Page 96 of Forever We Fall

“I want to get rid of it.”

He nods but makes no move to walk back toward civilization. The sun shines off his thick black hair. A gentle breeze blows. It’s an unusually stunning day for the UK.

His lips press together and then purse.

“What?”

He exhales like a mythical beast, long and hard. “I haven’t asked.”

The random words in random context shouldn’t mean anything to me, but I know exactly what he’s talking about. My stomach drops into my toes.

“A big part of me doesn’t want you to have to think about it.” He presses a hand to his heart. “Another part is scared to know because I can’t kill him again. A little part knows that it doesn’t matter if I know or not. It won’t change anything.”

I don’t want him to ask. It’s why I stayed in my room for so many days after I came back. I couldn’t bear the thought of rehashing it. I didn’t want him to see the fresh marks on my body either. I didn’t want him to see the despair in my eyes and all my broken bits.

His deep gaze pins me. “What did he do to you?”

My blood goes cold, despite the sun blazing on my back. A knot forms in my throat, and I think I might throw up.

I walk to the end of the cobblestones to the top of the first hill and drop onto the grass, not sitting, not kneeling, not on all fours. Just slumped into a lump on the grass. It might be thefetal position. I focus on the feel of the long blades on my cheek and the air sawing in and out of my lungs.

Hota scrambles to sit next to me. “Forget I asked. I’m sorry.”

There’s nothing for him to be sorry for. Except maybe there is. If I’d never known Hota, never known his careful touch and kindness, maybe I’d still be whole. Chipped and cracked, sure. But not shattered like I am now.

“I bet there are two hundred sheep in that field,” he says, trying to turn the tide of the day. “Have you ever counted sheep to sleep? I used to. When I was little, my friend at school told me that’s how you were supposed to go to sleep. So every night for three days, I counted and counted and counted. I was so determined to keep track of my count that I never let myself sleep.”

He props back on his hands in the grass and stares out over the sheep.

“That third day, I told my friend at school that their method sucked. When I asked how many sheep they counted, they said twenty-eight was the last number they remembered. I’d counted to nine thousand six hundred forty-two.”

I relax on my back and let the sun warm my face. I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth for a long time. And then I look at Hota. He’s still looking at the sheep. “Are you counting them now?”

His smile is soft and sweet. “There are only one hundred and eighty that I can see from here.”

I push onto my ass, bend my knees, brace my forearms on them, and meet Hota’s gaze once more. I can’t give him so much. Not myself and not the whole truth.

I can’t tell him that I came while my uncle raped me. Not because I fear he’ll judge me. He wouldn’t. I know that better than I know myself.

I can’t tell him because that would mean facing my own shame.

That I pictured Hota inside me when it was really my horrid uncle. That I moaned and begged and enjoyed it. That I finished for the first time in that hellhole. Came unglued, all my shattered pieces scattered.

I need to give him something, for him and for me. So that maybe one day, we can move on in some way. I can give him this partial truth.

“He didn’t do anything more than he already had, which was fucking horrible.” I choke on the last word but shrug like Hota always does. “It was so much harder.” My voice cracks, and I stop for a second. “It was harder knowing that you were here, waiting for me, and I couldn’t be with you.”

Tears stream down his face, but he makes no move to wipe them away.

“Before, I had nothing left to lose. When I was chained up, I realized having something to lose is so much more terrifying than anything my uncle did to me.”

“Fuck.” Hota buries his face in his hands and cries outright.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper as the pieces of my broken heart scatter a little further apart. My cheeks are wet too, for the first time in a long time.

After a while, our tears stop and slowly dry. Hota wipes his face and stands. “Let’s go find you the best fucking bag this tiny little town has to offer.”

I sit in the headmaster’s office for the second time this year. The only difference is that this time, they’re making me wait in the room by myself, and Hota wasn’t called with me.

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