Page 21 of Saving Sparrow (Slow Burns & Tragic Beginnings #2)

Then

“You’re ours now, Elliott.”

I wasn’t sure what Quentin meant by that, but it felt good to my heart. Hours later, it still did.

Being around them felt like walking in on a private conversation, but they welcomed me into it instead of turning me away. It felt like I was missing something, though.

Their bond felt super important and intense, almost suffocating to be near. They engaged with their guard down, something I couldn’t wrap my mind around, even though I wanted to.

They loved each other like they weren’t afraid to, like life hadn’t already shown them they had everything to fear. I wanted that. I wanted to talk without thinking first, without being careful I didn’t say too much.

I wanted to be free, but one wrong secret spilled, and it would all be over. They’d judge me if they knew the truth. How could they not? I judged myself, even though so much of it was buried somewhere in my brain I couldn’t reach.

Quentin and Miguel allowed each other to be themselves, and they’d told me I could do the same. I didn’t feel brave enough.

They didn’t laugh at me when I prayed or recited scriptures, even though I didn’t know why I bothered. For as long as I could remember, I’d been told to pray for my sins, that God would hear me and cure me. He hadn’t done either. I’d remained sick and continued to pay for it.

But all I had was my faith, even though it had failed me until now. Maybe I could have something new, something better. Maybe I could have it with them.

I felt protected with Quentin and Miguel, and it scared me because I’d never felt that before. Being around them was the only time I felt normal, seen, and understood.

Would they still want to be my friend if they knew about my past? The parts I remembered, and the parts it felt like I’d slept through? I didn’t want to uncover those parts. I knew bad things lived in them, things I didn’t feel strong enough to face.

“You’ve always been so fragile,” my mother once said. “I think he blames me for it.”

Feeling breakable right then, I climbed off the bed and headed for my closet. I hadn’t been able to fall asleep anyway after insisting Quentin and Miguel leave so I could take a nap. They hadn’t wanted to. Quentin was stubborn about it, but Miguel got him to give in.

“He needs us,” he’d said, almost making me cry again when he added, “and we need him too.”

Miguel stared at him as if he could see through him, like he saw something no one else could. “Come on, I’ll wrestle with you and let you win this time.”

“I always win,” Quentin mumbled, but got up and left with Miguel.

I was home alone but still glanced over my shoulder at the closet doorway before opening the bottom dresser drawer. After removing the clothes, I pulled the drawer out completely to get to the envelope I kept taped to the bottom.

My hands shook as I pulled the folded sheet of paper from inside, trying to decipher the three words written in a handwriting that wasn’t mine.

I searched my memories for an answer, but my mind was an unsolvable puzzle.

The harder I tried to force the pieces into place, the more scrambled they became.

My therapist swore she could help if I would just talk to her.

“You have to let me in.” It only made me hold back even more.

I whispered a few words of prayer, staring down at the dirt-covered note I’d held when I woke up that day in the woods far from my house. That familiar feeling of being alone, of God not listening to me, made my eyes burn.

Tell them nothing, it read, and so I hadn’t. Not the good Samaritans who found me, not anyone. I’d been living by those three words ever since.

But sometimes I slipped with Quentin and Miguel, and I hated it.

Hated that they made me feel both safe and scared, made me want to open up and hide at the same time.

It was the way they looked at me whenever I said goodbye, like they were worried they’d never see me again, like losing me would hurt them.

No one had ever looked at me that way. Not even my parents.

Or maybe it was the way their eyes lit up every time they found me in the woods, like they couldn’t believe I was real, like our night apart made them wake up thinking they’d imagined me.

It made my heart race and my stomach feel weak. It made me feel wanted, made me feel a part of something when I’d only ever felt separated from everything.

Quentin and Miguel didn’t need me. If I disappeared right now, they’d be fine because they had each other. Yet, it seemed like the opposite was true. They made me feel essential to them, and we hadn’t even known each other for that long.

I felt it too, though. I secretly went to sleep every night excited about being found in the woods the next day, excited to see Quentin charging at me with his goofy smile, Miguel following with his glasses a little crooked on his face.

I didn’t want to show up at their door, didn’t want to let myself in.

Maybe because I worried that somehow I’d only imagined them too, imagined my importance to them.

Maybe I was scared I’d walk into their bedroom and not see the same happiness I saw when they’d worked up a sweat searching for me.

I guess I needed the constant reminder that they wanted me around.

This scared, shy boy with missing memories, who loved to wear pretty things.

Putting everything back in place, I then hurried to lock my bedroom door before pulling out the dress I kept hidden under my mattress.

It was the one I wore when Quentin and Miguel spotted me for the first time in the woods.

I’d snuck it from my aunt’s things after she’d left me alone to go pick out furniture.

The house was secluded and surrounded by woods, so I didn’t think I’d be seen by anyone. I’d lost track of time exploring the grounds and had run past the tree line when my aunt showed up shouting my name.

Removing the uncomfortable clothes I currently wore, I pulled the dress over my head, exhaling as the soft fabric slid down my body. I didn’t pray first, and the shame wasn’t any better or worse because of it.

I tried to put those negative feelings and thoughts to the side, allowing the sense of freedom to be present. When it seemed that it wouldn’t work, when the panic made it hard to breathe, I thought about Quentin and Miguel.

“You look fucking beautiful in that dress, pretty girl.”

“Green is your color,” Miguel liked to say.

It almost worked, but the bad voice in my head broke through.

“Satan is at work here, Elliott, and I no longer believe you can be saved.”

“No,” I ground out, going back to Quentin and Miguel.

“You can be yourself around us.”

“We like you the way you are.”

“You’re ours now, Elliott.”

I smiled to myself, even if it was shaky, then went to stand in front of the full-length mirror. My hair was a wild mess, and my eyes were still puffy from all the crying I’d done. I ignored that and focused on the dress.

Quentin and Miguel saw me in this and thought I was a girl. I didn’t know what would’ve been worse at the time, my aunt catching me or them teasing me. Knowing my aunt’s plans for me, I’d taken my chances with them.

They’d stared at me with confusion and curiosity once they realized I wasn’t a girl. I tensed, waiting for whatever they would do or say next.

Miguel had kind eyes and a friendly voice. Quentin’s voice boomed like thunder. Miguel was thoughtful and smart, a gentle wave approaching the shore. Quentin was an intimidating ball of energy, a riptide that pulled you farther out to sea.

I needed both, and I wanted to accept the friendship they offered. Most days I did, but it didn’t come easily. It came with a lot of guilt.

How could I be their friend without letting them know who I really was? But how did I tell them who I was when so much of me was missing? Would they understand the parts they didn’t know? Or would they look at me differently? Would their eyes still light up, or would they turn their backs on me?

“You’ve always been so fragile.”

My mother was right. My nightly prayers never included asking for the strength to protect myself. I used to pray for someone to come save me, to protect me.

“Tell them nothing,” I whispered. But what if I could? Maybe I could give them just enough to make them not so curious about my past anymore, before leaving it behind for good.

Back in the closet, I dumped everything out of the bottom drawer again to get to the envelope. I held it between my hands, hesitating for only a second before ripping it into tiny pieces.

I glanced down at the dress, wondering if I should destroy it too, but that wasn’t the part of me I wanted to forget. It was the only part that felt right, as much as it felt wrong. I took it off and tucked it under my mattress again.

It was dinnertime now, but my stomach was in knots, making it impossible to eat. I decided to shower and then finish the book Miguel and I had started a few days ago.

My phone screen lit up with an incoming text message as soon as I got into bed with the book. It came from the group chat Miguel had created.

Miguel: Are you okay?

Another text came through right after that one.

Miguel: Do you need us to come over?

Quentin’s impatient text filled the screen next.

Quentin: We’re coming over right now!

Miguel: No, we’re not. Ignore him.

Miguel: Or should we? Just let us know you’re okay.

The messages came through in rapid fire, and my thumb hovered over the keyboard as I dealt with the reminder they really did care about me.

Me: I’m fine. Still want to be alone. See you tomorrow.

Three dots appeared on the screen, and I bit down on my fingernail as the seconds ticked by.

Were they going to say they were coming over anyway?

Or maybe this would be the moment they gave up on me.

The dots were replaced by a thumbs-up emoji from Quentin, and I instantly knew Miguel had somehow stopped him from sending whatever he’d been typing.