Page 76 of Touch of Hate

He had his earbuds in most of the time, shutting me out in favor of the music he was listening to. He had it cranked loud enough that I could hear some of it, vaguely recognizing the driving beat of heavy metal. He was so deep into whatever he was working on that I might as well have not been here.

The sting of being ignored still paled compared to the piercing pain of being left alone with my thoughts. Even now, hours later, I want nothing more than to turn away from the dark self-reproach which gripped and threatened to break me.

I’m putting my family through agony for this?

I hate myself for having thought it, but there’s no denying the bitter truth. My parents have already lost a daughter. I witnessed that torment, heard my father’s powerless pacing and my mother’s helpless sobs. Just like I watched Q break down and wished I could take it all away.

You can’t absorb someone else’s pain, no matter how much you love them.

This time, I’m the source of the pain. I’m the reason my father has probably threatened to murder dozens of men—if he’s stopped at threats, which he probably hasn’t. I’m the reason Mom’s crying and asking herself if she could’ve done something to stop this. And what about Aspen? What if—

Stop this. What good did punishing myself do yesterday? What might it do again today?

Oh no. My body curls on itself at the question. I couldn’t take another day of nothing to do but torture myself. He needs to be in a better mental place today, or I might shatter for good under the weight of my guilt.

My poor, lonely heart sinks when I wake up to find him already out of bed. The pillow is cold, no big surprise.

And the keys are clicking away. Again.

Still? Did he ever come to bed?

I search my memory for any hint of him being here overnight, next to me, and come up blank. Maybe I slept deeply enough that I didn’t notice.

Maybe he never went to sleep at all.

I know better than to ask for a clue as to what’s so important. It must be something to do with this mission of his, which I hardly know anything about. Only that it’s important—of course—and he supposedly needs me to be a part of it.

But not so important a part that I deserve to hear the details.

I wish I understood it. I wish I understood him.

He hardly notices when I emerge from the bedroom. It’s chilly—there’s no fire in the oven to warm the cabin. Does he feel it? I doubt it. He’s consumed by whatever he’s doing, still listening to music while leaning in close to his screen. He’s almost squinting, studying something.

I know better than to get too close. His energy is so intense it’s like a brick wall around him. Rather than make the mistake of disturbing him, I go to the stove and open the oven door before pulling a few pieces of wood from the pile in the corner and placing them inside.

If he’s not going to take care of himself, I guess it’s up to me. Not that I mind. I want to take care of him and be a vital part of his life. I only wish there wasn’t this feeling of dread, like I need to tiptoe around.

It doesn’t take long for me to get the coffee maker working and boil water for oatmeal. We’ll need to go out for supplies soon. The idea sparks hope in my heart. It would be nice to feel like we were doing something normal.

Without a word, I set his bowl and a cup of coffee on the table, then leave mine to cool while I wash up in the bathroom. What happens if he doesn’t eat? Should I say something? Will I regret it?

Are those my eyes in the mirror over the sink? They look haunted. Pained. All I’ve wanted all this time is to be with him, and now that I am, I’m walking on eggshells, almost afraid to breathe too hard.

This is Ren. He’s the same person I’ve always known. I need to draw him out. Somehow.

It gives me hope to step out of the bathroom and find him eating like he is half-starved. “I didn’t notice how hungry I was,” he tells me before shoveling more into his mouth. My heart swells as I take my seat and begin eating, which is a lot easier to do now that I know he’s in a good mood.

Rather than ask whether he slept, I say, “I didn’t want to disturb you, but I figured you’d need to eat.”

“Thank you.” His smile softens what’s left of my uneasiness. “Sorry to be so busy, but it’s worth it. I found what looks like a compound outside of Reno.”

“Oh? That’s good.” I don’t know whether it’s good or not, but he seems happy about it.

“My eyes are burning, though.” He rubs both fists over his eyes, then picks up the coffee and drinks deeply.

“You look tired,” I murmur, careful not to say too much.

“Yeah, but it’ll be worth it.” He sets down the cup and finally takes a good look at me. “How are you? Did you sleep okay?”

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