Page 79 of Irreversible

“Isaac, stop.” I inch closer to the wall, wincing as my body pulses with resistance. “I know you care. You don’t need to put up a wall with me.” My nose wrinkles as I clear my throat. “Figuratively.”

“You think you know me, huh?”

I waver, lowering back down to the cot. “I know enough.”

“Enlighten me, then.”

“I think, at your core, you’re a good man,” I say, tucking my hands underneath my cheek. “Decent, honest. Fiercely protective of the ones you love. But you wear a mask, so people can’t see the real you. To you, vulnerability is a disease, a weakness.” My eyes begin to adjust as I stare at the barrier of red-stained white. “Something bad happened to you. Something awful. And maybe you’ve always blamed yourself for it, even though it wasn’t your fault. It couldn’t be. But you feel deeply, more than you let on. You’ve internalized your losses to the point where you reject genuine emotion, connection…feeling. It’s easier that way. Safer.”

No response.

I scan the wall, my heartbeats more alive as I drink in the reflective stillness. “Am I on the right track?”

“Hmm,” he grouses, shifting in place. “Are you my therapist now?”

“Do you have a therapist?”

“People see therapists so they can change. That would imply there’s a point in trying. Or that I care.”

“Change isn’t the word I would use. Therapy is about growth. That’s something anyone can benefit from, right?” When he doesn’t reply, I chew on my cheek, hoping I’m reaching him in some small way. “Closing yourself off doesn’t do you any favors, Isaac. It’s lonely. Cold. Life will always be filled with loss and heartache, but that’s what makes us stronger. We carry those hardships with us, always, but we don’t let them define us.”

“Easy for you to say.” His tone is clipped and bitter. “You’ve led a privileged life up till now. A pretty face with pretty people catering to your every whim. Fame and fortune.”

“Mypretty faceis what put me here, rotting away in this prison.” My chest heaves, my emotions heightening. “It’s a curse, not a gift.”

“And it’s what’s keeping you alive right now.”

I release a humorless laugh. “You think I haven’t suffered? Grieved? Struggled?”

He doesn’t reply.

I sit up, wincing when I cross my legs. He’s shutting me out again, pushing me away. A defense mechanism to dull his pain and avoid letting any more inside. “Talk to me,” I plead softly, pressing my forehead and hand to the wall. “Tell me what hurt you.”

Still, nothing.

“Isaac.” I inhale a shuddery breath, curling my fingers. “Tell me why you hate the world.”

Twenty-two seconds go by before he admits it. “Maybe I do hate the world.”

Laced through the bitterness, there’s a trace of vulnerability I’ve been longing to hear.

A tear leaks from my eye and travels down my cheek, warm and light. Swallowing, I close my eyes and wait for more.

He pauses. Five more beats until he says the words that break my heart.

“But the world hated me first.”

18

Iknow my mistake the second the words leave my mouth.

My head thumps against the wall.

Good job, Porter. That’s not going to set her curiosity off at all.

“Isaac…”

Yep, I’ve done it now. “Forget I said anything.”

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