Every Single Secret(48)

Pizza Face, Fat Fuck, Egg Salad.

Jackrabbit.

Devil Eyes.

Nobody.

When I returned to the laundry room, she had folded the clean clothes neatly, stacked them, and told me she would take care of the remaining load. I stood there, unsure of what to say, waiting for I didn’t know what—another insult, a good reason for me to fly at her and slap her. But she only smiled and handed over my stack of warm clothes, which made me positive, beyond a shadow of a doubt, things weren’t over between us.



Chapter Sixteen

I woke sometime later in the night, overheated and drooling. My neck was twisted in such a way that I knew, instinctively, that I was going to feel it for days. We might be catching up on our sleep in this creepy old house—enjoying the respite from Heath’s nightmares—but I didn’t feel any more rested.

I just felt uneasy. About the nine extra cameras that were watching us at all times. And the creepy Sinatra music playing in the McAdams’ room.

Heath was sitting in one of the chairs by the fireplace. He wasn’t doing anything in particular, just staring into the middle distance. A feeling of disquiet—a premonition, maybe, of something to come—stole over me. I wanted to reach out to him, to comfort him. But I couldn’t make myself do it. I sat up, clutching the bedcovers to my chest.

Heath shifted in the chair. “I’m sorry I woke you.” His voice was so gentle, so soft, that the fear in my heart was almost quelled.

“It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

“What did you do this afternoon?”

I kept my voice light. “You’re looking at it. Nothing much. You?”

He just shook his head.

“Heath. What’s going on?”

He was running his finger along the arm of the chair. Watching the movement, fascinated by the journey of his own hand. Or maybe he just didn’t want to talk to me. I didn’t know whether to feel relief or concern. It seemed like everything that happened here divided me.

His finger stopped on the curve of the chair arm, and his back bent. It looked like he’d suddenly been struck with a pain in his stomach. He stayed there a moment, hunched and still, and then I heard a sound. It took me a minute to figure out what was happening, but when I did, I almost couldn’t believe it. He was crying.

I didn’t know what to do. Should I go to him? Try and comfort him in some way or just hang back and let him alone? I clenched the covers in my fists and did nothing.

He was really weeping now. Convulsing heaves punctuated by pathetic wails. I resisted the tears that rose to my own eyes.

“Heath,” I said. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t look at me, didn’t even seem to notice I’d spoken. But at the sound of my voice, his sobs lessened some. Eventually, they wound down to sniffs and then there was complete quiet. He finally faced me. Leaned forward, lacing his fingers together.

“I’m not who you think I am,” he said.

The panic slammed into me with a force that took my breath. And then my next thought, Not in front of the cameras.

But I couldn’t think about that. If this was really happening, if Heath was finally going to talk to me, Cerny’s secret backup cameras were beside the point. I threw off the blanket and crawled off the bed. Knelt at the chair and grabbed his hands. He gripped mine back so tightly that a fresh wave of panic sluiced through me.

“I’m not good for you,” Heath said. “You deserve—”

“No.” I shook his hands. “I love you. I love you more than you could ever know, and whatever you had to do to survive, I understand. And I forgive you, without even having to know what it was. That’s how much I love you.”

He pressed his lips into a tight line. I could tell he wasn’t convinced.

“I won’t judge you, I swear. I had to do things to survive too.”

“You don’t understand—”

“Please, stop. Just listen to me.” I pressed his hands to my chest. I was sure he could feel my heart racing.

And then, I suddenly knew. I was going to do it.

I am going to tell him everything.

“I did a terrible thing,” I said. “It was a long time ago, but it changed everything. And to survive, to stay sane and function in the world, I had to keep it a secret.”

I didn’t know what I expected him to do. Leap out of the chair? Faint with shock? Suddenly regard me with disgust? Whatever dramatic reaction I’d imagined, he didn’t do any of them. He just studied my face like it held a secret he wished he could be privy to.

“You’re an angel,” he said.

“I’m not.” I shook off his hand. “I’m . . .”

. . . half-savage and hardy, and free . . .

“You are an angel,” he repeated dully. “You’re trying to make me feel better. And I love you for it.”

“You don’t know what I’ve done.” I tried not to think of Cerny’s high-tech spy cameras consuming my pain, crushing it to ones and zeros and storing it until the doctor decided to watch it.

“What? You stole a pack of gum at the dollar store? You cheated on a chemistry exam? You had unprotected teenage sex behind the bleachers with a boy everybody told you to stay away from?” His expression grew distant. “This is different. If I told you this, you’d leave. I know you would.”