Page 115 of Stable Hand

I pulled out the chair beside Luke’s and sat down. He was still hunched in a defeated slump, and his eyes had closed again. At least he’d stopped shivering. I made sure the towel stayed wrapped around him.

Then Luke started talking in a voice so quiet I had to lean in to hear him. “I didn’t tell you before because it really doesn’t matter. Well, it matters, but none of this changes anything between you and me and Noah. I was hoping the feelings were going away and I didn’t have to think about them anymore. But I guess they aren’t.”

A shiver ran up my spine. “What’s not going away?”

Luke balled his hands into fists and spoke through clenched teeth. “These goddamn feelings…these goddamn memories! I can’t get them to go away. I can’t stop seeing them, and they always come at me when I’m in a good space. When I’m happy. I can’t—”

I felt something drop in the pit of my stomach. Had he been hurt in the past? Or had he hurt someone?

“What kind of memories?”

Luke lifted his chin and opened his eyes—blue, glazed, and lost. “Bad ones. Horrible.”

I swallowed. “Of what?”

Luke cleared his throat and looked away. “I fucking hate talking about this shit. Makes my life sound like the ‘Movie of the Week’.” He took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “So, my parents were addicts, right? They liked coke and meth and stuff.”

This was bad enough, but he continued, “When I was ten, their dealer stabbed them to death in front of me.”

My eyes flew open. My brain exploded. I didn’t say a thing.

“Guy took a steak knife out of his pocket and sliced my mom’s throat. Then he stabbed my dad in the stomach when he tried to protect her.”

Now horrible images were flashing in my brain. “Jesus. Jesus!”

“He would have stabbed me but I opened the front door and ran down the street to my friend’s house. His mom called the cops.”

“That’s fucking horrible. That’s insane.”

“I try to forget. I try…so hard. I try so hard, Jensen. I want to forget.”

I leaned forward and pulled him against me, tucking his head under my chin and squeezing his shoulder. “I know. I know you do.”

“Adam says I feel guilty for running away. And until I stop feeling guilty, I’ll replay those events again and again in my mind. Over and over.”

“Guilty? You saved yourself. If you hadn’t run you’d be dead too!”

“Yeah, so everyone says,” Luke commented emotionlessly. He looked up at me with questioning, empty eyes. “So why don’t I believe it?”

I didn’t say anything for a long time. “I don’t know,” I said finally. “Maybe it’s not so simple.”

Luke blinked and licked his lips. “What?”

I shrugged. “Guilt can be tricky. Of course, you feel guilty. You were the only one there who wasn’t being attacked. Maybe you could have grabbed the guy’s knife. Maybe you could have strangled him before he killed your dad.”

Luke pushed me off and stood, his expression transmitting anger now instead of fear and sadness. But anger was better.

“I was fucking ten years old! Are you insane? If I’d tried anything, the freak would have sliced my head off!”

I stared at Luke, not saying a word. When he realized he had made all the arguments for his innocence, he sat down again, looking confused.

“It’s not so easy.”

“I know. But everything you said is true. You know it because you just explained the situation to me.”

“Yeah.”

“So, why are you holding onto the guilt so hard?”