Page 87 of The Story of You

“Not the people who matter.”

He nods. “I have never cared much for what the world thinks of me.”

Oh. Oh, yeah. “You’re ashamed of yourself. You judge yourself. Oh Dad, please don’t be ashamed. It wasn’t your fault.”

“He didn’t create our chemistry, Oliver. That was real. It…” He bites his lip. Silas never does things like bite his lip. “It surprised me. I knew it was coming. I fought it. But then, one night changed everything and I fell hard. I liked the feeling of captivity. I’ve never felt anything else like it.”

“I’ll never judge you, Baba, even if you judge yourself. You can talk about it with me, and I’ll knock some sense into you.”

He thinks about it. “Maybe that’s a good idea.” He taps his fingers on the counter.One. Two. Three. Four.“Our friends saw something between us too. I know they could have been wrong—maybe they saw what they wanted to see—but that they saw what I felt made me feel better, not worse. Less crazy.”

Silas is different right now. Like he’s back there. He looks young and soft and carefree. Is it possible that even with all the terrible, Silas had a genuine form of peace?

He snaps back to now. “Time to take a break from the book, Oliver.”

* * *

Silas

He’s been crying for an hour and a half. He’s barely touched his snack. I’m tense all over, my muscles coiled, the need to tear something apart burning through me. Maybe I’ll start with that book. It was a stupid idea. I’ll never be okay with his tears.

“I can’t, Silas. I need to read to where things are okay.”

“Things are okay, right here. I’m about to ice the cake.” I took the layers out of the oven a while ago and they’ve been chilling in the fridge—three sponge cake layers—and I’ve mixed the banana custard. Then I forced myself to watch him. I knew where he was based on his facial expressions.

“Just a bit more. Once we’re far away from that place, I’ll be fine.”

“You know me too well to think I’m making a suggestion, Eaglet.”

“Fine.” He pushes the book away.

I hand him a warm wet cloth and take the book, sliding it on top of the fridge.

“I can reach it up there. I’m not five.” He wipes his face, but it’s still blotchy and red.

“But can you get past, Lakshan?” Lakshan is proficient in several martial arts, including ones that involve knives.

“No.” He pouts. “You know, Baba, I forgive you—if that’s what you need to hear. You weren’t the monster. He is.”

“Hewas, you mean.”

“He’s not dead yet.”

“He’s dead, Oliver,” I say with more force than I mean to.

He bites his lip. “I know. I just mean in the story—he’s not yet.”

It’s too late. My heart’s already taken off at a gallop.Breathe, Silas.Fuck. Twenty-one years later and that combination of words has me feeling like we’re running all over again. I know that he’s dead. I have his death certificate to prove it. I received the trust he left for me, which I could have only gotten if he died.

“You’ll see. He’ll die.”

“No, I won’t see. Someone took my book.” He glares at his hands.

“When is Julius home?”

“Not till later. He’s working late with Calvin.”

I nod. “Sit there,” I instruct, nodding to one of the chairs at the kitchen island. “We’ll talk about it some more while I ice the cake.”