Hell Followed with Us(48)
I hadn’t realized Nick gets his own room, but it makes sense. This must be where he goes when he disappears. I imagine him locking the door and dropping his head into his hands, sucking in deep breaths, preparing to hold his chin high the next time we need him. Nick ushers me inside.
“So,” he says, wandering over to the desk and picking up a pink bead. “Talk.”
I start with, “I want to say upfront that I’m not accusing you of anything.” Since being raised a good Christian girl will do things to you, will make you hedge topics and soften blows, no matter how much Seraph you have in you. Though maybe that makes it worse, because Nick’s eyes narrow. “Frankly, I don’t believe it. I just wanted to get it out there and—”
“Spit it out.”
Right. No beating around the bush. “Cormac said you were calling me an it.”
The bead stops rolling between his fingers. A lump appears in my throat, but I keep going.
“That’s what I want to talk about. He’s been like this ever since I showed up and, look. I can put up with a lot, believe me, but he’s actively trying to turn me against you, and that is not okay. I wanted to bring it up to you before it gets worse. Does that make sense?”
Nick says nothing. The silence makes me itch.
“That makes sense,” I say, “right?”
“I,” Nick says, then he stops like the word got caught on something. It takes him a second to start back up. “I can’t discuss this right now.”
Um. “I don’t…” My eye twitches. “I don’t get it.”
He repeats, slower, as if I didn’t hear him the first time, “I can’t discuss this right now.”
“Right. Okay.” I gesture to the door. “If you need me to piss off and give you space after this morning, I totally get it. I’ll give you all the space in the world. I just need you to, I don’t know, clear the air. Tell me Cormac is a liar. Then I’ll go. Okay? Just tell me he’s lying.”
He doesn’t. He doesn’t say anything. My heart throbs in my throat like it’s trying to come up.
“You can write it down if you can’t talk,” I say. “Or, or you can tell me that he’s telling the truth. I don’t think he’s telling me the truth, but if he is, you can tell me that too. Because if he is, I feel like we should talk about that instead? Just, whatever it is, give me a yes or no, I don’t care how, and I’ll leave you alone. I swear.”
What if Cormac is right? If Cormac is right—
“Benji?” Nick says. His jaw barely moves. He’s trying really, really hard to get the words out. “I won’t talk about this.”
Nick read the letter. He knows what I am. He knows what I was. He knew the girl I used to be, the twentieth host of the virus, the Angels’ monster. He knew that long before he ever met me.
Oh God, what if that’s all he sees?
Now I’m fighting to get words out too. “Fine. Then I’ll stand right here until you will.”
A long, heavy breath shakes in his chest. He puts down the bead, and that’s what gives his fingers free rein to curl into something painful, knuckles turning white.
I almost feel bad. Almost.
Finally, he manages, “I know what you’re thinking.” This isn’t him standing in front of the Watch. This is him crumbling in front of the Vanguard. This is him weak. “I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not like that—”
“Like hell it isn’t.” I step forward, and a flicker of fear passes behind his eyes, the first time I’ve seen it since the Grace forced him down at the shelter. I relish it. Good. I tear down my mask and bare my teeth so he can see the jagged tooth sticking out of my gums. “So you did? And you’re too much of a coward to admit it?”
It’s like flipping a switch. Nick roars, “Get the fuck out of my room!”
I stumble. For half a second, that’s it, but it’s long enough. Enough to remember how Theo screamed at me before he hurt me, the way I cowered, the way I begged him to stop. I was so weak then. Helpless.
But I’m not helpless now. The virus burns so hot it turns the edge of my vision white. Angel robes, the white horse, one of the most dangerous parts of the flame.
Nick was supposed to get it. Out of everyone, he’s supposed to be the one who understands I’m not what the Angels made me. He’s supposed to be the one that gets it. And here he is, using a pronoun like it. It. Like I’m not even an animal, just an object, a hunk of flesh, a vessel for something else. The same things the Angels thought I was.
I hate that I can’t cry. I want to sob, I want to do something, anything, to get this pressure out of my head, this awful thing building behind my eyes, I hate it so much, and if I can’t tear Nick to pieces, I need to get it out.
“No, you listen to me.” My voice comes out in a terrible, pained rasp. “Listen to me. My name is Benjamin Woodside. I’m gay and trans as hell, I am a boy, my pronouns are he/him, and I am a goddamn person.” That is everything the Angels never let me have. Everything I am. “I joined the Watch because I thought you understood that. If I knew you were going to be like my fucking mom, I never would have stayed. I thought you were better than them!”
It feels like I’ve pulled out a thorn, yanked a spear out of my ribs, and now there’s an open wound I don’t know what to do with, just the relief that it’s out.