Page 36

RHAIM

I ’d texted Lia in the morning before I came to work—and been surprised when I checked my phone again in the evening to find that she was not only inside Corvo, but that apparently she hadn’t moved for several hours.

I’d almost ripped my desk in two trying to get to my door to find her, and now that I had—“What happened?” I begged her, at the same time as I scooped her up.

Her eyes took forever to focus on me. “Bad things,” she said quietly, and then after that, “I had an accident.”

I had no idea what she meant—but she was cold and shivering and she smelled like old sweat.

I didn’t even hesitate, taking the stairs up to my office two by two, bursting out onto my floor shamelessly—besides, even if someone saw us, they would hardly recognize her, it was like the spark that lit her from the inside had been entirely extinguished.

I set her on my office’s waiting room couch, and said, “Stay here,” before running to the nearest vending machine, so that I could buy her a Snickers and a bottle of water.

I came back with that, and an extra uniform from the janitor station on the third floor, then went back into my actual office for glasses so I could pour us both shots of whiskey.

I knelt in front of her, offering everything out, and she took things from me slowly, setting them beside herself. The Snickers she made a face at. “I might throw it up.”

“Are you bulimic?” She shook her head. “Then you’ll fucking keep it down because I said so.”

“Don’t get mad at me,” she said, giving me a mournful look.

“Why would I? What did you do?”

That made her give a harsh laugh, like she was a cat about to barf. “Nothing. I did nothing, ” she hissed, and I didn’t know how to react.

“Okay.” I pressed the water bottle into her hand. “Drink some of this,” I said, and when she hesitated, I doubled down. “NOW.”

She swallowed, and then did as she was told, robotically—and after she’d taken three sips of it, I switched it out for alcohol.

“Just a sip of this,” I said. “It’ll calm your nerves.”

She did as she was told again and made a face at the taste.

“And now—at least half that Snickers bar. I’m pretty sure you have low blood sugar.”

She heaved a sigh of resignation and then peeled it like it was a banana, before eating it in rough bites.

“Don’t forget to chew,” I reminded her—and for a second I thought she might spit it into my face, which would’ve been a good thing.

It’d have been a sign that my Lia was back.

I waited, and then made her repeat everything, until most of the bottle was gone, she’d finished the whiskey, and the Snicker’s wrapper was empty.

“You okay?” I asked her.

She gave me a look, the kind of thousand-yard-stare usually reserved for survivors of brutal shark attacks and infantrymen, then stood up to take the janitor’s outfit into the bathroom, without answering.

It killed me to give her some privacy, but I felt that it was called for.

I moved to the couch and put my elbows on my knees, everything in me urged to action—but I didn’t have a fucking clue as to what kind.

When she returned in the one-piece gray uniform, I stood up, and noticed she didn’t bring back her clothes.

She saw me looking her over. “I threw them away.”

“Why?”

“Because,” she said ruefully—like that was an answer.

I took her shoulders and guided her back to the couch again. “Why?” I probed.

“Because they were dirty,” she confessed. “But don’t worry—I cleaned myself up—” she said, and then her pupils unfocused, like she was trying to see through me.

“I’m not worried about your clothes. I’m worried about you, Lia,” I said, threading my hand through hers and squeezing it. “Something happened, and I want to know what.”

She swiveled her head like a horse trying to get more slack in the reins before answering. “The same shit that always happens—because no one can fix me. Not my father, not therapy, not pills—and not you,” she said cruelly.

I caught her face between my hands. “I don’t think you need fixing.”

Her eyebrows crawled impossibly high. “You’d be wrong.”

“Why?”

“No—”

“Why?” I demanded, more slowly.

“Just stop asking!” she shrieked. “Please!” And then she hovered there, vibrating, I could feel it in my hands. “I would tell you if I could!” she shouted at the top of her lungs, and then melted toward me. “I really would, Rhaim—I just can’t—” she sobbed, and I took her into my arms and held her.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” I whispered, as she shook her head into my shoulder.

“It’s not,” she said tearfully. “I just want to be normal,” she went on, breaking my heart.

“And why would you want that?” I said, carefully holding her. “If you were normal, you wouldn’t be here, now, with me. And you can call me selfish, but you are exactly what I need, Lia Ferreo.”

She pulled her head back to give me a sad look. “This mess? Me?”

“Yeah,” I said, pulling her close again and kissing her temple. “Normal’s boring. I need a woman with a little spice.”

“Spice, or crazy?”

“Tom-a-to, tom-ah-to,” I told her. I heard her give a snotty laugh, and knew the corner’d turned. “So you tell me what you can tell me, if you can tell me,” I went on. “But there’s no rush. I’m not going anywhere.”

A long moment of silence unspooled after I said it. “Tonight,” she corrected me. “But also not ever.”

“If I have my way, yes,” I agreed with her, settling back on the couch, with her in my lap.

“And I’m kind of an asshole, if you hadn’t noticed,” I added, and she snickered, lifting up enough from me to wipe her face with both hands.

She stared at me intently, taking turns looking lost and then found.

“Did you ever wonder why I sleep with nightlights on?” she asked eventually, and I shook my head. “I’m afraid of the dark.”

The urge to ask Why loomed large, but I managed to bite it back.

And then I remembered one of the last times I’d seen her in a janitorial uniform, when I’d turned the lights out on her to scare her—because I was a prick. She’d crawled out of the bathroom like a drowning man reaching shore and had puked.

If there had ever been any doubt, I was definitely an asshole.

“Yeah?” I asked, and she nodded quickly.

“Almost my whole life,” she said, then shook me bodily. “Now you tell me something embarassing.”

I blurted out the first thing that came to mind—especially after finding out I’d hurt her. “I worry I’m not good enough for you.”

She blinked and reared back. “Rhaim—that’s not funny?—”

“I know. It’s why I worry about it so much.”

“Seriously! Never say that again!” she said. “I ought to slap you!”

“Yeah. You should.” Her jaw dropped, and she tried to read my face to see if I was joking or not. “Do it,” I urged her. “You’ve had a shitty day. You’ve got permission to take it out on me.”

She lifted up her hand, and then smacked it across my face before groaning. “Ow!”

“I should’ve warned you I have bones,” I laughed. “You back with me?” She looked from her stinging hand, to the handprint she’d tried to leave on my face.

“I think so,” she said, then blinked again. “You let me hit you!”

“You’re not exactly a welterweight, Lia. Plus, desperate times call for desperate measures and all that.”

“And you think I’m crazy?” she said, and I shook my head.

“Your words, not mine. I’ve never said that.”

She tucked her head back against my shoulder again. “You don’t need to—not when everyone else has.”

“Well they’re all fuckers. And wrong,” I said, cinching my arms around her tightly. “Do you want to sit in the dark some? With me? And let me chase whatever it is you’re scared of off?”