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“Good, then you can watch me sleep,” I said as if I couldn’t care less. I turned to my side and looked at him.

“Do you want to talk?” he asked abruptly, frowning.

“Rule one,” I spouted back at him.

“I make the rules. If I ask, then I also want an answer.”

I sighed. “I don’t want to talk, Kaden.”

He nodded, but kept his eyes on me. “Should I go?”

I thought about it. Then I shook my head. “No.”

His face softened. “What was that all about? At the party, I mean.”

I looked at him, and his eyes were warm. Not demanding, just offering. I didn’t know if it was the alcohol working on me, or if it was Kaden, but I suddenly felt the need to tell him a few things. Not everything, but at least a part of what had made me do what I’d done this night. I sighed. “I wanted to shut off my thoughts.”

“It looked as if you’re an old hand at that.” He didn’t sound curious, but I heard his underlying question.

“I used to drink a lot, to silence my head. I stole liquor from my parents. I had friends hook me up. I guess tonight was a kind of relapse,” I said, shrugging.

“Sounds as if it was loud up there pretty often,” said Kaden, nodding toward my forehead.

I smiled. “There’s pure chaos in my head.”

He returned my smile.

“Tell me something,” I said. “Anything. So I don’t go nuts.”

“What do you want to hear?” he asked and rubbed the back of his head.

“Your tattoos.” I pointed to his crossed arms. “I’d like to know what they mean. Especially the written parts. I’ve always wanted to know about that.”

There it was again, that crooked grin. “Slide over a bit,” he murmured and sat down beside me on the bed.

“Where should I begin?” he asked, as if the situation we were in was completely normal.

I needed a moment to collect my thoughts; then I pointed under his left arm. “With this one.”

Kaden slid closer to me and lifted his left arm to reveal the tattoo in cursive script. “I had this one done when I was sixteen. I drove all the way up to Vancouver to get it done, since no one around here can ink a minor.”

With great power comes great responsibility.

“Spider-Man?” I asked grinning.

Kaden blinked at me, surprised.

“My mom lost it when she saw the tat. I was grounded for at least a month.”

He rubbed his finger over the words.

“Which one’s next?”

“The rings,” I said, and ran my finger over the topmost pattern encircling his biceps. For the first time I noticed that there were a few very finely drawn points and lines above it. As I traced the pattern, Kaden seemed to hold his breath.

“I was between eighteen and nineteen when I had that one made.” He rubbed his thumb over the spot. “I was in a difficult phase. But I got over it. Every ring stands for a month that I survived.”

“Why are they different widths?”