting on his pecs.
I felt him sigh, his muscles relaxing a little more. Then he drew in a long breath through his nose. “You made me pizza?” he asked, and I heard the slight lightening in his tone.
“I did,” I told him. “And cookies, but they’ve only been in a couple minutes so you can’t smell them yet.”
He kissed my forehead, then. “You’re too good to me.”
I snorted. “I made some for me, too,” I told him.
He leaned back, placing his hands on either side of my face, studying me. “Rayn. Did you eat today?”
“I had lunch,” I told him truthfully. But I hadn’t felt much like eating dinner when I’d gotten home, worried because I hadn’t heard from him.
“Rayn…”
“Did you?” I asked, pointedly.