Page 57 of One
“You like the color blue,” he finally utters. “Your room at Meg’s had different shades of the same color.”
I look into his cornflower eyes, knowing that, although I tried, I was never able to find that same variegated, disarmingly beautiful shade. Because it shifts every time his mood changes. Such vivid, mercurial eyes. They can go from stormy ocean blue to light turquoise to almost sky blue.
Surrounding myself with blue was a way to still feel him near me.
Instead of giving him an answer, I let go of his cheek and ask him if he’s thirsty.
He shakes his head, moving toward the wall of windows. At this height, we can see Lake Michigan and the city skyline. The people on the street are nothing more than speckles scrambling on the black and grey asphalt. The view usually enchanted people, but Michael’s attention is focused on the two red paintings looking even more stark against the blue wall.
He keeps staring, almost hypnotized, his shoulders rising and falling. “The crimson color of the paint. The way it’s splattered across the pale canvas…” He lifts his hand, fingers outstretched, wanting to touch but stopping just shy. I grab them and guide them to the painting. There’s no glass, and when his fingertips touch the red, they twitch against mine.
“Blood,” I whisper low and slowly in his ear, pushing my back against his chest. I relish the shiver that rolls from his arm down his whole body.
“Yours?” Another light shudder hits him, letting me know how much he likes that idea.
“No.” It’s the blood from my first and only revenge kill.
“It’s…” He shivers again.
“Obscenely beautiful in its darkness.” I kiss the skin under his ear. But instead of melting against me, he drops his hand and pulls away. When he turns to face me, the sorrow in his eyes almost guts me. I don’t like to see him like this. Don’t like to guess why. Nor the fear that’s quickly growing inside me again.
“I can give you whatever you want, Michael. But don’t ask me to let you go. That, I’ll never do.” I fist my hands, trying to control the irrational emotion.
“What I want is for you to explain to me why, Raph. Why didn’t you tell me you knew me?”
He wants answers. I can give him that.
“I thought you were dead.”
“W-what?” he stuttered.
“You don’t remember any of it, do you?” I look into his open eyes, the same eyes that have been haunting me all this time. “Me. You don’t remember me.”
He hesitates for a brief second, but then shakes his head, tightening his lips. I knew that already, but it still hurts to think his brain decided to erase me so easily.
“I was taken when I was six. My foster family sold me to those two fucked-up scientists after I burned their garden shed.”
“What?” he chokes out.
I smirk. “There was a wasp’s nest under the shed roof. Spraying gasoline and then setting it on fire seemed like an effective way to get rid of it for nine-year-old me.” I don’t add that my foster parents kept drugs and other illegal substances in that same shed, because I didn’t burn it down led by some kind of stupid virtuous principle. I just wanted to get back at them for being callous bastards.
“They sold you?”
I nod. I hadn’t been surprised by that. They were shitheads. “For the next three years, those scientists experimented on me.”
“What… what did they do to you?” His lower lip trembles, but his shoulders are set into a determined pose.
“They forced me to watch what the majority of people would call disturbing images for hours every day. Made me endure pain, lack of sleep, no food or water. Tortured me with endless high-pitched sounds and a too hot or cold environment. And more; much more. I could hear other kids crying, begging, or talking through the bars of my room. But I never met any of them until they brought you to me. From the first moment I saw you…that first glance I knew you were mine.”
Michael opens his mouth, but my thumb pushing firmly on his lips shushes him.
“It’s the truth. You were all big blue eyes and dirty blond hair. Trembling and pushing your body against the wall, trying to make yourself as tiny as you could. Your fear turned on all my predatory senses, and I felt fully drawn to you.” I still remember the thrilling sensation of having him there with me for the first time. My finger starts stroking his lower plump lip. “My deep curiosity turned into something else, something deeper when you gave me your blanket after I was hosed for an hour with freezing water. I thought I was going to die. Couldn’t feel any part of my body, not even my tongue. You gave me your pink piggy and hugged me until I stopped shivering.”
“Pink piggy?”
“A small stuffed toy you kept hidden inside a hole in the wall. It was the only thing they didn’t take away from you.” I feel myself smiling, remembering the worn, dirty toy, and how One used to squeeze it to his chest.
“So we became friends?” he tentatively asks.
