Page 55 of Darkness

He clears his throat. “The red helps for sleeping. Sometimes, I have trouble getting to sleep. Because I don’t like normal light, having a red LED has the least wattage. It changes the circadian rhythm and improves melatonin.” He scoffs out a half laugh. “Or some shit like that. Some doctor recommended it for nighttime, but I use it in here all the time because I can’t stand normal lighting.”

That’s interesting.

I had no idea he had trouble sleeping. Honestly, since I’ve been here, I haven’t noticed it at all. “I had no idea you have trouble sleeping.”

“Since you’ve been here, I haven’t had any issues.”

“Do you think it’s ’cause you have someone in your bed with you?”

“It’s because I have you in my bed with me.”

I lean over to press my lips to his briefly. That spark I felt the first time I kissed him is back with a vengeance. My lips tingle as I pull back with a contented sigh.

He’s happy.

At ease, even.

I want to keep prying, but I don’t want to overstep and have him put his walls back up.

He interrupts my internal decision-making process. “Just ask, Eva.”

“Why do you dislike the light so much?”

He tightens his jaw, his eyes clenching shut like he’s trying to pry out a memory—to not see something that can’t be unseen. Instantly, I regret bringing it up. Whatever it is, it must be painful. My hands splay out on his chest, trying to soothe him, and his face softens. His eyes open, a distant stare taking hold as he looks right past me.

“My mom was young when she had me. Fourteen or so, I think they said. She was a runaway. Had no idea what to do with a baby, so she took me to a family care facility and handed me in.”

“So, you don’t know who she is? Or your father?”

“I don’t really care. She left me. It’s her fault I grew up the way I did.”

I tense, but the words come out anyway. “Foster care?”

His body goes rigid beneath me. “I moved around a lot when I was young, but when I was about ten, I was placed in a more permanent home. A boys’ home.” I nod, urging him to continue. “I was the youngest of seven boys living in the smallest house. There wasn’t enough room for us all to share the bedrooms, so they moved me into a tiny closet under the stairs. They figured I was the smallest, so I would fit in there.” My stomach twists. That is not okay. Like some Harry Potter nightmare.

“They put in a beanbag for me to sleep on, and I had an overhead light with a cord I could pull to turn it on. I was so fucking scared of the dark. The other boys knew it too.”

I hate where this is leading.

“They would pick on me. They were all older, in their teens, so they thought it would be funny while I was outside playing to take the light globe out from my closet.” He shudders. “When I went in that night and the door was shut, I tried to turn on the light, but it wouldn’t start. It was pitch black… I was terrified.”

I swallow the tight knot in my throat.

“I moved for the door to open it, but those fuckers had locked me in.”

My heart pounds for my poor little Alec. How innocent he must have been. Those boys turned him from a normal kid into a scared little boy in one instant. Shit like that causes psychological trauma.

But if he was scared of the dark, why does he now hate the light?

“I spent what felt like hours banging on the door, crying, screaming for them to let me out. My foster parents didn’t come to my rescue. They were as scared of the older boys as I was. I was so frantic I broke my fingernails clawing at the door.”

“Jesus, Alec,” I whisper, my eyes flooding with tears.

“Then, as the darkness had truly set in… I gave up. I sat back in the shadows of the closet, shaking, crying, wishing for hell to swallow me whole. That was when I heard the lock click.”

“They let you out?” I ask.

He tenses all over. “Worse.” He inhales with the memory. “They opened the door, and I stood, racing forward to get out. They shone the brightest flashlight I’d ever seen directly in my eyes.” He winces like he’s seeing the light all over again. “After being in the dark for so long, it was like I was blind. I fell on my ass back on the beanbag while they all poked fun at me, then slammed the door shut, locking me in again with the key that’s in my closet.” The key—the antique-looking filigree one. The one I tried to escape with. No wonder seeing me with it made him so mad.

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