Page 37 of There is No Devil

I don’t know what hurts me more—the destruction of my bear, or the loss of the one tiny connection I had to my other parent.

I used to imagine my dad might be thinking about me. Looking for me, even. I hoped he’d take me to a lovely house in some other state. Maybe he’d let me have a kitten. I’d go to school where nobody knew me, where no one knew my mom.

My mother won’t tell me anything about him. She relishes the secret that only she knows, that I can never discover unless she tells me.

Enough time has passed that I no longer think he’ll come find me.

Still, the bear meant something. He meant my father had loved me once, if only for a moment.

I don’t even have that anymore.

When I lay down in bed without Buttons, I’m lonelier than I’ve ever been.

I think to myself, there are 1794 days until my eighteenth birthday.

That’s when I can leave. When I can run far, far away from here.

In school, we learned that fish brought up from the deep pressure of the ocean will explode when they come up into lighter water. They can only stand what they’re used to.

I’m leaving either way. Whether I swim or burst.

Assuming I can survive 1794 more days.

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6

Cole

The next morning, I wake much earlier than usual, long before the sun is up.

Mara sleeps heavily beside me, exhausted from relating just one of the countless ugly stories from her childhood. I’m sure she could tell me one like that every day for a year and never run out.

I’m filled with an anger that sickens me, that makes my muscles shake.

I’ve never been furious for someone else before. Never felt this need to right the scales. To wreak vengeance on their behalf.

The fact that Mara’s mother and stepfather have never been punished for their rampant child abuse is an injustice that rankles like a spike jammed in my side.

The only time I’ve killed for someone else was when I spiked Michael Bridger’s drink, drove him home, and left his car running in the garage. Even then, I was telling Mara the truth: it was mostly for myself. I was tired of Sonia showing up to work puffy-eyed and exhausted, distracted by streams of calls and text messages from her fuckwit ex and his rapacious lawyer.

Maybe an infinitesimal portion of pity influenced my decision. If so, it was unconscious.

I’m a selfish person, I always have been. I’ve always been alone. No one was going to look out for my interests but me.

Even now, the things I do for Mara are really for me. I like the way she looks dressed up in gorgeous clothes. I like watching her eat ice cream. I like the way she melts under my touch. I like that I have the power to further her career. It feels just and right when she gets the attention she deserves because she’s fucking talented and her art is far more interesting than the shit turned out by commercial-minded egoists like Shaw.

Everything I do for her binds her closer to me. I want her dependent on me, so she can never leave. So she never even wants to.

Mara is distracted by everything beautiful, everything interesting.

I have to bemoreinteresting,moreuseful to keep her attention.

When I have her focus, her energy surges into me. She fills me with life.

I can’t lose her. I can’t go back to numbness and boredom.

Which puts me in a dilemma.

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