Page 81 of The Idol

“Father says she died right after I was born,” he murmured. “So I never knew her.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, voice barely above a whisper.

“But there’s something,” he whispered, so quietly it was almost soundless. “Like—like a feeling.” His fingers curled in the sheets, twisting them.

“A feeling? Like what?”

He swallowed. “Like she was… the loveliest person.”

Oh, baby.

“Loveliest?” I echoed, trying to keep the strain from my voice.

Elior nodded against the pillow. “I don’t know why I think that. I just—” His eyes drifted halfway closed, lashes trembling. “Sometimes I feel this warmth under my ribs. Like a little sunbeam that never goes out. Like she left it there for me.”

Christ.

I had to exhale slowly just to keep myself from showing how hard that hit.

His heart was so miraculously untouched by all the filth around him. He was so innocent, so naive and sweet that it hurt.

“What do you think she was like?” I asked, barely trusting my voice.

“I think she was gentle,” he whispered. “And kind. The kind of person who smiled softly. Someone who would have loved me even if I wasn’t…” His throat tightened. “…even if I wasn’t the Vessel. Even if I was just… me. Just Elior.”

“She loved you,” I said quietly. “There’s no way she couldn’t have. I bet she loved you from the moment you were created. I bet she loved you more than anything.”

Elior went still. “Really? You really think so?” Tears slid from the corners of his eyes. I used my thumb to catch a few.

“Yeah, baby.”

His shoulders loosened, just a fraction. Enough for me to know he believed me. Elior eased onto his side, facing me, face soft with exhaustion but open in a way he never let himself be with anyone else.

“You’re always so kind to me,” he murmured. “Thank you.”

I brushed my thumb across his temple, just once. “You don’t have to thank me for that, sweet boy.”

“Stay?” he whispered.

I didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah, cherub. I’ll stay.”

Turning off the lamp, I moved the bowl and other supplies onto his desk, then slipped into his bed. It was a tight fit, but you’d never hear me complain about it.

As I settled in next to him, Elior nuzzled his head into my bicep and shyly asked, “Can you tell me about your family?”

“What would you like to know?”

Elior hesitated, then whispered, “Everything. But only if you want to.”

He really meant it—he wanted to knowme.

I rested my free hand on the side of his arm, my thumb brushing slow, steady circles. “Alright,” I murmured. “I’ll tell you.”

He blinked up at me, wide-eyed and waiting.

“My mom… her name was Maria,” I began quietly. “She was from the Philippines. My dad met her while he was on vacation with a friend. Total chance encounter. They bumped into each other on a ferry, spilled a soda, and somehow that turned into a whole conversation.”

Elior’s lips curved. “That sounds so nice.”