Page 86 of Damnation
He cocks his head to the side and observes me for a long moment. I’m forced to tilt my face up to look him in the eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just he…he would have liked you. A lot. The whole book thing and the good manners…” He tucks a strand of hair behindmy ear before sliding his fingers down my neck. “He would have been so into you. He used to scold me every time he heard me swear. Not to mention all the incredibly boring books he was always trying to convince me to read.”
I swallow thickly as I feel my heart fluttering and my eyes stinging. Thomas cups my cheeks with his big hands and gently rubs my cheekbones with his thumbs, wiping away the tears I didn’t realize I’d shed. “Don’t cry, Ness.”
I shake my head. “I–I’m not crying,” I lie, sniffling. “It’s…it’s just that…I’m so full of sadness for you, for everything you’ve had to go through. For what you lost, the suffering you’ve been forced to endure every single day of your life. I wish so much that it wasn’t like this for you. You don’t know what I would give to ease your heart and offer you some peace or relief. You have no idea what I would give, Thomas, to let you experience happiness—real happiness. I want that more than anything in the world.”
He looks at me, his eyes now cloudy with coldness. “I don’t want you to feel that way. I’ve learned to live with it. I had to.”
I take his hands in mine and give them a tight squeeze. “Sure, but what did it cost you?”
He doesn’t answer because we both know what the answer is. It cost him everything. His innocence. His humanity. His childhood. Everything has been infected with feelings of guilt and sorrow that will never go away. Never. Because pain changes you forever.
We are both silent for a few moments, then Thomas steps back, frowning. He kicks the ball with a dull thud, brushes past me, and says, “I’m hungry; let’s get out of here.”
I just stand there, dazed and staring into space. Only now do I realize that I’ve unwittingly upset him again. I just can’t bring myself to accept there’s a part of Thomas that will always be broken. Doomed. That his unhappiness was twisted by his father’s monstrous nature, and that, now, he will be forced to spend the rest of his life haunted by his regrets.
We walk silently, turning onto a narrow street that heads slightlyuphill. Thomas’s phone rings several times, but he keeps rejecting the calls. He walks beside me with a determined stride and lowered eyes, though he still holds my hand.
“Where are we going?”
“To eat.”
I take a quick glance down at my outfit, hoping I don’t look too sloppy with my turtleneck sweater, black skinny jeans, and the ever-present white Converse on my feet.
“Oh. I thought that Leila and your mother were waiting to have lunch with us.”
“Change of plans.”
My eyes widen. “In the sense that you don’t want to go there anymore?”
“In the sense that I don’t want to go there right now.”
“Shouldn’t you at least give them a heads-up?” I ask in a soft voice.
He turns irritably to me. “I already did.”
I don’t insist; I don’t want to push him. I just follow him and pray that his bad mood can be assuaged by a hot meal.
We arrive in front of a pub famous, apparently, for its gigantic sandwiches. I stop to check the day’s menu, written on a blackboard at the entrance.
“I recommend the roast chicken one. Joseph’s food is unsurpassed,” Thomas informs me.
“Okay then, I’ll go for the roast chicken sandwich.”
As we enter, we are greeted by the smell of ancient wood. The carpet under our feet is patterned in red and green geometrical shapes. The walls are claret colored, and the furnishings are vaguely Irish in style. The room is packed; waiters rush from one side of the place to the other, each holding more plates than seems humanly possible. Maybe I should consider getting some private lessons from them? We look for a free table and, spotting one, sit down.
Thomas seems at ease here, which reassures me. But we don’t even have time to open the menus before a loud sound explodes through the room, making us both whirl around.
“Well, I’ll be damned!” A plump woman in her fifties with her graying hair pulled into a bun comes toward us, both her mouth and eyes wide open. She’s wearing a black uniform, complete with a sauce- and oil-stained white apron over it. As soon as she reaches us, she attacks Thomas, wrapping him in a bone-crushing hug as she ruffles his hair. Strangely, he lets her do it.
“Big fella, this is a surprise!”
“Hey, Miranda,” he says, fixing his hair a little bit awkwardly. This is a completely new sight for me.
I put the menu down, lean my elbows on the table, and enjoy the scene before me. I give Thomas a mischievous grin, which he responds to immediately with a look that says,Not a single word.
