Page 45 of Cunning Lies
So why can’t I stop myself from telling him the truth?
He grabs my wrist, then crouches down beside me until we’re looking into each other’s eyes. “I can get it out of you the hard way, but I prefer if you told me yourself.”
I lower my eyes. As much as I enjoy the strangulation and vibrator combination, the idea of doing thatjustto get me to say some words about my past, isn’t what I want to do right now. But it’s hard to explain. I can’t throw my family under the bus like that. Patrick and Uncle Jay may be jerks, but they’re all I have.
A sudden shift changes Kenzo’s face, rage fuming in his eyes. He flips around, racing for the door.
“I’m going to fucking kill him,” he says.
My heart beats so fast that my chest hurts. Everything is tight. That’s what he meant by ‘the hard way’?
I race after him, but he’s already at the door.
“Kenzo! Please—” I grab his white suit jacket, yanking him back as hard as I can. “Don’t leave me,” I whisper. “Stay with me.”
He freezes in place. Seconds pass as I hold my breath. His shoulder shifts, and he relaxes.
The front door’s lock clicks into place. Relief flows through me, and I push Kenzo towards the boxes of supplies at the dining table. I grab the right materials, then bring them into the kitchen, motioning for Kenzo to join me. Using the scale and the measuring cup, I weigh out what I need for one of the smaller jars.
“He doesn’t have the right to touch you like that,” Kenzo says.
I set the double broiler on the stove. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say.
“And if you won’t tell me what happened, then what am I supposed to think?”
He has a point, but I stay focused on the materials in front of me, finding solace in knowing that these lumps of wax will eventually melt together and burn brightly. You just have to give them time.
“Uncle Jay and Patrick didn’t have the best situation at home,” I say carefully. Inside of the double broiler, the wax melts down like little flakes of snow. “Patrick’s mom left Uncle Jay as soon as he was born, and the next woman—this fling my uncle had with a woman from Bakersfield—robbed them of everything they had. She even sent her husband to beat up Uncle Jay.”
And this wasbeforehe started conning. At least, that’s how the story goes. I used to never question it, but the older I get, the harder it is to make sense of the past. But like Uncle Jay always says, it’s best to focus on the future. On our dream house. You can’t change the past, but you can find the next step right in front of you.
I don’t tell Kenzo about the day Uncle Jay found me in the back of a car, how he saved me when my parents had just been killed, how he promised to never leave me. I don’t tell him that Uncle Jay promised he would give me my dream house one day. A perfect home. If I only trusted him to take care of me.
Kenzo shifts beside me, his fingers tapping his side. This—candle making andlisteningto someone before he makes a move—is uncomfortable for him. He needs to be moving. I understand that. But I also know that he hasn’t left my side, and that means something to me. I want to tell him the truth.
I continue: “I guess after everything Uncle Jay and Patrick went through, they both agreed that—” I pause. I’ve never shared any of this before. Bile burns at the back of my throat, and my body is stiff and sore. “They thought it would be best if I was exposed to it, you know? Better to give me a good experience before someone else forced it upon me. They wanted to make sure it was gentle.”
Back then, I could barely feel anything. They made sure I was drunk. Said it would make everything easier for me.
I’ll make sure he’s gentle,Uncle Jay had said.Don’t worry.Patrick is going to take care of you.
My stomach churns, and I let that memory fade.
“It’s just a different way to teach someone what’s out there,” I say. “They were protecting me.”
Kenzo stifles a sigh, like my words are searing his brain, and the truth is that they’re hurting me too. I’ve never talked to anyone about this before, and maybe the only reason I’m telling Kenzo is because he’s not some con job or stranger I’ve run into. He’s a criminal,like me,and his past isn’t sunshine and daisies either. His forehead wrinkles, like he’s keeping his anger inside, and I squeeze his fingers. He stares at the melted wax with blank eyes, and my body prickles with pins and needles.
“Do you think I’m disgusting?” I whisper.
Finally, Kenzo looks up at me, his eyes wide. “Why would I think that?”
“Because you’re not my first. I’m tainted, and—”
He puts a finger to his lips, silencing me. “Your cousin is disgusting. He’s a piece of shit.”
Comfort simmers through my shoulders. I turn back to the materials and check the temperature of the wax. I add the fragrance oils and breathe in through my nose, taking in that scent. Coconut and vanilla, two of my favorites. As generic as they may be, it reminds me of summer, when it seems like nothing can hurt you. Like the beach. Like a cottage on the coast. A dream home you never want to leave.
“Teaching or not,” Kenzo mutters, “you don’t hurt your family like that.”
