Take Me With You(99)

And he'll know I grew to crave the man in the mask as much as he craved me. I'll lose Carter because he'll see I'm lost. The hunted is not supposed to yearn for the hunter. What Sam and I have is unnatural. It's aberrant. It's abhorrent.

“You don't want to know…” I rasp.

“Tell me what happened. You can trust me,” he says, brushing away a tear. “You know I am trained to hear this stuff. I can take it. You don't want to see anyone, but you need to talk to someone. You can trust me.” The outside of his hand caresses my cheek, and he finds that strand of hair that keeps escaping and tucks it back for me.

I'm sick. Sam's made me sick. Because just thinking about what I would tell Carter about him—the flashes of his feline eyes, the curves and lines of muscle along his naked body, the scars, like he has been so close to hell that it singed him—I'm throbbing all over; awakened.

I can't tell Carter what happened, not even in curated doses. So I do what I learned from the devil: I lean in and kiss Carter. Not softly, not seeking permission. I take. I won't give him a chance to wonder if this is the right thing. I'll make him feel so good, he'll stop caring about what matters. Just like Sam did to me. I give the affection he has been desperately wishing for when his body stiffens in my presence, holding back the urges to touch me.

I do it to distract him from the questions. To pretend I'm fine. I do it, using Carter as a milquetoast substitute for Sam.

“Stop, Vesp,” he moans, but he doesn't push me away.

I climb on top of Carter, in the driver's seat, and between my legs, I feel that it's working. That he won't ask me any more questions tonight. I just hope I can do this without changing him the way Sam changed me.





Forks and knives clink against burnt orange Fiestaware as we sit in silence around my mother's dinner table. She's back. Finally. We picked her and the doctor up at the airport, where she put on her best show of an emotional reunion. She was so excited to have me back. So excited, in fact, that she made sure to finish out her trip in the Amazon, staying the two extra days after she got word of my return.

She embraced me at the airport, all refreshed and tanned, false tears of joy blurring her eyes. My whole life I thought she cared. I thought she did but just was built from a different material. Maybe, whoever my dad was, I got his painfully strong empathy. But no. I don't think she's capable of it. She's responsible. She would never have left me on someone's porch with a note pinned to me, but that's all I was—am—to her, a responsibility. It's why she put Johnny away. Carter may think it's because it's for the best, but her motivations aren't like Carter's. If it's for the best, that's a convenient side effect.

I let her hug me, I let her fill the car with talk of the trip as I stared out the window and watched the world pass me by. A lump formed in my throat, recalling the way I watched what I could from the windows the day Sam let me go.

Let me go.

Anger has begun to wear off to something else. I could have turned him in. He told me everything about his life. He could have murdered me in that forest and no one would have ever known. But he let me go. I think I am supposed to appreciate that. I'm trying to. But it still feels like he abandoned me.

“Is it not good?” she asks.

“Hmmm?” I look up from the London broil and peas I have been scattering along the plate. It's just okay. “It's good,” I answer before she can answer.

“I got it because I know it's your favorite,” she says, like she's trying to prove we have this special bond.

“My favorite is strip steak.” I enjoy the way she uses her napkin to wipe her mouth and shifts in her seat when I say that.

“Well,” she sighs, tilting her head, a little nod to the less than warm greeting I have given her, “I was expecting a little more excitement for us to all be together.”

Ha! Things like this are supposed to bring families together, right? Because I have never felt further from anyone at the table.

“Not everything exists to make your life that much more pleasant,” I snicker.

Her fork and knife crash to the plate in protest.

“That's not what I meant.”

I just keep looking at the limp brown meat and dull peas. Orange is a terrible choice of background for these colors.

“Carter, I picked up some fantastic cigars on the trip. Why don't we share one in the backyard?” Peter, my stepdad, asks.

Carter looks over to me, waiting for a signal. I can feel it, but I don't look up. “Uh, yeah sure,” he accepts hesitantly.

Once the men leave the room, mom dives right in. “Listen, Vesper. I can't imagine what you've gone through but—”

“You haven't even mentioned him. Not once, not his name,” I seethe, still looking at the plate.

“What?”

“Your son.”

She lets out a sigh, like she's been holding this one in all night, wondering when she could let it out.

“Honey, I didn't know how to bring it up. You don't seem in good spirits. I didn't want to upset you.”

I laugh sarcastically, finally meeting her eyes. “You put him away. You got rid of me, and then you were finally able to do the same for him. I bet you were thrilled when you heard I was back.”