There you are.
The other Kian wasn’t heavy, as I half expected. Instead, he was thin to the point of gauntness with thick Coke-bottle lenses and terrible skin. The buzz cut didn’t help; neither did the weirdly patterned button-up shirt with the over-large collar. Looking at this picture, I’d never guess he came from money. He was dressed like he’d bought his clothing at a thrift store. But what really got to me was the dead, hopeless expression in his eyes.
I am alone, that look said. And it will never get better.
A year after this picture was taken, he tried to kill himself.
He shifted, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s bad, I know.”
“You’re still you,” I said. “And … I’d have dated you when you looked like that. If you’d asked me.”
A shiver went through him, relief or pleasure, or I didn’t know what. He put an arm around me and leaned his head against mine. “I would have, if I’d had the nerve. Remember at the diner? Before I optimized you, I said you have pretty eyes and a nice smile. But more important, you’re smart and brave and—God, stop me, before I say something ridiculous.”
I laughed softly. He was a person to me now, one with a sad past and a dark history, but he was real. He wasn’t a monster; he couldn’t be. Not with such awkward, painful signatures in his yearbook that said he had been almost as friendless as me. Most of them read, “To a smart guy” or even more damning, “Have a great summer.” I also noticed he had more comments from teachers than people his own age.
Another thing we have in common.
“You went for the ideal version of yourself, huh?”
He nodded. “It was Raoul’s suggestion … and why I offered it to you.”
“I’m glad.”
Nestled against his side, I worked through the rest of his box, unearthing certificates for academics and a bad poetry journal. That, Kian yanked away from me with red tinting his cheeks. He wore a hunted look.
“Please don’t open that.”
“You write poetry?”
“Nothing worth keeping. And not for a long time.”
“Read me something,” I demanded.
I’d never been close enough to anyone to feel comfortable being so bossy. With Kian, it seemed … safe. He paged through the notebook and mumbled, “I dream of sunlit streams /And moonless tides. / Of infinity / Among dark rocks. / I dream of quiet souls / And divinity / That breaks like a wave / Over me. / And instead of drowning, / You pull me in; / I swim.”
I was good at identifying themes and explaining them to teachers, but I had never listened to a poem and felt anything before. That didn’t mean Kian’s work had literary merit, and … maybe it was because I knew what his life was like when he wrote it, but I understood the words from the inside out.
“You were so sad,” I said softly. “Wondering if there’s a god, looking for someone to stop you.”
He drew in a sharp breath. “You see too much.”
“I want to see everything.”
This is happening. This is real.
I came up on my knees and hugged him; sometimes it felt like we were two halves of the same soul, and that was so stupid it made me feel like I lost IQ points just for thinking it. His arms tightened around me and he buried his face in my hair. For a few seconds, I imagined what this would’ve been like with him thin and me fat, if it would’ve felt better, worse or just … different. Sometimes I felt like an impostor in my own body.
“When Wedderburn told me to get close to you, I was, like, shit. Because anything he wants isn’t good for the people involved.”
“There has to be a way that this doesn’t end badly,” I said. “We’ll find it. You said I have to be with you or cut you loose. I’m ready, I’m not scared anymore.”
He exhaled against my hair. “I’m glad. Because it kills me when you look at me like I’m one of the monsters.”
His hands trembled on my back and he tucked his face against my neck. His breath was hot and damp, misting on my skin. Any other moment, that would’ve been exciting, but he was shaking, his breath coming in quiet gasps. I touched his hair, alarmed.
“Kian?”
“I’m so sorry. You have no idea how awful I feel. I close my eyes and I see what they did to you, and I should’ve stopped it. That moment haunts me. I wish I’d kicked Cameron’s ass. I don’t even care that it means I’d be gone, as long as you’d be all right. But—”
“If they hadn’t forced me to extremis then, they’d have done something worse, and you’d have died for nothing. Bottom line, I burn my favors, like Wedderburn wants, because my liaison doesn’t care. I end up dancing like a puppet on his string. You’re the reason I’m even remotely in the game. So stop torturing yourself.”
“I don’t think I can. That’s all I want, you know. For you to be okay.” His voice was low and hoarse, ragged as if he’d spent a whole night screaming. The intensity he radiated was thrilling but also scary.
“You have to care about other things. Yourself, your life, your freedom.”
“Sure, Edie.” He said it too readily; I didn’t believe him.
For long moments, I just held him, hoping I could hug the hurt out. Comforting him made me feel stronger, though, like I could let go of my shame and pain to make Kian feel better. Eventually I sat back enough kiss him. His lips tasted faintly of salt.
“That’s enough personal history for the day. Want to take me home?” Belatedly I realized how that sounded, and heat washed my cheeks.
Oh God, why?
“More than you know.”
“That was quite a line,” I managed to say.
His green eyes settled on my face, shining with such fervor that I might burn from it. “It’s only a line if I don’t mean it.”
I had no answer for that. Silently, my cheeks still on fire, I helped him restore order to the storage unit and we went down to the car. “Why wasn’t all your stuff at the house?”
“Partly because I wanted a new start and Raoul warned me not to keep precious things too close.” That sounded ominous.
“Because you could be targeted by Dwyer & Fell?” I remembered him saying they’d gone after him before, and they just burned his house down. Damage like that could destroy all happy mementos of his former life.
“Yep.”
“Great, now I have something else to worry about. I don’t know if our insurance will cover ulcers at seventeen.”