Split(46)

FIFTEEN



SHYANN


Thank God he’s back.

As much as I want to tie him up and interrogate him about what all went down on Friday night, what the hell he did for two days holed up in his house, I can tell he’s scared. That lost look in his eyes I feel in my chest.

A flicker of the terrified boy I’ve seen before is back and the confusion on his face is enough to rip open old wounds.

I spent all weekend in the office researching what I thought was going on with Lucas, and after collecting as much information as I could, I’m afraid to be right.

Oh, Lucas, what have you been through?

After I feed him my entire lunch, including my midmorning and midafternoon snack, as well as my emergency chocolate stash, his color seems better. He’s more alert and has the energy to hold up his own body.

We’re tucked back far enough into the forest that no one can see us, but saws and nail guns can be heard beyond the trees. I turn to him and catch him staring at me, his eyebrows pinched together, and he’s chewing that bottom lip that I know feels even softer than it looks. He studies the ground.

“Who’s Gage?” Ugh . . . smooth approach, Shyann. Then again, finesse has never been my thing.

“Gage is . . . me.” His shoulders drop and he shakes his head. “It’s complicated.”

I knew it. He’s in there, both Gage and Lucas. “What do you know?”

He licks his lips and pulls his knees up to rest his forearms on them. “Ever since I can remember, I’ve had these . . . blackouts.”

I swallow, nervous more for him than myself.

“They were random at first, or at least I thought. But when I got older, I noticed a pattern, like, they never happened at school or when I was home alone with my sister and brothers. They always happened when I was in trouble for something.”

“How long do they usually last?”

He digs the heel of his boot into the dirt, raking out a hole it seems he’d rather crawl into than keep talking.

“It’s okay. You can trust me.”

“When I was ten, I went dark for days. When I came to, I couldn’t remember anything.”

I turn my head away, attempting to hide my shock, hoping he doesn’t see my reaction to the disturbing information. “You always lose days? Like this weekend?”

“No, on average they last a few hours. Sometimes less. Depends on how bad things are.” He grimaces.

“What kind of things?” I’m terrified to know the answer.

“Back then? The punishments.” He gazes at me with troubled eyes. “Now? The threat.”

“What did it this time?”

He shrugs and whispers, “You were upset. I wanted to . . . comfort you. That’s the last thing I remember.”

My gut churns, a sickening feeling only rivaled by my sadness. “You felt threatened . . . by me?”

“Women. They trigger them.” He cringes slightly away from me as if he’s expecting me to lash out.

I clear my throat and try to relax. If his need to comfort me triggered him before, my panic might do the same and I can’t risk losing Lucas now that he’s finally letting me in.

“What about the punishments?” I fight a swell of nausea, fearing his answer.

He rubs the back of his neck. “My mom.”

I allow the silence to settle between us, not wanting to scare him from telling me more by blabbing the four thousand questions I have swirling through my head.

What if I trigger the violent side of Lucas just for being female? A spike of adrenaline speeds my pulse, and I’m suddenly hyperaware of my surroundings.

My instinct tells me to run, but deep down inside I believe Lucas wouldn’t hurt me. He’s had me alone, had the opportunity, but the only thing he hurt was my feelings. And even his more aggressive personality protected me from Dustin. That has to mean something.

“Sometimes I’d come to, curled up on the floor, aching all over. Others I’d wake up to her standing over me. She’d scream. I’d go from black to her face twisted in anger and the words . . .” He is staring at nothing but seems to be seeing everything.

My heart lodges in my throat at how he must’ve suffered. I scoot closer, place my hand on his back, and rub up and down in long firm strokes. His muscles flex beneath my touch but after a few dozen seconds he seems to calm.

“Did your parents ever take you to a doctor?”

He shakes his head but doesn’t elaborate. Guess a woman who punishes her son so extremely that he would black out wouldn’t seek medical attention. Too easy to get caught.

“My little brother Michael used to tell me about Gage. He’d say, ‘I got scared but then Gage came’ and ‘If Mom gets mad, it’ll be okay because Gage will take care of us.’ I thought he was an imaginary friend, their version of a guardian angel.”

The broken sound of his voice makes my eyes and sinuses burn.

“It wasn’t until later that my little sister was looking at my class picture. She kept pointing at me saying, ‘Who is that? Lucas or Gage?’ After that, when he’d show up, he’d leave me notes.”

“Notes, like on paper?”

“Yes, and also here.” He flips his hands over, palms up.

I swallow past the tightness in my throat. “Anything this time?”